The Paradox of Dementia
There’s a moment in every caregiver’s journey when you realize that memory isn’t just about remembering facts, it’s about holding on to connection. When my father’s dementia reached the stage where short-term memories began slipping away, I found myself asking a question that haunted me: How does the mind forget what just happened, yet hold on so dearly to the past?
Baba could no longer remember what he had for breakfast or whether the caregiver had just visited his room. But he could recall, in vivid detail, stories from his childhood in Barishal, the scent of mango orchards, the golden fields, the boat rides down the river. His eyes would light up as he described the home he had lost during Partition, every color, every sound, every face perfectly intact in his memory
It was in those moments that I began to truly understand the strange and beautiful paradox of dementia, how the past endures even as the present slips away.
The Memory Divide
Our neurologist once explained that dementia often spares long-term memory longer than short-term memory because older memories are deeply embedded in neural pathways built over decades. They are tied to emotion, repetition, and identity, the things that shape who we are. Short-term memory, on the other hand, is fragile, like footprints in sand that the tide quickly washes away.
In Baba’s case, this divide created a world that existed in fragments. He could recognize the faces in old photographs but struggled to place the names of those standing right before him. Sometimes, he would call me by my childhood nickname or mistake me for my mother when she was young. These moments were bittersweet, painful, yet strangely comforting. Because in them, he was still reaching for love, still tethered to a part of his life that had not faded.
The Power of Emotional Memory
What dementia taught me is that the heart remembers long after the mind begins to falter. Even when Baba forgot my name, he still knew I belonged to him. His smile, his touch, the way his fingers instinctively reached for mine, those were the languages of memory that needed no words.
Music, especially, became our bridge. When words failed, songs carried us across the divide. Old Bengali tunes from his youth could calm his agitation within minutes. He might not remember the lyrics, but he would hum along, eyes closed, transported to another time. In those moments, I realized that while dementia can erase details, it can never erase the emotions attached to them.
Creating a Memory-Supportive World
As caregivers, we often focus on helping our loved ones remember. But sometimes, the most compassionate thing we can do is help them feel safe within what they still remember.
We began transforming Baba’s surroundings into what we called a “memory-safe space.”
- Familiar photographs lined the walls
- His favorite chair sat by the window where the morning light fell just right.
- Old scents, sandalwood, fresh jasmine, filled the air.
- And soft music played, wrapping him in a cocoon of comfort and familiarity.
Even as his short-term memory faded, these sensory cues anchored him. They reminded him, on a level beyond words, that he was home, that he was loved.
From the Journey
Living through the loss of memory is like walking through a fog, sometimes thick, sometimes fleeting. But if you pay attention, you’ll find that light still filters through.
I learned to stop correcting Baba when he forgot. Instead, I entered his world. If he thought it was 1960, then for that moment, so did I. Arguing only caused confusion, but empathy restored peace. Dementia care, I came to realize, is not about forcing reality; it’s about meeting your loved one where they are, even if that place exists only in memory.
Reflections
Watching Baba’s memories fade was one of the hardest things I’ve ever experienced. But it also taught me one of life’s greatest truths: that love does not live in memory, it lives in presence.
Even when he could no longer recall names or places, he could still sense love, kindness, and connection. His eyes softened when he heard my voice. His hand tightened around mine when I said, “Baba, I’m here.”
That was enough
So, to every caregiver walking this path, remember that your loved one’s mind may forget the details, but their heart still recognizes love. Keep showing up. Keep holding their hand. Keep creating moments that matter, even if they vanish in minutes.
