Kelley Irwin

One day in Nov 2022, it took us an hour to get out the door for a walk. We were mere days away from a formal medical diagnosis of dementia.

Mom was cleaning up after breakfast and I was helping Dad get his shoes and jacket. He had been moving slowly and requiring assistance with verbal cues for a few months. We attributed it to side effects from his pneumonia and other recent infections and the medicines he was taking. Even when the illness may be obvious to the outside observer, it is challenging to accept the magnitude of changes to your loved one for the people on the inside.

Dad asked if he should put his shoes on for our walk. He asked me where his shoes were. He came back in the room and showed me his shoes and asked if they were the right ones to wear. He asked again where we were going. He put on one shoe and tied it up without pause. He then asked me what he was supposed to be doing. I was gentle with my answers to each question and encouraging as he made progress. He started to put on the second shoe and became confused how to tie it. At this point, I helped as I could sense his #frustration. He asked again where we were going.

He asked what to do next and I suggested he get his jacket. He walked to the door of the room, stood in the doorway, and looked left and right. It was clear he wasn’t sure which way to go to find the coat closet. From this doorway, he can see three other doors – coat closet, laundry room, and bathroom. I said softly “Go to the left Dad”. He looked back at me and smiled. This is a house my parents have lived in for years and the coat closet is six steps from where he is standing.

He opened the closet, selected a vest, and easily put it on without help. He came back in the room and asked me what I thought. I replied “You look perfect”, and called out to Mom to let her know we were ready. Dad asked again where we were going.

Dementia symptoms are easier to see in the rear view mirror. I didn’t know.

 (Photo of Mom and Dad once we got out for the walk)