They called me “dramatic” for protecting my father from dementia… until the day he forgot their names but remembered the daughter who never gave up on him. Sometimes love is remembered long after memory is gone.
I barely remember the drive to the nursing home. Every red light felt like an hour, and every terrible possibility raced through my mind. Had he fallen? Had he wandered …
They called me “dramatic” for protecting my father from dementia… until the day he forgot their names but remembered the daughter who never gave up on him. Sometimes love is remembered long after memory is gone. Read More