Caring for a parent with Alzheimer’s: Silvia’s journey

The changes were subtle at first. Odd decisions, misplaced logic. Her father—once methodical and firm—started doing things that didn’t add up. He bought ten kilos of sugar— “because it was on sale”. He put his worn underwear neatly back into the drawer. He forgot his bank card code, which he hadn't changed for decades.

It wasn’t a single incident — it was the accumulation. Something was off. The family doctor referred them to a specialised clinic. There, after a few cognitive tests and an MRI, came the diagnosis: Alzheimer’s disease.

For Silvia, who works at Roche in Basel, early clarity made all the difference. Since her father’s progression was relatively flat, it gave her time to breathe, to plan—not just for her father, but for everyone around him.

Caregiving by design

At 88, her father still knows his family and functions independently in many ways. Silvia’s approach isn’t only to care for him, but to consider the entire “ecosystem”—especially her mother, who is cognitively sound but often overlooks her own needs.

“They’ve been married for more than sixty years,” Silvia says. “She’s used to taking care of him. Now, I need to make sure she doesn’t vanish in the process.” Silvia manages logistics, and ensured her mother attended a caregiver workshop. “Sometimes, you have to teach someone to fish,” she says, “not just hand them the catch.”

Her father, meanwhile, participates in memory training sessions at the clinic once a week and is proud of his homework. He still prepares coffee, though he may ask several times how you like it. Such rituals keep him grounded: every visit ends with him sending regards, sometimes repeatedly, to Silvia’s husband. A small gesture that affirms his place in the family’s rhythm.

When he began losing track of his way—Silvia attached a GPS tracker to his keyring. She knew he wouldn’t accept it if it felt like surveillance. So she framed it differently: “I need it to stay focused at work,” she told him. “That way, I don’t worry about you.” Because the business world always made sense to him, it worked. For Silvia, it was one more example of how caregiving often means finding the right language—so care feels like support, not control.

Strange logic, sincere intent

Silvia describes some of his behavior as “Alzheimer’s smartness”—a strange but sincere logic at work. Why did he place his shoes on the bookshelf? “There was space,” he explained. It’s an oddly practical response—less about confusion, more about navigating by a different internal map.

That kind of reasoning, however, should not be confused with who her father used to be. The man she grew up with was very strict, hot-tempered and often inflexible. When his memory first began slipping, he became increasingly defensive, sometimes rewriting old family stories to make himself look better. “I’ve forgiven,” Silvia says. “But I haven’t forgotten.” It was one of the hardest phases—witnessing someone twist their own history, then slowly forget it.

Now, with the sharper edges of his personality softened, he is more peaceful. His world is smaller, but not unhappy. Silvia likens her role to parenthood in reverse—she’s not just assisting, she’s shaping the environment so it works for everyone. It takes time and patience. But it’s doable—for now.

Crisis-proofing the care plan

The early diagnosis gave Silvia time to plan and keep the balance. With help from Roche’s CareRing, a global internal community for employees who are patients or caregivers, the family has identified a care facility, just in case. Silvia also knows how quickly balance can unravel. A few years ago, her mother—emotionally and physically overwhelmed—fell into a state of delirium. The hospital stay that followed was a warning sign. Silvia herself developed stress-related hair loss. “It showed me how fragile stability can be,” she says.

That’s why she hopes research will catch up—offering tools for earlier detection and medications that slow the disease. “Alzheimer’s doesn’t just take memories,” she says. “It erodes personality before it takes the person.”

For now, the wheels turn. Her father still goes to memory training. Her mother still gets space to rest. Silvia keeps the rhythm. No alarms. No chaos. Just a plan—tweaked gently every day. “Alzheimer’s doesn’t send calendar invites,” she says. “You prepare anyway.”