Wendy’s Warriors

Alzheimer’s - When our lives changed suddenly, we had to learn again, together

Mum’s diagnosis with Alzheimer’s in 2024 at the age of 69 landed heavily. I don’t think any of us were prepared for what would follow. You hear about dementia as a gradual decline, a slow slipping away. But Mum’s wasn’t like that. There was no gentle slope. Instead, there was a steep cliff. 

It seemed to happen so suddenly, without any warning. Conversations became tangled and fragmented. Words started disappearing. She would pause mid-thought, searching, frustrated, as if the language she’d known her entire life had suddenly been locked behind a door she couldn’t open.

And then, just as quickly, even that faded.

Now, Mum has lost the ability to communicate verbally. 

There are moments when I look into her eyes and try to find her, the woman who raised me, who knew exactly what to say in every situation, who filled rooms with her warmth, laughter and certainty. Sometimes I think I catch a glimpse of her, like a reflection in water. But it’s fleeting.

Her mobility has declined rapidly. Walking, something so ordinary, has become difficult, uncertain. Each step looks like it requires thought, effort, concentration. The body seems to be following the mind’s lead, slowing, faltering. 

Daily tasks such as showering, toileting, eating, drinking, moving from bed to a chair. Mum needs more than just assistance with these. Her life depends on us as her family, but mostly on our ‘Earth Angel’ Dad, Alan, who has suddenly been thrusted into his toughest job yet becoming her full time carer at home.

What’s been hardest, in a different way, is how unprepared we were. Not just emotionally, but practically. There’s so much about dementia that people don’t talk about. The speed at which it can happen. The unpredictability. The way someone can mask it so convincingly that by the time you realise what’s happening, you’re already in the middle of it.

The support feels thin, scattered. You’re handed pamphlets, given clinical explanations, but no one really tells you how to cope with the day-to-day reality. How to grieve someone who is still alive. How to communicate when words are gone. How to navigate the exhaustion, the guilt, the helplessness.

There’s a quiet loneliness in it.

I find myself wishing there was more awareness. Not just of Alzheimer’s as a condition, but of what it actually looks like inside a family. How quickly life can change. How disorienting it is when there’s no clear roadmap, no steady progression to follow.

If anything, Mum’s story has taught me that dementia doesn’t always follow the narrative we expect. Sometimes it doesn’t give you time to adjust. Sometimes it doesn’t unfold gently.

Sometimes, it just drops away beneath your feet.

And you’re left learning how to stand again, in a world that suddenly feels unfamiliar, trying to hold onto love in whatever form it can still take.

We're doing the Brisbane Memory Walk & Jog to raise funds for the 433,300 Australian's living with dementia.

On Sunday, 14 June, we’ll be joining the Brisbane Memory Walk & Jog to show our love and help Dementia Australia.

And we need your support! 

Did you know that 1.7 million carers, family members and friends are involved in the care of someone living with dementia in Australia. That's why we're hoping to raise as much money as possible. We'll be walking, jogging, and running to stop dementia in its tracks. 

We'd love you to join us on the day, but if you can't, a generous donation will help provide vital services like counselling, support groups, education, and research to find a cure.

Together we can achieve a lot. That's why your donation will mean the world to us. 

We're all grateful for any amount you can give.