10 Things People with Dementia Want to Tell Their Loved Ones—But Can’t

Written by Nguyenjessica 

Published on June 4 2025

Have you ever spoken to a loved one with dementia, only to be met with silence or a distant stare? It can feel like they’re no longer the person you once knew. But behind that quiet gaze, there’s a voice waiting to be heard. Dementia, especially Alzheimer’s, doesn’t just take away memory. 

 

It changes how they see and feel the world. In this article, we’ll take a gentle walk into their inner world and uncover the words they wish they could say. Keep reading—you might just reconnect in a whole new way.

Key Points

People with dementia still have emotions and thoughts—they just find it hard to express them.

 

Their actions may seem odd but aren't intentional—they need understanding and respect.

 

Patience and real companionship matter more than saying the right thing; love and connection remain.

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Table of content

Please respect that I’m still an adult

I’m not deaf, please talk to me normally

Don’t assume I’m always wrong

I get bored too

Losing memory is scary

I didn’t mean to forget your name

Getting dementia is not entirely my fault

Your sincere presence is enough

I’m not trying to be difficult

I still need you

Please respect that I’m still an adult

I used to have a full life.
I had a job, a family, and things I cared about. Maybe I was even really good at what I did.

 

That hasn’t all disappeared just because I have dementia.
Please don’t talk down to me.


I’m still me.

Talk to me with respect.


Treat me like an adult, like an equal.
Because I still feel, think, and want to be heard.

I’m not deaf, please talk to me normally

I don’t have trouble hearing.
So please, there’s no need to raise your voice.

 

What helps more is finding a quiet space.
Somewhere we can talk face to face.


That way, I can focus on what you’re saying without all the noise.

Don’t assume I’m always wrong

When I say something bothers me, or I bring up an old memory,
please don’t brush it off too quickly.
Just because I forget some things doesn’t mean I’m always wrong.

 

Sometimes, what I say still holds truth.
Please trust me—give me the benefit of the doubt.
It means a lot.

I get bored too

Sometimes I take longer to process things,
so it might look like I’m spacing out.
But that doesn’t mean I’ve lost interest in life.

 

I still want to do things—things that matter to me.
Listening to music, looking through old photos,
or playing simple games can make my day feel brighter.

 

These moments keep me connected,
and they give my life meaning.

Losing memory is scary

It’s scary to forget things,
especially when I know my memory is slowly fading.
That kind of loss isn’t easy to face.

 

But doing things that challenge my brain—like crossword puzzles or jigsaw puzzles—really helps.


They keep my mind activeand give me a sense of control.

Even small efforts make me feel safer and more steady.

I didn’t mean to forget your name

In the beginning, I might forget your name.
Later, I may not remember big, important moments.
But please know—I'm not doing this on purpose.

 

I still care.
This isn’t about feelings.
It’s the illness, slowly changing how my memory works.

 

Please don’t take it personally.
It’s not you.
It’s the disease.

Getting dementia is not entirely my fault

I didn’t get dementia because I did something wrong.
Yes, living healthy helps.
But so much of this is out of my hands.

 

Things like genetics play a big role—and I can’t change that.
Over half the risk comes from factors I never chose.

 

So please, don’t blame me.
This isn’t my fault

Your sincere presence is enough

You don’t always need the right words.
Just being with me means more than you think.

 

A gentle look, a warm smile,
or holding my hand—those things speak louder than words sometimes.

 

Your presence brings comfort.
And that alone makes a big difference.

I’m not trying to be difficult

When I act out or seem irrational, it’s not because I’m trying to annoy you. 

Often, there’s a reason behind my behavior—it could be physical discomfort, stress, or changes in my surroundings.

 

Try to imagine this: you’re rushing to catch a train and suddenly realize you can’t find your ID.

You start tearing the place apart and maybe even yell at a family member for moving your things.

That sense of panic? I live with that almost every day.

I still need you

Even though the illness has changed our relationship, it hasn’t broken the emotional bond between us.

Please keep spending time with me—talking, walking, or doing things I enjoy. 

 

No matter what the future brings, I want to keep feeling your love and support.

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