Alzheimer’s Took My Dad, and I’m Worried It Might Claim Me Too

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It all began with small things, like misplacing the car keys—a common occurrence. Soon, my dad was forgetting to take his medication. Then I noticed things like yogurt and milk left out on the counter instead of being stored in the fridge.

As a new mom, I was juggling a lot. I was tired and dealing with my own forgetful moments of parenting. Perhaps that’s why it took me so long to realize what was happening. Or maybe I simply didn’t want to acknowledge it.

When my dad received the diagnosis of Alzheimer’s, I wasn’t shocked. The signs were evident. But the real emotional punch came later.

My sister and I took on the role of caregivers, driving back and forth each day to check on him, often with one baby in tow and eventually two. We were constantly shopping for him and trying to ensure he ate properly. He would heat up meals and forget about them, and he often ate repeatedly because he didn’t remember having just eaten. The situation escalated to the point where he could no longer live independently, and we knew he required constant care. It was a tough decision, but we made the choice to place him in a nursing home. I knew it was for the best.

Yet, every visit brought a fresh wave of heartache. He felt abandoned and would lash out with hurtful comments. I understood it was the disease speaking, not him, but each remark felt like a knife to the heart. My dad was physically present, but the man I once knew was slipping away. That realization was devastating.

My once tall and strong father now appeared frail and diminished. On his better days, glimpses of his humor and sarcasm would shine through. He could see his grandkids, but he no longer recognized them. He wouldn’t remember that his grandson, Lucas, refuses to try anything new, or that the twins, Max and Mia, look just like him.

My children are missing out on the grandpa I grew up with. They only know him as the fragile man who can’t pick them up or play. They’ll never experience his warm hugs or hear him strum his guitar. This disease has stolen not just my dad, but the connection my kids could have had with him. They were robbed.

What terrifies me is that Alzheimer’s is hereditary. My dad comes from a long line of people who suffered from it, and I can’t shake the fear that I might be next.

I find myself forgetting simple things, struggling to recall even the name of an object I’m staring at. Yes, I’m a mom, and I know that forgetfulness is part of the territory. But sometimes, it’s bigger than that. I’ll be talking and suddenly blank on a word, feeling frustrated as I wrestle with my mind. It’s just a cup, Dana. How could you not remember that?

I look at my children and can’t fathom a life where I forget who they are or the little quirks that make them unique. Those memories are my lifelines when the world feels heavy. What would I do without them?

I envision growing old with my husband—traveling, reminiscing, and becoming grandparents. But what if I lose the memory of him, the father of our children? The thought of placing that burden on him is daunting, even though I know he would care for me without hesitation. Just as I do for my dad.

I realize I can’t live my life consumed by these fears. I don’t want to be haunted by what-ifs. But witnessing someone you love fade away is bound to stir those feelings.

I can’t stop Alzheimer’s; there’s no cure. When I visit my dad, I pay attention to every wrinkle on his hands, trying to memorize his face. I do the same with my children, cherishing their laughter and little quirks—storing them away in my heart for the days I need a reminder of the beauty in life.

Despite Alzheimer’s, the love remains. My dad knows I love him, and I feel his love in return, even in silence. I make sure my husband and kids know they mean the world to me. If there ever comes a day when I can’t express it, they’ll have my words: I love you more than you can imagine. You are my life, and every moment with you is a gift.

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In summary, living with the fear of Alzheimer’s while trying to cherish the moments with loved ones is a complicated emotional journey. We can’t control what happens to us, but we can choose to focus on love and memories that last.