Sarah MOSS

For my Dad

My dad had dementia.

It was shit.

There’s no nice way to put it. Watching someone you love disappear piece by piece is brutal. The man who once made me laugh, gave me advice, and held everything together slowly slipped away — not all at once, but in fragments.

And what made it worse was how alone we were.

When Dad was diagnosed, people didn’t know what to say. His friends drifted away. The phone stopped ringing. The visits stopped. It was as if dementia made him invisible — as if he’d become someone people didn’t want to see.

If he’d had cancer, everyone would have been there.

There would have been fundraisers, casseroles dropped off, people asking how he was doing. But dementia? Silence.

That silence is what broke me. Because people living with dementia — and their families — need support, understanding, and community more than ever. They deserve to be seen.

That’s why I’m walking.

To raise awareness.

To raise funds.

To walk for the people who can’t.

Every step I take is for my dad, and for all the families still trying to hold things together in the face of something that takes so much away.

If you can, please support the challenge — donate, share, or simply talk about dementia. The more we talk about it, the more we break that silence.

For Dad.

For everyone.

For change.