PRIVATE · FAMILY

Taking Care of Mama — Field Guide

For the brother on the ground in Missouri · from Jermaine · read once, keep on your phone

Start here, because everything depends on it: when she yells at you and tells you to leave, that is the disease talking, not Mama. Dementia physically blocks her from knowing anything is wrong with her — so from inside her head, a grown man keeps showing up treating her like she's helpless, and she reacts exactly like the strong woman she's always been. Her anger at you is not a verdict on you. You can't take personally what she no longer controls. That's not a nice saying — it's the actual medical situation.

The golden rule

Never argue with the disease. You can be right, or you can have a good afternoon — you can't have both.

Arguing, correcting, explaining, proving — none of it works, because the part of her brain you're appealing to is the part that's sick. Agree with the feeling, skip the facts, and change the channel:

She says something wrong → "You might be right, Mama." → then redirect: "Hey, is that your show coming on?"

She's upset about something that didn't happen → answer the feeling, not the fact: "That sounds aggravating. I'm here now." → redirect.

Agree → redirect. That two-step is 80% of this whole job.

When she tells you to leave — the move that changes everything

Leave. Calmly, no argument, no wounded face: "Okay, Mama. I'll come back later." Step outside, sit in the car, walk the block. Come back in 15–20 minutes — different energy, maybe a different reason: "Hey Mama, I brought you a soda."

Here's why this works and why it isn't giving up: her memory of the argument fades in minutes, but if you stay and fight, the angry feeling sticks around long after she forgets why. Leaving early means the feeling never sets. You're not losing the fight — you're refusing to let the fight exist. Most times, 20 minutes later you're talking to a different person.

How to help without triggering her

Never say "help." Not "let me help you," not "you need help." That word is the trigger.
Flip it — ask HER to help YOU. "Mama, I made too much food, help me eat this." "Show me how you season this — mine never comes out right." She gets to be the mother, not the patient. This one trick defuses more than everything else combined.
Do things alongside, not for. Fold laundry next to her, don't take it from her. Slow is fine. Wrong is fine.
Two choices, not open questions. "Chicken or fish?" beats "what do you want to eat?" Open questions strain the memory and the strain comes out as irritation.
One thing at a time, short sentences, calm low voice. Approach from the front so you never startle her.
Never quiz her. No "you remember me, right?" No "what did you do today?" Every memory test is a small humiliation.
Same routine, same times. Predictable days have fewer blowups. Cut background noise — TV plus conversation is often one input too many.

For YOUR frustration — because it's real and it's normal

Getting frustrated doesn't make you a bad son. It makes you a human being doing the hardest unpaid job there is. But frustration leaking out makes her worse, so you need release valves:

The 10-second exit. The moment you feel heat rising, leave the room — "getting some water, Mama." She won't hold the thread; you get to reset. Use it ten times a day if needed.
Call Jermaine and vent. Seriously. That's part of the system now, not a burden. You're on the ground; he's the backup — venting to him is you two running the play, not you failing.
Free 24/7 hotline: Alzheimer's Association, 800-272-3900. Real people, any hour, including 2am after a bad night. They coach exactly this — the yelling, the "get out," the guilt.
Say the true sentence out loud when it's bad: "This is the disease, not Mama." Corny until the day it saves you.

Watch yourself for burnout: snapping fast, dreading the door, sleeping badly, drinking more. That's not weakness — it's a signal the load needs sharing. Tell Jermaine early, not after you blow up. Respite help (someone sits with her while you get a day) exists and can be free — the hotline knows the St. Louis options.

Two safety things that are not optional

If she goes missing, call the police IMMEDIATELY. There is no waiting period for a missing dementia patient — not 24 hours, not 1 hour. Say "she has dementia" first. She was on Halls Ferry in Jennings last time; minutes matter.
If she suddenly gets WAY worse — much more confused, agitated, or out of it over a day or two — get her checked for a urinary tract infection. Not a joke: UTIs in elderly people cause sudden severe confusion with no other symptoms, and it's fixable with antibiotics. Sudden change = doctor, same week.

The short version, for your pocket

It's the disease, not Mama — and not you.
Never argue. Agree with the feeling, redirect.
"Leave" means leave — and come back in 20 minutes with a soda.
Don't help her. Ask her to help you.
Feel the heat rising → exit for water.
Bad night → 800-272-3900, free, 24/7.
Missing → 911 immediately. Suddenly worse → UTI check.

Private family page — noindex, not in the sitemap · techniques are standard dementia-care practice (validation, redirection, task-sharing) per Alzheimer's Association caregiver guidance · helpline 800-272-3900 is free and 24/7 · this is caregiving strategy, not medical advice — her doctor drives the medical side.