The Long Goodbye: When My Father Forgot My Name

Recently, I visited my father at the nursing home. He looked at me, but he could not remember my name.

I waited, hoping that something would click in his memory. It was only after a nurse prompted him that he finally recognised me.

I had known for years that this day might come. My father had been living with vascular dementia since 2018. I had watched him slowly lose the independence that once defined him.

Still, it hurt.

I was never his favourite daughter. Perhaps that made the moment even more complicated. I felt sadness, but also a strange sense of resignation. The man I had known all my life was gradually disappearing.

My father used to be a strict and independent man. He was also a loving grandfather who doted on his grandchildren. He and my mother would visit us just to spend time playing with them.

Then the visits stopped.

His behaviour began to change. He became forgetful and increasingly difficult to manage. He refused to take his medication for his chronic medical conditions and would not cooperate when we wanted him to see a doctor.

Sometimes, he became violent.

Once, something my mother said made him so angry that he pushed her hard enough to send her falling onto the bed.

On another occasion, he wandered away from home and stayed out the entire night. A taxi driver eventually brought him back.

My mother could no longer cope.

By then, I had already spent years being the daughter my parents depended on.

It began when I was 32. My eldest sister migrated to Australia with her children, while my second sister had moved to New Zealand years earlier.

At the time, I was working part-time and caring for my first child, who was only one year old.

I did not fully understand what I was taking on. There was no discussion about whether I wanted the responsibility. I simply became the daughter who had to be there.

As the years passed, that responsibility grew heavier.

The day before I took my father to the clinic for his dementia diagnosis, I sat alone in my bedroom and cried.

I prayed because I did not know what else to do.

How was I going to persuade a man who refused medical treatment to see a doctor? What if he walked out of the emergency room before anyone could examine him?

More painfully, I was grieving for someone who was still alive.

I knew that even if we obtained a diagnosis, the difficult years of caring for him were only beginning.

Eventually, my father was admitted to a nursing home. But the expenses were too high, so we brought him home with a helper and arranged day care services.

That arrangement lasted about a year.

My mother struggled to manage both my father and the helper. In the end, we had to place him in another nursing facility.

Meanwhile, my mother was growing frailer and needed care herself. We went through several helpers trying to manage her needs.

I was caught between caring for my parents and looking after my own family.

Over the years, I watched my father's condition deteriorate.

I came to think of it as the long, slow goodbye that never seemed to end.

There were days when I cried quietly. Other days, I felt angry and wanted someone to blame.

And sometimes, I caught myself wondering when it would all be over.

That was the thought that frightened me most.

I love my parents, but I am tired.

I am tired of the visits, the arrangements, the expenses, and the constant responsibility. I am tired of worrying about what might happen next.

Sometimes I find myself wishing for the day when my caregiving duties will finally end.

Then the guilt comes.

Because I know what that ending means.

Both my parents are still alive. The only final release I can imagine is their death, and I know how terribly sad that day will be.

I have carried these conflicting feelings for years. Most of the time, I bury them. Occasionally, they surface again, bringing anxiety and guilt.

Caregiving has also shaped the course of my own life.

I could not climb the career ladder because I needed to be available for my parents. I wanted to travel more often, but long holidays were difficult when they depended on me.

Their care expenses gradually depleted my savings.

In early 2026, I left my job because of health reasons. Finding another job at my age has been difficult, especially when I need work that is less physically demanding.

I have been retraining for a different role, although there is no guarantee that I will find employment.

I have to keep trying.

People sometimes speak about caring for elderly parents as though love and devotion will carry you through everything.

I wish it were that simple.

There are financial pressures, emotional exhaustion, and moments when you feel angry with the very people you are trying to help.

I have learned that feeling angry does not make me a bad daughter. What matters is that I do not take that anger out on my parents.

I also wish there were more support and respite resources for caregivers. This journey can last many years, and few people understand how draining it can be until they experience it themselves.

Yet there are moments that remind me why I continue.

Recently, I sat beside my father at the nursing home and began singing "Twinkle, Twinkle, Little Star."

He followed my singing, repeating the words after me.

It was such a simple children's song, one I had known for as long as I could remember. But sitting there beside him, it meant more to me than it ever had.

My father could no longer remember my name without someone prompting him. Yet he could still follow me in a song.

For those few moments, I felt connected to him again.

My mother still needs care. My father's memory continues to fade. I do not know how many more years this journey will last.

I will always remember the day my father could no longer say my name.

And I will remember the day we sat together and sang "Twinkle, Twinkle, Little Star."

He could no longer remember my name, but he could still sing with me.

Told by Adeline Lee

Written by Sam Choo

Story Tags: Caregiving, Dementia, Family Relationships

Adeline is a daughter, mother, and family caregiver who shares her experience of caring for ageing parents while managing the emotional and financial demands of everyday life.

Website: https://gratitude-therapy.com