My wife, Evelyn, was the one with a sharp memory. She could recall people’s birthdays. Or where we parked the car at the supermarket. And even the names of our children’s childhood classmates.
So, when she started repeating questions or forgetting familiar routes, I brushed it off. “We all get forgetful with age,” I’d say.
But inwardly, I knew something was not right. Like many families, we didn’t recognize these changes as early signs of dementia. It was not clear at first.
Over time, those little changes turned into something bigger, and that’s when our journey of understanding truly began.
Initially, it was small things like misplacing her glasses and forgetting her phone password. We casually dismissed it.
But then came the day she got lost walking home. This is a walk she had taken for over twenty years.
That was when we spoke to our GP. The diagnosis of early-stage Alzheimer’s shook our world, but it also gave us focus.
With help from professionals and the Support Network, we started to learn what dementia meant. And how we could help Evelyn go through it with love.
The diagnosis confirmed what we already feared. But nothing prepares you for how deeply it changes your life.
At first, I thought life would just be a little different. A few adjustments here and there. But the truth is, life began to split into two paths. I was still living in our old world, the one built on our memories.
But Evelyn’s world was slowly becoming something else entirely. Something quieter, more confusing, and at times unreachable.
There were mornings when she smiled at me like always. And there were nights when she asked who I was.
That shift was painful in ways I can’t explain. And yet, somehow, we found a new way forward.
One of the lessons I learned was that I couldn’t rely on the ways we used to talk
I tried explaining things, thinking that if I said it slower or repeated it, she would understand. But I didn’t know that I was speaking my language, not hers.
I learned that dementia changes how your loved ones express themselves and their body language. Evelyn didn’t always respond to my words. But she understood a gentle hand on her shoulder.
There’s no manual for this kind of communication. It’s more like tuning into someone’s emotions. You have to express yourself fully..
If she were angry, I would sit down so I was at her level. Then I would smile because she needed reassurance.
If she couldn’t find the word for something, I would wait. Sometimes I guessed. Sometimes I just said, “It’s okay. Take your time.”
And gradually, we had a new kind of understanding.
Looking back, there were a few guidelines that truly helped me stay connected to Evelyn when everything else was slipping away. If you’re on this journey too, these might help you:
Agree, never argue: There’s no point in debating what’s real or not. Her truth was her truth.
Ask, never command: Giving choices helped her feel included and respected.
Distract, never shame: When things went wrong, I gently shifted her focus.
Reinforce, never force: Encouragement worked better than pressure.
Redirect, never reason: If she was upset, logic never helped. Redirection did.
Reassure, never lecture: Comfort calmed her; explanations only confused her.
Encourage, never condescend: Dignity matters, always.
Repeat, never say ‘I told you so’: Repetition became normal, not something to correct.
Reminisce, never say ‘remember?’: I’d say, “You used to love this song,” not “Don’t you remember this?”
Do what you can, never say ‘you can’t’: We focused on what was still possible, not what was lost.
We were introduced to several practical tools to help families like ours. At first, I didn't want it. Technology had never been what we liked so much. But over time, I realized it didn’t have to be hard to use. It just had to be helpful.
We began with a silent GPS tracker attached to Evelyn’s handbag. It gave us peace of mind, especially when she went for a walk on her own. These tools are a gentle way to ensure safety without making your loved one feel restricted.
A lot of wearable GPS devices permit you to set ‘safe zones’. If the person moves beyond these areas, you become alerted.
These became our quiet helpers. Evelyn could ask for the time or even listen to her favourite music without difficulty.
We set reminders using simple voice commands like “Evelyn, it’s time for your medication."These small changes made her feel more in control.
One of the tools we bought was a large digital calendar clock. It showed the day, date, and time clearly. Evelyn stopped asking, “What day is it?” ten times a day. It helped her get to know herself and gave her confidence.
We moved to a programmable pill dispenser that would release the correct medication at set times. It beeped gently and opened only the right compartment. No more confusion or double doses.
When my wife was first diagnosed, I never imagined we’d be using a tablet or smartphone to help us through. Technology felt cold and complicated.
Over time, with gentle guidance, we learnt that certain apps could offer small, meaningful wins in our everyday life.
These tools didn’t change her condition, but they brought light into some of our darker days. They helped her stay calm, remember more, and even smile. And they gave me, as her husband and carer, just enough space to keep going.
Here are the apps that truly made a difference in our journey:
We didn’t need anything intense, just something light and engaging. Lumosity had short games that aided her with attention and memory. It wasn’t about results. It was about giving her something to enjoy on days when she felt distant. Download it through the App Store or Google Play..
There were moments when I did not know what to do or say. Ask Annie quickly became a practical guide I could rely on. With short videos and tips designed by Dementia Australia, it gave me confidence when I felt unsure. You can download it through Dementia Australia.
This app helped me see the house through her eyes. It showed how small changes could help her feel more secure.
With each adjustment, she seemed more relaxed, and so was I. Download it from the App Store.
On days when conversation ran dry, this app helped us reconnect. It’s filled with easy trivia and cheerful pictures that nudged her memory.
We’d sit together after tea, and a single image might lead to a full story from years ago. Visit the App Store or Google Play to download it
Living with dementia brought moments of anxiety and confusion for both of us. Headspace gave us simple guided breathing exercises. She did not follow every word, but hearing the calm voice helped with her mood and mine. You can download it through the App Store or Google Play.
She often asked if she’d taken her tablets or turned off the iron. This app allowed her to tick things off as she went, without noisy alarms or pressure. Download it from the App Store.
She loved her independence. I wanted her to still have that freedom. Emergency Plus uses GPS. So, it was designed to help emergency responders locate someone quickly. We installed it quietly on her phone, and it gave me peace of mind every time she stepped out. Download it on the App Store or Google Play.
This one was for me. It was created by Alzheimer’s Research UK. It uses virtual challenges to show what everyday life feels like for someone with dementia. It helped me understand why she reacted to noise, clutter, or sudden changes. It helped me love her better. Available on the App Store.
No app will ever replace the comfort of your voice or the touch of your hand. But a good one will give your partner a smile or a little confidence.
When we first started, I never gave her a device and walked away. We did everything together. Some days we didn’t use tech at all. Other days, a quiz or music app brought her joy. There’s no right or wrong pace.
If you’re unsure where to begin, Support Network can help guide you. The goal isn’t to master technology, it’s to use it in the service of something greater: love, dignity, and connection.
These tools didn’t just help Evelyn, they helped us, as her family and carers. They reduced our stress and helped us focus on enjoying moments together.
Here’s how these tools supported us day-to-day:
Reduced Repetition and Frustration
Instead of constantly answering the same questions, Evelyn had resources like the talking clock or calendar app that empowered her to find the answers herself.
Made Caregiving Feel Lighter
Setting up medication or appointment reminders used to be difficult. Now, the devices handled those parts. And I could focus on the emotional side of caring. This includes sharing memories or holding her hand.
Allowed for Safe Independence
Evelyn didn’t feel like she had lost her freedom. She could still walk in the park, but now we had ways of checking in.
It was not easy. Evelyn did not like all the new gadgets at the same time. She would ask, “Why do I need this?” And it hurt because I didn’t want her to feel less capable.
So we took it slowly.
We introduced one tool at a time and made it part of our routine. We always framed it positively: “This is here to make life easier, not harder.” Over time, she began to see the benefits herself.
There were moments of sadness, of course. There were also moments of joy, like Evelyn asking Alexa to play our wedding song. Those little wins kept us going.
If you’re just beginning this journey, here are a few things we learned the hard way:
Start with One Tool at a Time
Don’t try to introduce it all at once. Start with the app or tool that solves your biggest problem.
Get Your Loved Ones Involved
Ask them what they would find useful. Let them check options with you, rather than forcing tools onto them. It would be helpful.
Use Reputable Sources
Stay with reliable providers. The NDIS and HealthDirect have simple guides. You can communicate with the Support Network. It helped us know about services we did not know about.
I didn’t know how much my life would change when my wife was diagnosed. I was her husband, but I became her carer.
At first, I thought caring for her would be a list of tasks. Like making sure she took her tablets or attended appointments. But it was more than that.
Caring for someone is about noticing the small changes. It also involves learning to read between the lines when your loved one can’t find the words.
There were days when Evelyn would smile at me like we were newlyweds. There were also days she didn’t recognize my face. In both moments, I learned to respond with love. She needed to feel safe. To know she was still deeply loved.
I learnt that caring can be lonely. Friends mean well, but sometimes, they don’t understand the emotional weight.
Speaking with other carers and seeking support from networks like the Support Network is important. Listening to someone makes you feel less alone.
If you're stepping into the role of carer for a loved one with dementia or you are on the journey, please know you're not alone. Here are things that helped me. I hope they might help you too.
I wanted to “solve” Evelyn’s forgetfulness at first. I was always trying to get her to remember and correct her when she got confused. But I learned that this often made her feel worse.
What she needed wasn't correction — it was comfort.
Once I shifted my approach, I focused less on fixing and more on simply being there. That’s when our days got easier.
You don’t have to be the only one involved in this. Family, friends, and community care services can help. A lot of people wanted to help when I opened up. It was surprising.
We also turned to the Support Network. It helped us find reliable home carers and pointed us to services funded through the NDIS. Having someone come in a few times a week gave me time to rest or run errands.
At first, I felt bad taking time away. But I soon understood that burning out didn’t help either of us. When I looked after myself, I could show up with more patience and energy.
I started booking regular rest hours and asking friends to sit with Evelyn while I had a break. Even short moments of rest were helpful.
We found that Evelyn responded best to a calm and known routine. Too many changes in the day made her tense, but known routines gave her comfort.
So we created a routine that worked and gave her a sense of control.
Not every day will be easy. Not every day will be hard, either.
Some lovely moments came unexpectedly. Those moments let you know that there is joy amid the stress.
Evelyn’s dementia changed our lives. But it was totally bad..
We became closer as a family. That made it easy for us to communicate with patience and kindness.
Technology helped, but love carried us. With the right tools and support, you can create memories. You will make mistakes, but there is help. There is hope.
Need Help?
The Support Network is here to guide you through your family’s dementia journey. Whether you need access to home carers, memory aids, or simple tips to make life easier, visit supportnetwork.com.au or speak to someone who understands.