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I don't think he knows who I am any more


Registered User
Nov 23, 2011
I knew it was coming, of course. My dad is now in the later stages of dementia. He no longer speaks and has become quite slow and old-looking. He still smiles, but the obvious recognition of "she's my visitor" wasn't really there today. Last month if I said "I love you dad " he'd say "love you", but not today. When I was leaving, a member of staff asked if I thought he still knew me, and I don't.

I read the other thread about how to cope with the emotional crash / upset after visiting. I am wondering if counseling would be useful.
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Registered User
Jul 20, 2011
I'm so sorry xxxxxxxxxxxxxxx I believe that people still recognise voices not necessarily to name someone but to know the love and the emotion that the voice brings. They know kindness and caring and love and so he may not be able to recognise you in the way that society understands it but I believe you can be sure that he KNOWS you and your your love and your care and that he will know that until the day that he finds peace and rest xxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxx This disease is so cruel xx


Registered User
Jun 11, 2012
i know how hard it is but I'm sure he knows you are someone he loves and someone who makes him feel safe.
When I used to visit my dad I would always go in and say "hello dad" in a loud voice and he always looked up.

I am just starting to go through the same thing with my mum. She just phoned me at gone midnight looking for me but didn't recognise my voice or who I was.
We all hate dementia, we just have to pray to god they find a way to stop it or cure it soon so our own children do not have to suffer this awful pain.

Keep strong and sending you a hug. X


Registered User
Jan 20, 2014
eastern USA
Most days, when I first arrive in her room and go near her, my mother does not recognize me. She has lived with us since 2008. One morning I went in, and she gave me a huge, huge smile and said to me, "I know who you are!" I said, "O that's wonderful. Who am I?" And she smiled more and said, "I had four daughters." She couldn't remember my name, but she knew I was her daughter.

I can't imagine what it might be like to be in her condition, wondering who all these people are and why they fuss so much.

Now, if I'm lucky, when I say "I love you, Mom," *if* she replies, she says "Uh-huh."

You're not alone. This part's hard, to be sure.