When Conversations Stop Making Sense
Learning to love through confusion and silence
Even when words fail, love still reaches through the silence-photo by Bonnie S. Heisse.
Ever try to have a conversation with someone — and have no clue what they’re saying? These are the kinds of talks I find myself having more and more with my dad.
It’s not his fault. He has aphasia. The words he thinks he’s saying aren’t what actually come out. Add dementia on top of that, and even when I can understand the words, the context is lost to me — because where he is and what he’s talking about aren’t part of my reality.
This isn’t the first time I’ve dealt with something like this. Earlier in my life, I had a family member who struggled with delusions. What they saw and heard wasn’t the same as what I experienced. So what do you do?
My top rule: don’t lie to them. If I can’t answer the question honestly, I stay silent — or I try to steer the conversation back to them.
It isn’t easy to communicate with someone who isn’t fully present. They see one thing, and you see another. Even if the person won’t remember what you say, I prefer not to risk them recalling it later in a way that hurts either of us.
Most of the time, I can give an honest answer. For example, when my dad asks if I’ve seen someone, I can honestly say no. I don’t elaborate. I keep my replies simple. When we talk too much, we can mess things up. Giving too many details isn’t helpful. Please keep it simple and truthful.
Talking to someone in a different headspace isn’t easy. One thing I’ve learned is not to contradict them. To them, what they see and hear is just as real as it isn’t to you.
Earlier, I used to try redirecting my dad back to today’s reality. Most of the time, it worked. But lately, I don’t try anymore. He’s so deep in his own mind that there’s nothing I can do or say to bring him back. Continuing to try only adds more frustration to an already tense situation—there’s no use in adding fuel to the fire.
I’m accustomed to fixing things. But some problems can’t be fixed.
I do my best, and that’s good enough.
I showed up and did what I could.
That’s not defeat — that’s love in its purest form.
Eventually, he returns. But I know there will be a time when that won’t happen — when he’ll be lost in his own world, and nothing I do or don’t do will matter.
I dread that time because I know it means the end is near. I’m not ready to lose my dad yet, even if he’s not the same man he was when I was growing up.
Still, I refuse to lose hope. I catch glimpses of his old self — a sparkle in his eye, a joke, a shared memory. But you have to be alert for those moments. You can’t overlook them. Because they are fleeting, they disappear in an instant.
So, I stay present, alert, and ready to catch him when he shows up, even if it’s just for a second.
I believe that even when I can’t understand what’s happening or being said, God does.
When words fall short, the Holy Spirit intervenes.
In the same way, the Spirit helps us in our weakness. We do not know what we ought to pray for, but the Spirit Himself intercedes for us through wordless groans.” — Romans 8:26
Even to your old age and gray hairs, I am He; I am he who will sustain you. I have made you and will carry you; I will sustain you and rescue you.” — Isaiah 46:4
Hang in there. It’s going to be a challenging ride. I won’t tell you it’ll be easy — because it won’t. But there’s hope.
When discussions lose clarity, love remains, and that’s enough.
What do you do to remember them when they aren’t themselves?
Do you have a favorite memory from when you spent time together?
Hold on to that. Remember them as they were — not as they are now.