by We got different seats on different coaches on the train. I was in coach 11, and my mom and her caregiver were on 7. Once everyone settled in and the big metallic snake started slithering past fading coconut trees, I walked to the back coaches to look for them and see how they were doing. It wasn’t their first train ride, but I’m the last born, my mother’s baby. I always want my mother.
I jumped over long legs extended on the highway, the loud crew on coach 9 who didn’t care that some people wanted some quiet, and ducked away from babies running on the isle until I saw mama and Wanja.
“Hey!” I shouted excitedly.
Mama stared at me for a few seconds. She was looking at me, but not looking at me. It’s like she was trying to place me like she had seen me somewhere but couldn’t remember if I was her classmate from college in 1974 or her neighbor’s kid who never comes home unless someone died.I called her, “Mom!”
Her eyes slowly brightened and her face relaxed into a smile as she finally figured out who it was. Her last-born daughter. We chatted a little and I went back to my coach, but without the spring in my steps. I sank onto the blue, right-angled seat of the SGR train and let reality sink in for a second: My Mom was beginning to forget me.
Today, my Mama doesn’t know me. I may as well be the girl from Kakamega who got married to her neighbor’s grandson. She looks at me the way you’d look at a three-legged puppy wearing a clown suit. Bewilderment.
Nothing prepares you for the day your mama looks you in the face and doesn’t see you, but sees a stranger. It rips your heart out of your chest.
My mom has Alzheimer’s. It was a white man’s disease until it knocked on our doors and refused to leave. Now, she knows she has daughters named Mercy, Lillian, and Carol. But she chases me away if I try to tell her that that Mercy is me.
Dementia is brutal. People start treating your loved one like they’ve gone crazy. Some people have said to my face that she’s mad, she has lost it. Some people stop visiting her because she no longer knows them. The best thing that happened to my Mom is her caregiver, she’s an angel walking this earth.
She’s not mad. She’s still my mama, she just got her brain formatted and all information erased. No one told me that one of the hardest parts of growing up is seeing your parents grow old. Dementia takes them away from you before they’re actually gone.
Coping with a parent who has Alzheimer’s is like grieving someone who is still alive. You hold onto every lucid moment, knowing it might be the last. It’s a heartbreaking journey, but you don’t have to walk it alone. My sisters and I are doing everything we can to keep our mother comfortable, even from miles away. Through faith, love, and perseverance, we find the strength to keep going.
Here are five ways to cope when your parent has Alzheimer’s.
1. Educate Yourself About Alzheimer’s Understanding Alzheimer’s is the first step in coping. At first, I thought my mom was just being forgetful—misplacing things, struggling with dates. But as the disease progressed, I realized it was much more than that. Learning about the stages of Alzheimer’s helped me adjust my expectations and understand that her confusion wasn’t a rejection, just a cruel trick her mind was playing on her.
The more you know, the better you can prepare yourself emotionally. Read books, talk to doctors, and join support groups. Knowing that certain behaviors, like forgetting names or getting agitated, are part of the disease will help you respond with patience rather than frustration. It doesn’t make it easier, but it helps you process what’s happening with a little more grace. Lean on God’s wisdom, as Proverbs 4:7 says, “Wisdom is the principal thing; therefore get wisdom: and with all thy getting get understanding.”
2. Establish a Routine
Alzheimer’s thrives in confusion, so the best thing you can do is create a sense of stability. My mom used to love taking medicine; she never missed a pill. But now, no matter how sick she gets, she refuses to take them. I’ve learned that routines provide her with a sense of security, so we gently remind her at the same time every day, making it feel like part of the rhythm of her life rather than something being imposed on her.
Try to keep daily activities as predictable as possible. Meals, bath time, and even conversations should follow a gentle rhythm. It won’t stop the disease, but it will provide your parent with a small island of familiarity in a sea of confusion. And on the hard days, when nothing makes sense, the simple act of holding their hand can bring comfort beyond words. In those moments, remember Psalm 46:1: “God is our refuge and strength, a very present help in trouble.”
3. Find Support and Seek Help
Caring for a parent with Alzheimer’s can feel isolating, like you’re carrying a heavy weight alone. But the truth is, I never thought I could do it alone. My sisters and I have been walking this journey together, each of us doing what we can to keep our mom comfortable, even when we are far apart. Having people to share the responsibility makes all the difference.If you have siblings or close family, lean on them. If you can afford a professional caregiver, don’t hesitate to seek help. And most importantly, find a community of people who understand. An online support group or a close friend who listens without judgment makes a world of difference. Even Moses needed Aaron and Hur to hold up his arms in battle (Exodus 17:12). You are not meant to carry this alone.
4. Focus on Connection, Not Correction
One of the hardest things to accept is that logic doesn’t work anymore. I used to try to remind my mom who I was, correct her when she got dates wrong, or tell her that the people she was asking for had passed away. But I learned that correction only led to frustration—for both of us. She didn’t need me to fix her reality; she needed me to be present in it.
Instead of arguing, I started embracing the moments we had. If she called me by my sister’s name, I didn’t correct her—I just loved her. If she thought we were back in the 1980s, I played along and let her tell me stories about a past that felt real to her. And in those moments, I realized that love doesn’t need memory to exist. “Above all, love each other deeply, because love covers over a multitude of sins” (1 Peter 4:8).
5. Take Care of Yourself and Reflect on Mortality
This journey has made me think deeply about mortality and how life changes in ways we never anticipate. Watching my mom struggle with Alzheimer’s has made my prayers more focused, as I dread experiencing the same fate. It reminds me that life is fragile, and the only true security lies in God.
Caring for a parent with Alzheimer’s is like loving someone through a one-way mirror. Even if they don’t remember your name, the love you show them is eternal, and in God’s eyes, it is never forgotten.
