A poem about dementia
Sometimes grown-ups lose their way,
They forget what happened yesterday.
They may not smile the way they did,
Or call your name, dear little kid.
Their brain, you see, is feeling tired—
Like a lamp that’s lost its fire.
It’s something called dementia, friend,
And it’s a road that twists and bends.
Not just for grandmas, old and gray,
It can come early, steal their day.
So even though they still look young,
Their thoughts might scatter, come undone.
They may repeat the things they say,
Or forget we played a game today.
They may get lost in their own home,
Or feel afraid when left alone.
But deep inside, they still love you—
That never fades, that part stays true.
You help them just by being near,
By holding hands and staying clear.
It’s okay to feel a little sad,
To miss the times you always had.
But love is something you won’t lose—
It’s in your hugs, your voice, your shoes.
So if they pause or seem unsure,
Just be patient, kind, and pure.
Sometimes grown-ups just forget—
But your love helps them not regret.