29/10/2026
‘Dementia is a long, hard journey. Painting is a way for me to process it, to work through the grief and honour Dad through creativity.’
Artist Georgina Peters created this painting and poem for her Dad, who is living with dementia:
Every time I see Dad I wonder ‘What's the weather like today?’
Not outside, but inside him
Will it be sunny? Will the clouds part just long enough for me to see my Dad again?
I sit beside him, and tell him something I've told him 100 times, but he doesn't remember
Then the clouds form without warning
I watch them gather behind his eyes. He's somewhere else now
I say ‘Dad’ and he looks at me like he's trying to remember what that word means
Sometimes he knows my name or my face
Sometimes he knows that he knows me
But he can't quite put his finger on why
There's something so cruel about being forgotten by the person who taught you who you were
I was his little girl before I knew how to be anything else
Before I knew how to spell my own name he was teaching me to say his
Dad. A word so small I never imagined I would one day have to earn it back
This is the part no one tells you about grief
Sometimes the person you're grieving is sitting right in front of you
Breathing, smiling, holding your hand, and you still miss them
I want to remember the sunshine, the belly laughs, the ridiculous jokes, the car journeys and the daddy daughter dates
His voice before it became uncertain, his stories before they became fragments
Because that's the thing about Alzheimer's - there is no forecast
Maybe that's what love is in the end
Not remembering for someone but remembering with them
Holding the memories when they can't
When the fog and storms come, I will stay
And if Alzheimer's takes his memory of me, it does not get to take my memory of him
So next time I see him I'll ask myself ‘What's the weather like today?’
And I'll go and find my Dad
Because even on the days he can't find me, I know exactly where to find him
Somewhere between the clouds and sunlight, inside all the weather
There's still my Dad.