What made it just a little easier

Caring for someone with dementia is a full-body experience. It’s emotional, physical, and logistical.

Some days, what gets you through is a conversation with someone who's in the same season.

Other days, it’s having the right tools to help make things a little bit easier for Mom and for me.

Before Mom moved to a memory care community, I spent HOURS searching for products that would help both of us — her to stay as independent as long as she could in her own home and me to be able to care for her in a long-distance capacity.

This isn’t a product roundup with affiliate links and bolded “must-haves.” This is a personal list. These are the things that, when things were getting harder to manage, made it just a bit more bearable and helped me sleep more soundly at night.

A clock that told more than time

Sundowning is when confusion and agitation increase in the late afternoon or evening. It wasn't quite as bad when Mom could see clearly that it was still daytime. But by evening, her agitation and sometimes paranoia would kick in. The American Lifetime Dementia Clock was a small but super helpful upgrade from the typical wall clock Mom used. It didn’t just show the time, it spelled out the day of the week, the month, and whether it was morning or evening. These extras helped my mom when she had lost her sense of time but was still trying to find her orientation. This meant fewer repeated questions and less confusion, so she wouldn't be frustrated, and I could focus more on her needs.

Adaptive clothing

We moved toward adaptive clothing early. It's clothing designed with easy closures, stretch fabrics, and open-back designs to make dressing easier and more comfortable for people with limited mobility or cognitive challenges. Items like pants with elastic waists, tops without tricky buttons, and socks with grippy soles. Her favorite was a hot pink soft fleece cardigan that zipped easily and didn’t restrict her movement. Function mattered, but comfort (and a bright color!) mattered more.

A shower chair that actually worked

Bathing was one of the hardest times for Mom, as she had always been scared of the water. Trying to ease her into personal care times was especially challenging, so we had to find ways to make it as easy as possible. Using a handheld shower wand and a sturdy shower bench really helped—both physically and emotionally.

We tried a few before finding one that fit Mom's shower, in a limited bathroom space. We also needed one that didn’t wobble, because Mom would startle so easily. After three tries, we found the Medline Transfer Bench. It fit easily over the tub and suctioned to the floor, so it wouldn't move around. Having a seat back was also a plus because it let Mom relax a bit and feel like she was having a spa treatment.

Nightlights in every room

Small, plug-in motion sensor nightlights made a big difference for Mom. They reduced her anxiety about the dark and helped prevent disorientation if she got up during the night. And for me, they made it easier to check in on her remotely because I could see clearly that she was safe without waking her, and get a quick sense of where she was and what she might be doing.

A simple medication tracker

We used a Take and Slide Medication Tracker instead of high-tech alarms (which would have really scared Mom) or complicated dispensers (which are ridiculously expensive and hard for someone with cognitive impairment to operate). It sat on the kitchen counter where Mom could see it, and all she had to do was slide the tab after taking her dose. No batteries, no screens, just a simple visual cue that helped prevent her from taking her pills twice, and we didn't have to constantly ask, “Did she take them today?” Plus, she loved the colors of the tracker, and using it felt like a game to her!

A way to stay connected

The Amazon Echo Show turned out to be one of the most useful tools we had. We used it for video calls, reminders, and even playing Mom's favorite music: smooth jazz. We could drop in to check on her visually or say a quick hello without requiring her to push buttons or remember how to use a phone. It made our connection simpler, not just for us, but for her as well. The familiar voice from the device, the routine, and how easy it was for her all became part of the rhythm of her days.

These items didn’t solve everything. They didn’t stop the disease or take away the grief when she moved into memory care, and then, when she passed away two years later. But they gave us a bit more ease and peace while she was still at home.

If you're walking this road too, I hope something here helps you feel better equipped to support your loved one, while giving them small ways to maintain their independence.

Some of the links I share are Amazon affiliate links, which means I may earn a small commission if you decide to make a purchase, at no extra cost to you. It’s a small way to help support my work (and keep the coffee flowing).