Why Dementia Education Matters to Me

People often ask why I care so deeply about educating others about dementia. The answer lives in my heart.

Years ago, our team at Home Instead cared for a client who was living with dementia. Her family lived in another province and were waiting for a placement in assisted living. She was a beautiful soul kind, funny, intelligent, and accomplished. Before dementia entered her life, she had been a successful writer for a Canadian newspaper.

Every time I visited, she believed I was her doctor and insisted I sit down and share a brandy with her. I would gently refuse, explaining that I was on duty, and she would smile and accept it, as though it were the most reasonable thing in the world.

What I loved most were our moments together. I listened as she shared her stories, her memories, her life. Even as dementia changed how she understood her surroundings, the essence of who she was never disappeared. She mattered. She still had so much to give.

Eventually, the decision was made to move her into assisted living. This was one of the hardest things for me to accept. I wasn’t family, so I had no voice in the decision, but my heart was deeply connected to her. The transition was painful for all of us.

I continued to visit and stayed in close contact with her family, letting them know how she was doing. Then one Christmas, my staff and I went to see her together. I wasn’t prepared for what I saw.

I had to turn my face away.

The elegant woman I had come to know was almost unrecognizable. She was no longer speaking. She was dressed in clothes that didn’t reflect who she was. Her body had changed but more than that, the light I had known seemed dimmed by an environment that did not understand her.

And then she looked at me.

With piercing blue eyes, she looked straight into mine as if she were asking me for help. In that moment, my heart broke into a million pieces. I had nothing I could offer her. No tools. No knowledge. No way to change what I was witnessing.

That moment stayed with me. It still does.

I realized then that caring deeply was not enough. Love, compassion, and good intentions are essential but they are not enough on their own. If I truly wanted to help people living with dementia, I needed to learn. I needed to understand this disease and how to support people in ways that preserve dignity, identity, and humanity.

That was the moment my journey began.

I sought out leaders in dementia care, including Teepa Snow, whose teachings opened my eyes to what person-centred care truly means. I went on to complete a master’s degree in health science, specializing in dementia not for a title, not for recognition but because I never wanted to stand helplessly in front of someone living with dementia again.

Today, education sits at the centre of everything I do.

I train my staff to understand dementia not just as an illness, but as a lived human experience. We learn how to communicate with compassion, how to respond rather than react, and how to protect dignity even as abilities change. We talk about quality of life not just safety because safety without dignity is not care.

That belief is also why I am offering community dementia education workshops at two local centres:

📍 Kensington Community Centre
🗓 March 2, March 16, and March 30

📍 Point Grey Community Centre
🗓 April 1, April 8, April 15, and April 22

These workshops are for people living with dementia, for family members walking this journey alongside someone they love, and for anyone who wants to understand dementia better. They are a space to learn, to ask questions, to feel less alone, and to replace fear with understanding.

Dementia is often spoken about in whispers. It is “the disease everyone wonders about,” yet so many are afraid to talk about it. Silence creates stigma. Education creates compassion.

When people understand dementia, everything changes. Families feel more confident. Caregivers feel less overwhelmed. Communities become kinder. And people living with dementia are seen—not as a diagnosis, but as whole human beings with histories, personalities, and worth.

I still think about that remarkable woman the writer, the storyteller, the one who offered brandy and shared her life with me. She is the reason I continue this work. Her story reminds me that dementia does not take away a person but our lack of understanding can.

Education is how we do better.
Education is how we protect dignity.
And education is how we make sure no one living with dementia feels invisible or alone.