Here’s a hard truth: society often writes off people with dementia as mere shadows of their former selves. But what if I told you that their humanity, their joys, and their interests persist, even in the face of this devastating condition? This is the powerful message echoed by Jo Glanville in her poignant piece, Reading was the key to breaking through the fog of my parents’ dementia (The Guardian, 1 February 2026). Her words struck a chord, reminding us that individuals with dementia are not ‘dead’ or ‘as good as dead’—a dangerous misconception that even some caregivers hold. This belief undermines the dignity and rights of those who are already profoundly vulnerable.
Take my own mother, for instance, who lived with vascular dementia for years. Even when she became bedridden, her spirit remained intact. Once a chatterbox, her words grew sparse, but her essence endured. In her final years, when reading became impossible, my father, brothers, and I took turns reading to her daily. Though she rarely spoke, her facial expressions revealed her enjoyment—a silent yet profound connection. Even in her last days, after a choking incident and heart attack left her unable to speak, we continued reading and playing music for her in the hospital. Despite the chaos, she remained at peace, a testament to the power of treating her as a person, not a patient.
But here’s where it gets controversial: How do we balance respecting the humanity of those with dementia while addressing the ethical debates around ‘assisted dying’?** Advocates claim their proposals are limited, but critics, like Jo Glanville, argue it’s a slippery slope. Novelist Ian McEwan, for example, has called for extending assisted dying to dementia patients—a stance that raises alarming questions about societal priorities.
Jo Glanville’s piece also inspired others to share their stories. Matt Singleton, a gerontologist, transformed his father’s experience with Alzheimer’s by creating illustrated, rhyming books with optional audio. These tools, based on cognitive stimulation therapy, reignited his father’s love of reading and sparked conversations. Thousands have benefited, proving that even those with memory loss can find joy in familiar stories or melodies.
Catherine Roome shared a heartwarming tale of reconnecting with her sister, who had Alzheimer’s, through music. Singing their childhood song, Sisters, on FaceTime brought fleeting moments of clarity and joy—a reminder that dementia doesn’t erase identity.
And Jane Linden reflected on her mother’s final stages, where a photo book of Victorian children and letters—her lifelong passions—brought shared happiness. These stories challenge the notion that people with dementia are ‘gone.’ But this is the part most people miss: Their humanity isn’t lost; it’s waiting to be acknowledged and honored.
So, here’s a thought-provoking question for you: How can we, as a society, better recognize and respect the enduring humanity of those with dementia? And where do we draw the line in debates like assisted dying? Share your thoughts—let’s keep this vital conversation going.
