Communication

My mom was a woman of many words, and my dad was a man of few.

A woman with advanced dementia is told—again and again—that her son has died. Each time, the grief is fresh. A reflection on memory, mercy, and when silence is the kinder choice.

When my father, who had Alzheimer’s, came home without my three-year-old son, we lived twenty minutes of terror—and learned the hard truth about dementia and driving.

When my brother calls, his aphasia makes speaking hard—but we still talk. Naming dementia, laughing together, and saying the hard things keeps us connected while we still can.