Yahoo Lifestyle People Are Sharing The Moments They'll Never Again Have With Parents Suffering From Dementia, And They're Devastatingly Beautiful Tributes
I recently shared some moments that older adults will never experience again without realizing it — anything from carrying your child for the last time to getting a comfortable night of sleep. The BuzzFeed Community also provided their own responses (shared here), many of which touched on the experience of watching a parent struggle with a degenerative disease and realizing how many "last times" you've already had with them. Here is a collection of those stories:
Note: This story contains mention of cognitive and physical decline, as well as a brief mention of suicide.
1."My mom recognizing me as her daughter. She has dementia."
—Anonymous
2."My Dad is suffering from late-stage dementia (presumed to be Alzheimer's). Or, I guess I should say, my mom, brother, and I are suffering from it. Honestly, Dad seems content enough. He's almost entirely nonverbal — you might get the occasional 'yeah' or 'ok' out of him, but that's it — and he doesn't know us at all anymore. He's a shell of himself, and it hurts to see him that way. And I kept thinking of all the stories he told me when I was young, all the advice he gave me, and all the things I'd forgotten or never got the chance to hear. I would give almost anything to hear him say my name or see the light of recognition in his eyes. It's so hard to explain because you're grieving for someone who is still alive. It sounds so shitty, but it would almost be a relief for him to pass — not that I want him gone, but he's not himself, and I KNOW he wouldn't want to live this way..."
"...The worst part is the terrible irony. Getting Alzheimer's and losing all of his memories was his greatest fear. He used to say, 'Who am I without my memories?' and the answer is before me. It's an empty shell of my dad's face, his skin and hair, but his eyes and his smile are empty of everything that made him HIM."
3."My Mom passed from dementia a little over a month ago. Each stage of these cognitive diseases is weird. That's the best way I can describe it. Anyone who has been through it knows what I mean. Try your best, even though it's hard, to enjoy each part of it. Knowing I'll never get to cry in my car again after seeing her hurts, even though crying in my car was hard when it was happening. Losing a parent is hard, but knowing that means they won't lose you makes it easier. Take pictures while you can, even if they're not in perfect condition. Just be there; it'll mean the world to them."
4."Watching my dad mow the lawn, which he sometimes did twice a week until well past 100. Watching my mom standing at the kitchen sink window washing dishes or birds at the feeder. I lost them both within the past couple of years after living with and caring for them, especially in the last, when mom developed dementia and became a hospice patient here at home. Dad made it to 105 and left on his own terms; Mom, almost a year to the day later at 101. I also lost my only sibling because when it came to settling the estate issue, she showed her true colors and greed, and it is still not resolved. So I realize I won't experience her company ever again either."
—Robin, 67, Ohio
5."My paternal grandparents both had dementia years apart. My dad took me to see my grandma in the nursing home every other weekend. It took a toll on my mental health, and the one weekend I didn't visit, she passed."
6."My mom had dementia starting in 2014 and finally passed in March 2024. It was a relief to know she was no longer suffering, and hopefully, on the other side, she's whole and happy — wherever that may be. I lost her so slowly over all those years, I didn't get all that upset when I realized she didn't know who I was…or her own name. It was just part of the whole disease. It's a horrible thing to watch and go through. My advice is to ask everything you can while you have a chance, and spend as much time with them, too. Tomorrow is not promised."
7."My dad is in the final stages of Parkinson's. I try to drive to see him once a week, which is an all-day endeavor since I live a state away. Sometimes, it feels like a hard trip as I prepare to drive because each time I see him, he's a little worse. But I go because I don't know if it will be the last time I see him. He sorta knows I'm there. But I always hug and kiss him and tell him I love him. He often responds warmly, even if he's been very sleepy..."
"...The reason I shared that is because, many decades ago, I had a very intense dream that he had died suddenly (he was very healthy then — the same age I am now, in fact!). When I woke up, I was relieved that he was fine...but I also realized that one day (if I outlived him), the dream would be a reality, and I'd be looking at him in his coffin at his wake. So, I started working on appreciating him and letting him know how much I love him. We became much closer. It changed our relationship, and I was so lucky to have that terrible dream. I feel sad, but I don't feel the weight of regret. Gratitude is in its place."
8."I have known this for forty-two years. My dearest friend, whom I met in my first college class, died at age 31. She was entering her last few months of life on my last visit. I got spooked when I looked up and saw her mother-in-law had slipped into the room and was grinning like a jackal at me. I had only been there about fifteen minutes, but I made my excuses and left after touching her briefly on the shoulder as my way of saying goodbye. I will never see her again, and it still pains me."
—Anonymous
9."Within just a couple years, my healthy, intelligent, vibrant, athletic, jack-of-all-trades father went from hiking some of the tallest and most treacherous mountain peaks in the world to a shell of his former self. In his late 50s, he was out with some friends and noticed weakness in his legs when he tried to jog across a street. He was diagnosed with ALS. By the time he could no longer walk and was having serious difficulty with speech, he was ready to go and ended up taking his own life. It wasn't overnight, but it was still so abrupt and unexpected. I still remember him as he was when he was healthy, and it's still unbelievable to me that I can't just pick up the phone and call him. I will always remember the last time I saw him."
10."My daughter's hand in mine. She suffered from Prader-Willi syndrome and passed away suddenly at home. She was my sunshine and was the kindest, most loving person I have ever known or ever shall know. Because of her condition, I always hung back and walked with her wherever we went together. She was my hero and my grace."
—Anonymous, Michigan
11."Knowing I'm the only one left who remembers some of our family's events. My dad is dead, my mom is losing her memory, and my sisters are younger than me. When was the last time I could say, 'Remember when…' and someone else would also remember?"
12."For me, I'm the last of my original family. I used to call my mom in the evening while I washed the dishes; I’d have the phone tucked between my shoulder and ear and talk. I remember the last lucid conversation we had; we talked about washing machines and whether to replace or repair them. With my sister, we would always text when we got to our destinations that we got there safely. I lost my best friend and part of myself when she passed."
13."My mom's accent. When she had a stroke years ago, she barely spoke. As she recovered and spoke more, we didn’t realize how much we missed it. Now that she's gone, I chat up anyone from the Philippines just to hear that accent again."
—JK, Colorado
14."Thanksgiving and Christmas will never be the same again. I recently lost my mom to cancer. The first Thanksgiving we spent apart was when I was in the Marine Corps. I was in the second battle of Fallujah. I remember her freezing me some turkey and telling me, 'You're going make it through the streets to come home and eat your dinner!' I talked to her the night before we invaded the city. I honestly didn’t know what to say to her, but 'Yes, momma, I'll be home.' She even saved my present from Christmas too for me to open. I can still hear the worries in her voice, but she was still calm and strong. When I lost my mom to cancer, she was on her hospice bed. I apologized for leaving home and putting her through all that worry..."
"...I lost her on the 20th anniversary of the operation Phantom Fury. I just think about how I'm never going hear her kind voice again, no matter how bad or how good the situation is. I'll never be able to feel her comfort again. I'll never be able to smell her Thanksgiving dinner cooking again, and never again will my presents say 'from Santa.' This was the first Thanksgiving we spent without my mom. It was very difficult for our family. She helped me pick out my wife’s wedding ring. Just those small things that we take for granted every day, that’s what hurts the most. Knowing that it’s never going to happen again..."
—Mickey, 38
If you've watched a loved one deteriorate from a degenerative condition, are there life moments you've realized you'll never have again with them? Tell us about them in the comments or using this anonymous form.
