Over the past few months, I’ve found myself navigating the slow, painful unraveling of a person I once thought unshakable—my father. When we moved him into a memory care facility, I knew on some level what we were facing. I’d read about dementia, heard the stories, even prepared myself, as much as one can. But witnessing the reality—the pace of decline, the hollowing out of someone you love—is something no article or conversation can truly prepare you for.
On my Midlife, Real Life Substack, I wrote previous articles about Dad’s move and his transition to his new residence; the resistance, confusion and anger. (When Can I Go Home? )
And then we thought there was acceptance: Is This Where I Live Now?
We were wrong.
What follows is a poem about a recent visit—a quiet, devastating realization that the man I knew is slipping further and further out of reach. This is what it feels like to lose someone while they’re still alive.
I visited my father for
the first time the other day.
He was feisty when he got there
but not the same man now.
I knew he didn’t really want
the extra Memory Care.
But what I was most shocked at was
the rate of his decline.
He used to smile and greet me when
the moment I walked in.
Now his eyes are vacant
if they’re even open at all.
He didn’t know it was me until
I said my name to him.
He tilted up his head and looked
blankly at my face.
He thought I was another nurse
that moves him ‘round the place.
I asked him if he wanted to
sit and visit in his room.
He said that would be nice but then
he couldn’t even stand.
That sudden need for help just then
threw me for a loop.
Not long ago, he’d rise alone
all by himself with ease.
Now, a nurse or someone else,
must do this task for him.
Once off the chair, the walker helped
him shuffle down the hall.
Many stops were needed to
rest his weary legs.
Just twenty feet that’s all they would
let him walk before they stop.
When months ago, he needed only
cane and strength to move.
Once in his room, I hoped we’d share
a quiet conversation.
But all that he could muster were
“Yes” and “No”, and “I don’t know”.
Who is this man all old and grey,
where did my father go?
In seven short weeks his health declined
and stole my father away.
And now besides the memory,
his legs are now gone too.
He now has taken residence in
The hospital nearby,
The nurses need to move his legs
and help him eat his food.
He’s lost the will to walk again
And wants the world to end.
And with three falls and counting now,
only time will tell,
When Dad’s declining health care and
dementia will take its final toll.
I share this poem not just as a reflection of my own grief, but as a reminder: decline doesn’t follow a schedule, and the system meant to support our aging loved ones often falls short.
There’s no manual for this journey—but perhaps in sharing our stories, we can better prepare each other for the road ahead, and begin the conversations we can no longer afford to delay.
Been there. Wishing you much fortitude!
❤️❤️❤️