Oh dear. We've been doing quite well, until just now. My dad is convinced that "someone" is stealing his sweets. We have assured him that neither I nor mum would eat them (as we both hate them). He doesn;t seem satisfied, and now thinks that "someone" is sneaking in at night to take them. I'm sat on my own in tears, because it's made me realise how bad things are, that dad can believe such absurd things, and make accusations and yet say them as if they are perfectly reasonable. I said the wrong thing I know, saying "how or why would anyone sneak into a locked house at night to take a boiled sweet?" It's so obvious that he just eats them and can't remember doing it. But it;s a measure of his dementia that he believes such a silly "explanation". I guess it just suddenly brought me down to earth with a thump, that awful sick, lurching feeling you get in your stomach, it's like finding someone's cancer tumour has gotten bigger. You know it;s going to happen but that doesn;t make it any easier. It doesn't help that mum confessed to me that he woke her up at 1:30am the other night shouting that he "had to find the thing in the whassname or I will get the sack" and started shouting and swearing about it because she couldn;t understand what he wanted, and pulling open cupboards and drawers. I feel so bad that mum takes all this and I can't help.