My Cherished Memories with Ye Ye & Dementia

An Unstoppable Force

Dementia, to me, is a slow journey yet an unstoppable force. It gradually erases the details of a person’s life. As painful as it feels, for me, it’s not just about the loss—it’s about the moments we still hold onto, the memories that stay alive in our hearts.

My journey began with my grandfather, whom I dearly call “Ye Ye”, a man of joy, always full of life, and the glue that held our family together.

Fond Sour Plum Memories with Ye Ye

Ye Ye and I shared a special bond, filled with moments that still bring a smile to my face till this day. I remember him pinching my little hand and asking me to pinch his, playfully comparing the softness of my skin to his rough, wrinkled one. It was his way of connecting, a simple yet sweet gesture that I will never forget.

One of my favorite childhood memories was when he introduced me to dried sour plums, a local snack he and my grandmother, whom I call “Ma Ma”, always kept by their bedside. I must have been just 4 or 5 years old when Ye Ye wiggled his finger in the jar and picked out a small sour plum for me to try. I remember the intense burst of sourness, and how he laughed at my reaction. Till this day, whenever I eat sour plum, it brings me back to that moment of shared laughter and joy.

The Diagnosis: A Journey into the Unknown

In 2014, our lives changed when Ye Ye was diagnosed with dementia. It started with small things, like forgetting his seat on a plane, but soon it became clear that something wasn’t right. My family quickly came together, taking extra care and making sure someone was always by his side.

At first, I didn’t really understand what was happening. I thought it was like amnesia, that one day he might just remember us all again. But as time passed, I realised it was more complicated than that.

Watching him struggle was heartbreaking. I remember being about 8 or 9 when he first forgot my name. My father would point at me and gently ask Ye Ye, “Do you know who this is?”

He would look at me, squinting his eyes, trying so hard to remember, before finally shaking his head and saying, “I don’t know.” I’d smile, hiding the tears that were forming, and say, “I’m your grandson.” It was a painful yet precious moment, one that taught me about patience and the fleeting nature of memory.

A Team Effort of Love and Care

For our family, caregiving was never about assigning roles or responsibilities. We all took turns, helping however we could, without falling into typical gender roles. Whether it was feeding Ye Ye, pushing his wheelchair at the neighborhood park, or simply sitting with him, every small act was a show of love.

Ma Ma was our rock. Despite her own heartbreak, she still often jokes about how Ye Ye forgot how to walk or eat, but could still remember his love for durian and Guinness beer. Her light-heartedness and resilience kept us going.

I was more of a secondary caregiver, always there to keep him company. I’d chat with him, take photos, and sit quietly by his side. It might seem like a small role, but I believe just being there made him feel less alone, even if he couldn’t quite place who I was.

My family gave the best support to Ye Ye; more than he could ever ask for.

Learning About Dementia

I didn’t truly understand what dementia was until I was around 11 years old. One day, while scrolling through social media, I stumbled upon an album called “Everywhere at the End of Time” by The Caretaker. It was a haunting, beautiful portrayal of dementia’s progression through music.

The songs started off clear and recognisable, but as the album went on, the melodies became distorted and degraded, as if fading away like memories slipping through fingers. Listening to it gave me a glimpse into the disorienting world my Ye Ye was living in, and it sparked a deep curiosity in me to learn more about dementia.

Letting Go and Holding On

The hardest part for me was accepting that Ye Ye might never remember me again. Each visit, I held onto a small hope that today might be the day he would recognise me.

But over time, I realised it wasn’t about being remembered, it was about being present, about the love we shared in those small, everyday moments.

I learned to let go of my expectations and instead focus on cherishing whatever time we had left together.

Support and the Importance of Community

Our family’s greatest strength was the way we came together to support Ye Ye, and each other. But I’ve come to realize that caregivers need support too. It’s a tough, often lonely job, and having a community makes all the difference.

I believe that creating support groups or platforms where caregivers can share advice and encouragement would be invaluable. Here in Singapore, dementia and caregiving aren’t often talked about enough, especially among young people. I think raising more awareness is key—whether through school programs, community outreach, or simply talking about it more openly.

A Lesson in Unconditional Love

Dementia taught me that love isn’t defined by memory. It’s not about whether Ye Ye could remember my name or our shared moments. It’s about the bond we built, the laughter, the care, and the time we spent together. Even as his memories faded, the love between us remained strong, unspoken but deeply felt.

I’ll never forget the lesson I learned from my time with Ye Ye: “The memories may fade, but the love and connection remain timeless.” Even if he didn’t remember who I was in his later years, I know deep down he felt the love surrounding him. And that, to me, is what truly matters.

Through sharing my story, I hope to inspire others to show patience, kindness, and empathy to those living with dementia. It’s a challenging journey, but it’s also one filled with moments of deep connection, if we choose to see them.