Dementia

Anthony’s mom called tonight.

I haven’t really shared much about this because, honestly, it isn’t my story to tell. But I also know there are so many families quietly walking through things like this, and sometimes sharing our struggles helps someone else feel a little less alone.

Anthony’s mom has early-onset dementia.

She is only 66 years old.

Her own mother passed away from dementia, so this has been something the family has feared for a long time. Watching it become our reality has been heartbreaking.

Last weekend was her birthday, and Anthony called to talk to her. They talked for about a minute because she can’t really hold conversations anymore. She struggles to remember people, and she doesn’t always recognize the people who love her most.

Watching dementia take someone you love is unlike anything I’ve ever experienced. It’s almost like watching a person slowly become childlike again. She needs reassurance, simple conversations, and patience. She can’t hold onto thoughts for very long, and she doesn’t always recognize the people who love her most. Her body is still here, but pieces of the woman Anthony grew up with seem to disappear a little more every day.

It’s heartbreaking to witness.

It’s also incredibly hard being so far away and feeling like there isn’t much we can do.

I’ll be honest, Anthony’s mom and I never had the relationship I hoped we would have. I never really felt like she thought I was good enough for Anthony, and because of that, we never became very close.

But the truth is… she is still my husband’s mom.

She is still my children’s Nana.

And she loved them.

That matters.

Watching Anthony try to navigate all of this has been one of the hardest parts. We live far away, and family situations are complicated. Everyone is carrying their own hurt, their own frustrations, and their own emotions.

The reality is that dementia doesn’t just affect the person diagnosed. It affects the entire family.

Her sister does what she can while working full-time. Anthony’s brother tries too. Everyone is trying to figure out what the right thing to do is, even when there isn’t an easy answer.

Sometimes grief comes out as anger. Sometimes it comes out as frustration. Sometimes pride or old wounds make things even harder.

But I also have to be honest with myself.

I have my own family.

I have eight children who need me. I have grandchildren I want to watch grow up. I have my own health to focus on and a husband who needs me just as much as I need him.

I can love people and still recognize that I cannot carry every battle.

On another note… I got a little reminder this week that sometimes the smallest things can bring the biggest relief.

My sister L is alive.

She went on my TikTok a few days ago, and seeing her name pop up meant more than people probably realize. The last I knew, her longtime boyfriend had overdosed, and she was living under a bridge.

That little sign that she was still here gave me hope.

Mental illness is real.

Addiction is real.

Dementia is real.

And we need to talk about these things.

People should not be ashamed to ask for help. There is no shame in needing medication, therapy, support, or someone to walk beside you while you figure things out.

I have spent a lot of my life trying to fix things I couldn’t fix. Trying to save people who weren’t ready to be saved. Trying to carry things that were never mine to carry.

I’m learning that love doesn’t always mean rescuing.

Sometimes love means praying.

Sometimes love means accepting people where they are.

Sometimes love means setting boundaries so you can continue showing up for the people who need you most.

Tonight my heart is heavy.

For Anthony.

For his mom.

For my sister.

For all the families fighting battles behind closed doors.

Life is fragile.

So call the person you love. Send the text. Give the hug.

Because sometimes the moments we think are small become the memories we hold onto forever.