The Person You Call Depends on What Kind of Day It Is

Your husband is in the living room.

You’re standing in the kitchen with your phone in your hand.

It has been a long day.

Not a crisis.

Just one of those days where everything seemed to take a little more out of you than it should have.

He couldn’t find his wallet this morning.

Then he was upset because he thought someone had taken it.

You found it under a stack of mail.

Later, there was a phone call about one of his prescriptions that turned into another phone call, then another.

At some point you realized you had eaten half a granola bar for lunch.

Now it’s almost five.

Your husband is watching television.

You’re staring at your phone.

You want to call someone.

But who?

Your sister’s name is right there.

She is good with details.

If you tell her there is a problem with the prescription, she will probably have the pharmacy number pulled up before you finish the sentence.

Sometimes that is exactly what you need.

Today, you don’t want to talk about the pharmacy.

You scroll a little farther.

There’s your friend.

She is the person you can say, “I had a terrible day,” to without giving her the entire backstory.

She won’t need you to explain why something as small as looking for a wallet can somehow become the thing that wears you down.

You almost call her.

Then you stop.

You’re not sure you want to talk about the day either.

You scroll again.

Another friend sent you a message earlier.

Did you see what happened on that show last night???

You didn’t answer.

You look at it now.

Then type:

YES. I have thoughts.

Three dots appear immediately.

And for the next fifteen minutes, the two of you argue about a television show.

No one mentions dementia.

No one asks how your husband is doing.

No one asks how you’re holding up.

And right now, that feels really good.

Later that evening, you do call your sister.

You need the pharmacy number.

She finds it.

That helps too.

And maybe tomorrow you’ll call the friend who lets you say:

Today was awful.

Three people.

Three completely different conversations.

All helpful in different ways.

I think sometimes we imagine support as if there is supposed to be one person who really gets it.

The person we can call for everything.

The person who knows what to say.

The person who understands without explanation.

And if we don’t have that, it can feel like something is missing.

But maybe support doesn’t always work that way.

Maybe there are people who are good when you need help figuring something out.

• People who can listen when you need somewhere to put what you are feeling.

• People who make you laugh.

• People who will help with something practical.

• People who are wonderful company but not the people you want to talk to about dementia.

• People you love very much who may not be the people you turn to for every part of this.

That doesn’t necessarily mean those relationships are failing you.

It may mean you are beginning to notice what different people are helpful with.

And maybe you are learning something about yourself too.

There are days when you want someone to ask questions.

Other days, questions feel exhausting.

There are days when you desperately need to talk.

Other days, the kindest thing anyone could do is talk to you about literally anything else.

Sometimes you need help.

Sometimes you need understanding.

Sometimes you need information.

Sometimes you need twenty minutes where you get to have an opinion about a television show and nobody needs anything from you.

There isn’t one version of support that works every time.

And there doesn’t have to be one person who provides all of it.

Maybe the useful question is not:

Who understands me best?

Maybe it is:

What do I need right now—and who might be helpful with that?

You may not always know.

You may ask the wrong person sometimes.

You may reach out expecting one thing and realize afterward that it wasn’t what you needed at all.

That happens.

Over time, you may start noticing.

I call her when I need to think.

I call him when I need practical help.

She is the person I can be completely honest with.

And sometimes what I need most is the friend who reminds me there are still other parts of my life.

That isn’t a perfect support system.

It’s just a little more information about what helps you.

And when so much of life with dementia can leave you guessing about what comes next, knowing even that much about yourself can matter.

What am I beginning to learn about the way I need support?

Before You Go

If this felt familiar, you don’t have to figure out exactly what kind of support you need or who you should turn to every time.

Sometimes it starts with simply noticing what helps.

Want to stay connected?

Join the private Emotions & Dementia Facebook group — a place to share, connect, and be around others who understand. → Join the group

Want more consistent support?

Grieving the Diagnosis is a guided support experience for adult children and partners navigating the emotional side of dementia. → Learn more