Preparing for Life with Dementia

When Baba was first diagnosed with Vascular Dementia, I thought I understood what lay ahead. I had read the books, consulted doctors, and listened carefully to every piece of advice. But nothing, truly nothing, can prepare you for what dementia asks of you.

It is not just a medical condition. It’s a quiet reshaping of your entire life, your patience, your priorities, your heart. It changes how you love, how you communicate, and how you find meaning in the smallest of moments.

Down Memory Lane

The day we received Baba’s diagnosis, our world shifted. My mother, ever the pillar of strength, became his primary caregiver. My brother and I, living miles away, tried to help however we could, with information, coordination, and, most importantly, emotional support.

Our neurologist, Dr. Hrishikesh Kumar, told us something that stayed with me: “There is no cure for dementia, but there is care, and care makes all the difference.”

So, we began building our new routine around care, structured, familiar, and filled with love.

Familiarity became Baba’s comfort. The same chair by the window. The same cup for his morning tea. The same music is playing softly in the background. Consistency brought peace to his world, which was now increasingly unpredictable.

As his condition slowly progressed, we had to think ahead, about safety, nutrition, medication, and emotional well-being. But beyond all the checklists, what truly mattered was presence. Just being there, holding his hand, listening, laughing when he laughed, and forgiving the moments when confusion clouded his words.

Caregiving, I realized, is both an act of service and of surrender. It demands everything, your time, your patience, your heart, and in return, it teaches you a deeper kind of love.

The Storm Within | Behavioral Challenges

By early 2015, Baba’s dementia had entered a more noticeable stage. His behavior became unpredictable, moments of calm suddenly giving way to bursts of frustration or fear.

One day, he misplaced his spectacles and accused everyone of hiding them. Another day, he insisted on going to work, dressed sharply, briefcase in hand, unaware that he had retired years ago. We learned that arguing only made things worse. The truth had to be bent gently to meet his reality

There were times when I felt helpless, even angry at the unfairness of it all. But slowly, I began to understand, these behaviors weren’t deliberate. They were the echoes of a once-sharp mind fighting to make sense of a fading world.

Through trial and error, we discovered what helped:

• Validation over correction. Instead of telling him he was wrong, we met him where he was. “Yes, Baba, your meeting will start soon,” I’d say, helping him settle back down.
• Redirection through warmth. A favorite song or a story from the past often soothed his agitation more effectively than reason ever could
• Patience over logic. Dementia does not live in reason; it lives in emotion.

Caregiving is often described as exhausting, and it is. But it’s also deeply humbling. You begin to realize that love is not only about remembering someone as they were, but about embracing who they are now, in this fragile, altered form.

A Journey to Remember | The African Safari

In December 2015, despite Baba’s mild dementia, we made a decision that surprised many: we took him on a family trip to Africa.

It wasn’t impulsive. It was intentional. We wanted him to experience something joyful, something beyond the hospital visits and the quiet routines. Baba had always been a traveler at heart, and we believed that the thrill of new sights and sounds could awaken his spirit, even if just for a while.

The trip required meticulous planning, from his medication schedule to ensuring accessible lodges and calm surroundings. We prepared for confusion, fatigue, and even agitation. But what we didn’t expect were the moments of pure, unfiltered joy.

When our jeep rolled through the Serengeti, and the golden plains stretched endlessly before us, Baba’s eyes lit up with wonder. He pointed at a herd of elephants and said softly, “Look at them, a family, just like us.”

In that moment, I saw glimpses of the father I had always known, the storyteller, the philosopher, the man who found beauty in everything.

Of course, there were challenges, sudden disorientation, restless nights, and the occasional flare of confusion. But the trip reminded us that dementia doesn’t erase joy. It simply asks us to find it differently.

It taught us that life doesn’t end with a diagnosis. There are still sunsets to admire, songs to sing, laughter to share, and memories to make, even if they fade sooner than we’d like.

Reflections

Those early years taught me how to balance practicality with tenderness. Dementia demanded structure, but it also demanded heart. I learned that routine grounds the mind, but love steadies the soul.

Traveling with Baba, witnessing his fleeting moments of joy amid decline, showed me that care isn’t just about prolonging life; it’s about preserving meaning.

As caregivers, we walk a tightrope between heartbreak and hope. Some days, we stumble. But then, there are days, like that one under the vast African sky, when everything feels possible again

Even as Baba’s world grew smaller, he continued to teach me the biggest lessons: To slow down. To listen. To love without condition.

And above all, to hold on gently, even as the memory fades.