Facing My Father’s Decline: Lessons in Love, Loss, and Letting Go

This past weekend, I had the difficult privilege of watching my dad age significantly—almost visibly, almost all at once.

He was diagnosed with Lewy Body Dementia about 18 months ago. It’s a particularly cruel, terminal form of dementia that slowly strips away memory, physical coordination, and personality. For a while, we felt like we were managing it. Things seemed stable.

But then it happened.The decline accelerated.

About six months ago, my dad began falling more frequently. His cognitive ability slowed. He grew fearful of doing even his favorite activities, worried he’d become confused or disoriented. Then he fell again—this time badly. He wasn’t found for quite some time, and the fall led to rhabdomyolysis and acute kidney injury. That incident caused an even more rapid cognitive deterioration.

I had already been working for months to get him placed in a memory care unit. But, as many families dealing with aging parents know, the system moves painfully slow. Navigating insurance, physician recommendations, facility applications—it was exhausting and discouraging. It took this traumatic fall to finally get him into the safe environment he now desperately needed.

And still, the heartbreak remained: I watched my father go from a capable, independent man to someone completely dependent on others in the span of a single weekend. That kind of transformation is never easy to witness.

My relationship with my dad has always been complicated. We’ve only had a good relationship for maybe the last 12 or 13 years. He struggled with drug addiction throughout my childhood and was mostly absent. When he finally became stable and reentered my life, I resisted. Then he had another son right as I graduated high school, which strained things even more.

It wasn’t until I turned 29 that I found the strength to let go of the past and truly forgive him. Since then, our relationship has grown strong. He’s shown up. He’s been present. He’s mattered.

But watching his deterioration has been harder than I could have imagined. I never thought I’d find myself in this position, but here we are—life has a way of surprising us.

The facility he’s in is wonderful. We talk on the phone every day now. I live six hours away, so regular visits are tough, but we stay connected. He seems happy, although diminished. When he’s lucid, he tries to put on a brave face and make the most of the moment.

But our conversations have taken a heartbreaking turn. My dad is still aware enough to know what’s happening—to understand both the mental decline and what lies ahead. He has a front-row seat to his own fading mind. And that’s something no one should have to endure.

So I’ve made it my mission to make his remaining time as peaceful and meaningful as possible. I want to ease the fear. I want to be present. I want to carry the weight of this moment with him, not for him.

At times, I still struggle with the feeling that I’m letting him down. That I’m not doing enough. But the truth is, dementia is cruel—it doesn’t just take your loved one once. It takes them piece by piece, again and again.

If you're reading this and you're caring for an aging parent—or watching someone you love slowly slip away—please know this:

You’re doing alright.Keep showing up.Keep doing your best.Put on that brave face, even when you don’t feel brave.

Face the moment with all the strength you can muster.

And know this: it will be okay in the end.