Caring for someone with dementia is one of the most quietly heroic roles a person can take on. It’s a journey full of love and loss, connection and confusion, heartbreak and grace — sometimes all in a single day. But while the primary caregiver may carry the most visible weight, dementia affects entire families and communities. And it will take all of us — not just professionals, but friends, neighbors, churches, and extended family — to rise and meet the growing needs of those living with dementia.

If someone you know is a caregiver, we want to speak directly to you.

You may have said, “Let me know what I can do.” And while that’s a kind and well-meaning phrase, it often puts the responsibility back on the caregiver — the very person already running on fumes.

Let’s move beyond that. Let’s step in, with love, intention, and practical support.

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I Will Never Forget What Janine Did

It was late summer of 2008 in northern lower Michigan. My daughter had just been diagnosed with Type 1 diabetes, and we were in the ICU of our local hospital. Although we’d noticed some symptoms, the diagnosis hit like a gut punch — completely out of the blue. What I knew about Type 1 diabetes wouldn’t have even filled a sticky note. Overnight, our world changed.

Janine, the mom of my daughter’s best friend and a lifelong friend of mine, called and asked, “When is your meeting with the diabetes educator?”

“10:00,” I said, a little confused. “Why?”

Her response?
“Because I want to be there. I want to learn everything I can to help.”

To this day, tears still come to my eyes when I think about that moment. I was drowning in fear and overwhelm. And suddenly, someone was beside me — not with vague offers of help, but actually showing up. That gesture didn’t make everything okay, but it made the burden feel lighter. I felt less alone. I felt hope. It helped me believe we might actually find our way forward.

What does this have to do with dementia?

Everything.

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Dementia Caregivers Need Their “Janine”

When someone in your life is caring for a loved one with dementia, they’re carrying far more than meets the eye.

They are navigating:

• Financial challenges, including the high cost of care, medications, and medical equipment
• Scheduling chaos, juggling work, caregiving, family, and countless doctor and specialist appointments
• Behavioral changes in their loved one that can be heartbreaking, confusing, and difficult to manage
• Emotional grief, as the person they care for slowly changes — and the relationship they once leaned on feels like it’s slipping away
  

They are managing all of this without enough rest, often without support, and sometimes without acknowledgment. They need someone to stand beside them and say, “You’re not alone. I’m here.”

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Practical Ways to Show Up

1. Learn a Little About Dementia

Dementia isn’t just memory loss. It affects how someone understands the world, responds to others, and handles daily tasks. Learning just a bit helps you become a more compassionate presence.

Start here: www.dementialife.care/events

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2. Offer Specific, Simple Help — At Home or in Memory Care

Whether the person with dementia is still living at home or has moved into a memory care or assisted living community, there are meaningful and practical ways to help. Here are some ideas that make a real difference:

For Home Caregivers:

• “Can I sit with your mom Thursday morning so you can take a break?”
  
• “I’m dropping off groceries — what can I pick up for you too?”
  
• “I’m heading to the pharmacy — do you need anything?”
  
• “I’d love to bring over a meal or walk the dog this week.”
  

For Caregivers With a Loved One in Memory Care or Assisted Living:

• Stop by to visit the person with dementia — even short visits matter. Just being a friendly, familiar face can bring joy.
  
• Join them for a meal — mealtimes can feel lonely; sitting beside them communicates that they’re still seen and valued.
  
• Bring thoughtful supplies — hand lotion, favorite snacks, coloring books, family photos, or soft blankets can add comfort and joy.
  
• Check in on their care — ask staff how things are going and share any feedback with the caregiver. Your extra set of eyes is helpful and supportive.
  
• Send a card or photo — even if they can’t always respond, your presence is felt.
  

If the Caregiver Has a Difficult History With Their Loved One:

• Be a buffer. If the caregiver has experienced a painful or complicated relationship with their loved one, simply being present can be a powerful support. Offer to accompany them to a visit, or even visit on their behalf. You can be a gentle bridge between them and the person they’re caring for — someone to absorb some of the emotional weight, to witness the hard moments, and to offer encouragement afterward.
  
• Reassure without judgment. Let them know that complicated relationships don’t disqualify them from being loving — and that it’s okay to feel a mix of emotions, including grief, anger, compassion, and sadness all at once.
  
• Help them set boundaries when needed — or honor the ones they’ve already set. Sometimes, caregiving means overseeing care from a distance. That still counts. That still matters.

3. Check In Without Expecting Anything in Return

Send a text. Leave a voicemail. Mail a card. Just say, “Thinking of you today. You’re doing an amazing job, even if it doesn’t feel like it.” Your words can be a lifeline.

Whether it’s a meal, a moment, or a mindful presence — these small, intentional actions can remind someone they are not alone in this journey.

4. Be Present, Even If It’s Hard

You may feel unsure of what to say. That’s okay. Just being there — making space for laughter, for tears, for ordinary moments — helps keep the caregiver and their loved one connected to the life they still have.

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5. Be Part of Their Circle of Support

Form a small, informal care team. One friend brings meals. Another helps with errands. Another checks in each week. When the burden is shared, it becomes bearable.

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The Gift of Being Needed

Here’s the secret: this isn’t just about what they need. It’s also about what you will receive.

When you choose to carry someone else’s burden — even while carrying your own — something holy happens. You become part of something bigger than yourself. You rediscover compassion, connection, and purpose.

You become a living example of a simple truth found in Galatians 6:2:
“Carry each other’s burdens, and in this way, you show the love that really matters.”

And in giving of yourself, you just might find your own heart healed in places you didn’t even know were aching.

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Together, We Can Do This

Dementia is growing faster than our systems can manage. It will not be solved with money alone. It will be solved by us — by everyday people deciding to be present, to be informed, and to act in love.

You are needed. You are capable. You are not too busy or too far removed to make a difference.

Be the one who shows up. Be the one who learns. Be the one who gives, even when life is hard.

Because one day, someone may say of you:
“I’ll never forget what they did.”

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Want to learn more or share this with others? Visit us at www.dementialife.care for resources, workshops, and simple ways to get involved.

Together, we can build a world where no one walks this path alone.

THE NURSE WHO COULD TALK TO ANYONE 

I’ve always seen myself as someone who connects easily with others. Striking up conversations with strangers, finding common ground with people from all walks of life — it came naturally to me. I prided myself on being nonjudgmental and making others feel at ease, no matter their background or story.  

It’s one of the reasons I felt so drawn to nursing. That ability to build quick trust became one of my greatest strengths as a Registered Nurse. 

WHEN CONFIDENCE TURNS TO UNCERTAINTY 

But when I started working with patients with dementia, something shifted.  

For the first time in my career – maybe in my life – that ease didn’t come so naturally. The connection I had always relied on felt just out of reach. And that was a humbling experience. 

I expected my personality, my training, and my nursing background to be enough. Afterall, I had studied the symptoms. I understood the disease process. I had practiced communication strategies and memorized the medications and treatments used for common behaviors. I was prepared… or so I thought.  

But nothing quite prepared me for the real thing. 

I became rigid. Uncomfortable. Unsure of myself and my actions. I had been taught to speak to and treat my elders in a certain way, and suddenly, none of it seemed to apply. I was in a world of unknowns — and frankly, it baffled me. 

TRAINING ISN’T THE SAME AS EXPERIENCE 

The truth is, no amount of training can fully ready you for the emotional, unpredictable, often tender moments that come with caring for someone with dementia.  

And that’s okay. 

It’s okay if you feel uncomfortable at first. I did, too. 

I remember second-guessing my words, wondering if I was doing the right thing, feeling overwhelmed when a patient grew agitated or confused. I wanted to fix it. I wanted to connect. And sometimes —despite my best efforts — I felt like I was falling short. 

But what I’ve come to realize over time is this: Caring for someone with dementia is not about perfection. It’s about presence. 

THE MOMENT IT CLICKED 

I remember the exact moment it finally clicked — the moment I truly understood what it takes to work with someone living with dementia.  

I was caring for a patient in a dementia unit at a long-term care facility. She sat in her wheelchair, parked in the hallway, firmly refusing to return to her apartment. After trying every gentle nudge I could think of, I gave in and began changing her wound dressing right there in the hallway. 

As I worked, I heard footsteps approaching from around the corner. A Physical Therapist appeared, guiding another dementia patient beside him. He was trying to teach her how to use her walker safely, but she was growing more frustrated and agitated by the second. 

I paused, curious to see how he would respond. 

Then, something beautiful happened.  

He stopped. He turned to face her, looked into her eyes with calm assurance, and gently took the walker from her hands, setting it aside. 

Then, with a warm smile, he extended his hand and asked: 

“May I have this dance?” 

She giggled — an honest, childlike laugh — and placed her hand in his. And just like that, they began ballroom dancing down the hallway. Not walking. Not redirecting. Dancing. 

They floated down the corridor as staff, visitors, residents, and even physicians watched with wide smiles. Laughter filled the space as they moved together—completely immersed in the moment. 

And that’s when it hit me. 

WHAT I KNOW NOW 

There is no one-size-fits-all approach. What worked for one person on Monday may not work for another on Tuesday. And that’s okay.  

It’s okay to learn as you go. It’s okay to take a breath, to pause, to regroup. It’s okay to make mistakes — and it’s more than okay to forgive yourself for them. 

Because what matters most is that you show up. And that you keep showing up. That you offer kindness, patience, and grace — not just to the person you’re caring for, but to yourself as well. 

CONNECTION BEYOND WORDS 

Working with dementia patients has taught me that connection doesn’t always come from words. Sometimes it’s found in quiet companionship, a gentle touch, or a shared moment of laughter. Sometimes, simply being there — calm, steady, and compassionate — is enough. 

So if you’re new to this, if you’re struggling, if you’re wondering whether you’re doing it “right,” I want you to hear this clearly:  

You are not alone. 

It’s okay to ease into it. It’s okay if it doesn’t come naturally. And it’s absolutely okay to grow into the role over time. 

THE LONG AND WINDING ROAD 

Dementia care is a journey — one of empathy, adaptation, and continuous learning. And if your heart is in the right place, you’re already doing better than you think. 

-Brooke Glenn RN 

Who knew the 2016 Summer Olympics could help me figure out how to communicate with my mother.

I’ll get to that, but first, a little background.

My mother and I have never seen eye-to-eye and were great with arguments and eye rolls. When she was diagnosed with Alzheimer’s Disease around 2009, it got even harder. If you are reading this, I know you get it. Getting the same questions over and over again is exhausting, annoying, and infuriating. If you haven’t figured it out yet, the absolute worst thing you can do is say, “Mom, I just told you that three times in the last hour.”

Yep, trust me—it won’t work.

If your father (her husband) is an uber-high Type A and was in management his entire life, not having her remember or do what he said is also unpleasant.

My mother’s name was Fran. She stood 4’10½” at her tallest and weighed in at a solid 95 pounds for most of her life. She was a bundle of energy. She taught high school, and big football players cowed to her. Needless to say, she could hold her own and send you running with “that look.” She always said ‘dynamite comes in small packages,’ and Little Frannie proved that.

Fast forward to 2016.

She was hospitalized for something, probably an extreme UTI. While she was in the hospital, she was asking me about her friend Eustacius and whether she had decided to buy the house. I thought to myself, ‘who the heck is Eustacius, and what house are you talking about?’
I just kind of said I hadn’t talked to her and we moved on.
That was my first experience with Hospital-Induced Delirium. The National Institutes of Health defines it as “a temporary but severe form of mental impairment that can lead to longer hospital stays and negative long-term outcomes, commonly acquired by elderly patients in acute care settings. Up to a third of patients 70 years old and above experience delirium, and the rate is much higher for those in intensive care or undergoing surgery. Until recent decades, hospital-acquired delirium, which typically lasts anywhere from a couple of days to several weeks but can even last months, was chalked up to old age and not considered a condition to be prevented or treated.”
In layman’s terms, I would say it is like the “crazy” that comes with a UTI but multiplied maybe tenfold. In my experience, it cleared up the minute we got her out of the hospital environment.

Now, as to how the Olympics helped.

There was some controversy going on with the U.S. Swimming Team at the Rio Summer Olympics. Mother was in a rehab facility after the above-mentioned hospitalization and had a roommate who listened to the Olympics all day and night. This ended up burrowing into Mother’s head, and she felt certain the police were coming to arrest her because of some party and the damage that was done. She wanted to know
what my husband thought. I told her he knew nothing about it. I told her it was no big deal and I hadn’t seen any police around, so I was sure she didn’t need to worry.
After about three days, I finally walked out of the room for a little while and went back in and told her I checked with the nurses. They told me the police said they arrested the culprits and didn’t need to talk to her.

That was that. She was satisfied with that answer.

That was the moment when I realized that you need to get into the world of someone with dementia.

We feel so bad “lying” to our parents and loved ones, but we call it “situational fibbing” and, in my opinion, it is 100% acceptable.  Think about it this way-Your loved one wants to go see their parents, who have been dead 20 years.  What do you say?  I always said they were on vacation for a couple of weeks.  Why would you tell them they are dead and keep getting them upset every 15 minutes?   I found out after she passed, when I started volunteering for the Alzheimer’s Association, that this is a key tip. Their reality IS reality. Meet them there. Have fun. I think of it like improv. Just go with what they are experiencing. I found through this that humor was a great way for us to connect. When she had a hard time saying a word, I would just say, “Well, that was easy for YOU to say,” and laugh. She would laugh and say, “Nope, not really.”

What I learned:
* You cannot control the situation.
* Get into their reality.
* Find some “canned” answers for those repetitive questions and use them until they don’t work anymore (a dementia patient will not remember you already told them.)
* Find a communication style that works for you and your loved one. Ours was humor.
* Find resources. There are so many good resources to use. Do not be afraid to ask for help.
* Take care of yourself. It’s like on a plane—put on your oxygen before you help someone else.

As frustrated as you get (you will and it is OK—it is a real emotion), remember that it is ultimately an honor to care for them and these are days and memories you will cherish.