When you love someone living with dementia, it’s natural to notice what’s changed. The words that don’t come as easily. The stories that wander. The quiet moments that used to be full of conversation. At first, that’s all I could see — what was slipping away. I found myself grieving little losses every day. The things they couldn’t do anymore stood out like empty spaces. But over time, I realized that if I kept focusing on what wasn’t there, I was missing what still was.
I remember one afternoon sitting with someone I care deeply about. They were folding napkins — over and over again, the same one. My first instinct was to step in, to “fix it,” to remind them that the napkin was already folded. But then I stopped. I watched their hands move carefully, their face calm and focused. There was comfort in the rhythm. There was a purpose. In that moment, I saw it — what was still there. The ability to engage. The desire to help. The dignity in doing something that mattered, even in a small way. Since then, I’ve tried to look through that lens more often.
I’ve learned that communication doesn’t always need words. A smile, a soft touch, or a shared song can speak louder than any sentence. A simple “thank you” after they help with something — even if you did most of it — can light up their face with pride.
Meeting someone living with dementia where they are means letting go of our expectations and entering their world instead of asking them to live in ours. It means noticing what brings them comfort and joy — even if it’s the same story told five times, or a daily routine that feels repetitive to us.
When I focus on what remains, I see how much there still is to connect with. There’s humor, tenderness, curiosity, and sometimes even mischief. There’s history in every expression, love in every gesture, and meaning in every small success.
Yes, dementia changes things. But it doesn’t erase the person. They are still here — just living differently, in a different rhythm.And when we learn to see what’s still there instead of what’s not, we find that love and connection haven’t gone anywhere. They’ve just changed shape.
If you’re walking this journey with someone living with dementia, try to notice the small moments. See the person in front of you — not just the disease. Celebrate what they can do. Appreciate the spark that still shines through. Because when we choose to see what’s still there, we discover that there’s so much more left to hold onto than we ever imagined.