The great challenge is in neither accepting nor denying what is a fact. This sounds trite, but the reality lies in the very essence of that being a pure reality. The person has gone. Yet all the associations which make up what the person was - mother, friend, advocate, soul mate , human being - linger very heavily in both heart and mind and therefore act upon the "reality" by way of denial. I wish someone was still here, still here to talk to, to be with, to continue as before. This is what differentiates us from other living things, that ability to convey feelings of loss and to grieve, to experience the pain of such. And then we are told that "time is a great healer" and sometime hence, the pain will subside and life is restored to "normality " once again. But the instant that a loved one, say a mother, dies, that is precisely what takes place, at that moment in time. Not a time before nor a time afterwards. But then and only then as it occurs. That can never change nor be changed, not even by "time" nor the passage of time. So memory makes continuity of the association and all that has gone before, which in itself perpetuates the sense of loss. One sees this in oneself once the initial period of loss passes. My own mother died just weeks away from her 100th birthday. Her journey through Alzheimer's and vascular dementia was comparatively short, yet at times, traumatic and certainly extremely challenging. The intensity of "care" during the latter period drew upon reserves which one did not realise existed in a human body or mind. A one-to-one relationship, I.e. son and mother, becomes something quite different once dementia intervenes. Then you become the 'parent ' incarnate, the carer, the protector, the nurse - at the same time you remain in fact the son and you cannot change that. Then, when the regime of care - food preparation, dressing, bedding protection, medication, hospital appointments, comforting, monitoring etc etc - when that becomes subject to confusion and anxiety or open aggression throughout a day and a night, every day and every night, week after week, month after month..... then you realise that dementia is much, much more than just a condition. It is a life sentence, albeit often a very short life sentence. Much more can be said. But those who have trodden this path will understand why this journey of care and all it entails, changes lives. Certainly the one living with this disease - but without question certainly the one caring, caring as a son, daughter or wife or husband or wherever "attachment " and love is profoundly in place. And once that loved one dies all that this caring has entailed, with the angst, the tears, the moments of genuine despair and the moments of respite, laughter, lucidity and profound humanity - this dies too, in an instant. The hollow reality dawns and disarms you emotionally and physically by way of actual heartache. This is the way of dementia without elaborating nor pretence nor any need to authenticate, because one lived it. My own story will be alike many, many others. All real and all as poignant and relevant as the next. We are not scoring points. We are way beyond any of that. And so in recounting our own journeys through dementia care, we communicate by default and without any need to interpret. Like a mirror up to nature, we can understand and we can empathise and know we are never really alone in all of this. And perhaps we are then able to accept the loss or passing of the one so dear to us, as not just factual or irreversible, but a blessing in disguise. Because they no longer suffer in any way and that can only be good. Very good.