As my mom’s dementia progressed, at times she was not interested in interacting with me or other family members she had known for years. I knew it was the disease – she was losing her grip on who we were and was easily confused and unfocused - but feeling dismissed was still hard.

It was particularly hurtful when I saw it happen to my daughter. Especially when Alicia was younger, she desperately wanted the attention of her Nana. But many times, Mom would remain hyper-fixated on Dad, and would hang on every word of his conversation with my husband or me while Alicia was trying to show her artwork or tell her something. I recognized this came from a place of fear. As Mom lost hold on things, Dad was her anchor. But I have to admit it made me so sad to see her sometimes push away that connection with her granddaughter.

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When we moved Mom into memory care, sometimes this phenomenon moved to a whole other level, as she made friends and attachments among the residents. More than once I arrived and Mom would be into the folks sitting with her and was not interested in interacting with me.

I could’ve thought with indignation, “I’ve driven an hour and a half and gotten off work to be here.” But I just did not ever think that way. I looked at each trip as at time I got to lay eyes on my mom. I got to see the staff, and they saw me both caring and paying attention. Each visit was symbolic for me as well. I was consciously making time in my life to be with my mom. Always at the back of my mind was the thought that her time on this earth was limited. So, I cherished every moment with her, being in her physical presence.

One night’s visit was particularly difficult.

When I attended the monthly Caregiver Support Group meetings at Mom’s facility, I would arrive early and pop in to see Mom before the meeting. One evening when I arrived, Mom and several fellow residents were in the common area watching Andy Griffith. I greeted her and pulled up a chair next to her; she was seated on a sofa with a resident. They engaged with each other quite a bit, but Mom largely ignored me. If I commented, she vacillated between distractedly acknowledging me or dismissing me. Being honest, it hurt my feelings. But I eventually just sat back and satisfied myself with being in her presence, taking solace in the fact she was connecting with her new friends.

The wife and daughter of another resident had dropped by for a pre-support group visit to their loved one, too. We 3 said our farewells about the same time and walked to our meeting room together.  The wife said to me, “That’s hard, isn’t it?” The pair acknowledged how difficult it is to be ignored, to see our loved ones attaching to strangers over us.

Their kindness salved my heart, having someone else acknowledge and understand. I felt seen by those fellow travelers. And it helped. A lot.

When Mom was distracted or ignoring me, sometimes I continued trying to interact with her. Sometimes I gave up, knowing I only had so much control. And when it felt particularly hard, I remembered I was not alone.

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