Talking To Dementia Part 1

My sister (sitting down in front of my Dad, making eye contact with him): "Hello, Papa."

Dad: "Hello."

Sister: "I brought someone with me." - "Synthia is here."

Sister is moving so I can sit down in front of Dad. I take his hand, make eye contact with him and say: "Hello, Papa. I'm here."

Dad, staring at me, then turning to my sister: "It doesn't look like Synthia."

Pause. Dad looking at me again. 

Me: "I changed my hair, Papa. Do you recognize my voice?"

Silence. Dad staring at me, pulling his hand out of mine. 

I move from the chair to let my daughter sit down in front of her Opa. They make eye contact and I say: "Naomi is here, too, Papa. Do you recognize her?"

Naomi: "Hello, Opa!"

Silence. Staring.

Me: "Remember we call her Putchenut?" (Pʊt-tʃə-nʊt)

Dad: "Well, if you say it THAT way, then I know."

His first whole sentence in a while. He doesn't finish sentences anymore. Only very rarely.

The smile on my daughter's face - priceless. 

She moves to give room to my husband.

I say: "Sieghart is here as well."

Sieg: "Hello, Papa."

Dad: "Hello." 

Me: "It's Sieg. - Sieghart."

Dad: "Mhm."

Staring. Wondering. Scratching his head. Too many people in the room, perhaps.

We move back a little to give Dad some space.

At this point we're not sure if he recognized me or not. I hoped and prayed. I was told he most likely would not recognize me anymore. At the time it didn't matter. I still knew who he was. He was my Papa.