Dementia stole my dad—not all at once, but piece by piece. His memories faded, his words slipped away, and the man I knew slowly disappeared. Yet in his eyes, I still see love. Though the disease changed him, the bond we share remains, stronger than any memory lost💔😢👴
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Dementia stole my dad—not all at once, but piece by heartbreaking piece. It came slowly, like a fog creeping in at dawn, soft and unnoticeable at first. He would forget where he put his glasses or repeat a question he’d just asked. We brushed it off as normal aging. But over time, the changes became too hard to ignore. His stories grew shorter. Names became harder for him to find. Words that once flowed so easily from him began to vanish. And eventually, so did parts of the man I once knew.
The dad who used to teach me how to fix things, who told endless jokes and remembered every birthday, every story from his youth—he began to slip away. His once-bright eyes sometimes looked confused, unsure of where he was or even who I was. Those moments cut deep. They still do. It’s one thing to lose someone to time, another to watch them disappear while still sitting beside you.
And yet, even in the heartbreak, there are glimpses of him—fleeting, but real. A soft smile when I hold his hand. A familiar hum of a song he used to sing. The way he still looks at me sometimes, with eyes full of warmth and something deeper than memory—love.
Though dementia has changed him, stripped away so much of what made him the man he once was, it hasn’t erased our bond. That connection, that love—it’s still there, hidden beneath the confusion, stronger than any memory lost. I hold onto that now, with everything I have. Because even though dementia stole my dad piece by piece, it can never steal the love we built together. 💔😢👴
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