Kind Ways to Respond When a Person With Dementia Forgets Someone Has Died

[NurseJackie]

This has been discussed here before... and I recently found an interesting article that might be helpful to others. It's pretty obvious that there's not one perfect solution and that every family must carefully consider what works best for them, and for their loved one.

In the case of my sister we've decided to gloss-over the deaths of loved ones that she remembers and is asking about. We'll say things like "Oh, I haven't heard from Aunt Clara in a long time, I imagine she'd doing okay." or "I'll let her know you asked about her." (Things like that.) It satisfies her at the moment, and then she's forgotten about it all over again.

Alzheimer's is insidious. I hate what it's doing to my sister and to our family... but we try to stay strong and positive. (Her memory care facility is in lockdown... no visitors... because of COVID. We get updates twice a week and the facility is covid-free!)


https://thewomensalzheimersmovement.org/surviving-alzheimers-paula-spencer-scott/

Kind Ways to Respond When a Person With Dementia Forgets Someone Has Died

[... (snipped several paragraphs with background info and examples)...]

TRY this:

•  Gently orient the person when he brings it up: “Dad, Mom died two days ago.” “I’m sorry, Joan was killed in a car crash in 1988.”
• Expect to hear an expression of grief or crying. These are normal human responses. There’s no harm in them; they’re not going to make the Alzheimer’s any better or worse. Respond to a fresh rekindling of grief with the same empathy and love as you would for a new grief.
• Brace yourself for no response. Some people, reminded of a death, say things like, “Oh.” Or, “I sure do miss her” and then leave it at that. Or they may say nothing. Don’t misconstrue these responses to mean that they didn’t love the person. The response given may be all he’s capable of right now. It’s okay.
• Turn the fact of the death into an opportunity for fond reminiscing: “Wasn’t she the sweetest person ever?” “I’ll always miss her piano playing. I remember the time she gave that concert at the school….”
• Don’t make a big deal about insisting the person absorb the reality. There’s no need to drive him to a cemetery to “prove” the death or show an obituary, for example. Logic is ineffective. Some people will ask follow-up questions, and others will be accepting and not talk about it further.
• Consider distraction in some situations. That might be kindest if, for example, the person becomes fixated on contacting some long-gone relative or wants to buy things for her and can’t seem to process the reality of a death.

Ultimately, decide what’s best in your particular case. Some families find it easier to tell a little white lie when the questioning is persistent or the person becomes quite agitated every time the topic comes up. It’s possible to gloss over the fact, especially as dementia advances. When one woman kept asking about her long-dead husband, her daughter and son would put her off by saying, “He’s running late.” Or, “He’s still on that trip to China” (where their dad in fact once traveled for business). Such comments would pacify her in the moment, and then she’d forget about it. This is a less-good strategy, of course, if your loved one fixates on this falsehood and waits around all day in disappointment.

Should You Inform Someone With Dementia About a Death?

Families often also wonder whether to inform someone with dementia of the death of a loved one in the first place. The rationale people give for not saying anything is usually to avoid causing unnecessary distress. Some caregivers say they avoid sharing sad news because they don’t want to be asked about it (and have to talk about it or revisit their own grief) over and over.

Most dementia experts agree, though, that the better approach is to be candid. Everyone has a right to know this information, regardless of mental state.

Yes, he or she may have a strong emotional reaction. That’s okay. Seeing a household grieving without being told why is also something the person can pick up on and become distressed by. In a nutshell, it’s almost always better to know — even if the information is quickly forgotten.

Geri Hall, a wonderful memory-care expert and nurse who has worked at the University of Iowa and the Banner Alzheimer’s Institute in Arizona, offers some good advice:

• Tell the person at a time of day that tends to be best for him. Morning? After a meal?
• Make sure the place is free of distractions — TV and radio off, no crowds around.
• It’s okay to show emotion yourself. Take the person’s hand.
• Establish the context: “I have some sad news about your brother Jack.” Don’t make it like a quiz: “Do you remember Jack?” But help make clear whom you’re talking about.
• Don’t be surprised if the person with Alzheimer’s reacts by trying to comfort you. It’s a long-ingrained response. Some people, depending on their faith, culture, and personal mobility, welcome attending a funeral.

“Think about it,” Hall says. “If it were you who had dementia, wouldn’t you want to know if your loved one had passed?”

[3Hotdogs]

1. I think the suggestion in the 2nd paragraph of the opening post is the best.

By reminding a person that XXX died, we are hoping to restore their cognitive ability. Unfortunately, this is not the result of reminding them of a loved one's death. Instead, distress is the result.

It is cruel.

[Jarqui]

2. We went through a horrible period with my mother's Alzheimer's

She couldn't remember my father had passed and pressed to find out about him every day - reliving the grief of losing him many times over a period of months. We tried everything to overcome that - avoiding it/changing the topic, lying/making excuses, etc. That was unbelievable suffering that she lacked the mental capacity to deal with when confronted with the inconsolable grief. A horror.

Incredibly, there was some upside - it wasn't 100% bad.

One night, I was staying with her in the hospital. Just sitting on her bed to keep her company. The lights were out so she'd hopefully, go to sleep. The person she was closest to ever aside from my father was her older brother. He'd passed away from cancer 30+ years before. My mother and I didn't get along that well and we were not close but I was most like her brother - I liked to lightly tease, joke around and not take things too seriously. In the dark that night, she thought I was her dear deceased brother. I did not have the heart to tell her he was dead and put her through more grief. So I shut up and went along with it. We talked for hours. It was the nicest conversation I ever had with her - by far.

My mother had had a tough childhood. Her mother died of cancer when she was eight leaving her to nurse her father until she was 15 when he died. He was bitter and nasty and would beat her with his cane. His body was broken from war wounds (badly broken back). He wheezed to death from the gassing in the trenches during WW1. From that, she was always nervous/anxious. She couldn't relax. Always uptight and could lash out. Alzheimer's eventually reduced her to a child-like state and all the anxiety went away. Sadly but maybe gratefully, I would describe those carefree years as some of her happiest because all the crap that had happened to her was out of her life and she was delighted to live in the moment.

Alzheimer's is a terrible disease but we did find a way to have some good moments.

[Kitchari]

3. A book called Contented Dementia sums it up well

It's the tack I took with my late mother. Distract, don't upset her, take everything lightly. If she asked "Where is Joe?" and Joe was dead, but she forgot, we would say something like, "Oh, who knows," and gently brush it aside, with kindness and respect. Two seconds later, she wouldn't remember the question or the answer. She was in the moment. We were in the moment. The important thing is to be kind in the moment.

[Ilsa]

4. I refuse to give my MIL with dementia any bad news.

She gets crazy and starts treating me like shit. Her son, my husband, can do it.

[luvs2sing]

5. We had a tough time with this with my MIL for a while.

FIL died in 2008, and MIL had pretty severe dementia by 2012, when SIL, her daughter and caregiver, died unexpectedly. She was aware what was going on at the funeral but within a few months would ask where her daughter was or where her husband was. Hubster and I would simply say they were together.

“I don’t know why Suzi isn’t here yet. Where is she?”
“She’s doing something with Dad. I think she’s stopping by later.”

We said it in such a way that it sounded like they could be out getting bagels. A few times reality would break through, and she would seem to remember they were both dead, but she didn’t get terribly upset. She would just sigh and say, “Oh, I know..”