Is it OK to lie to a loved one who has Alzheimer’s disease?

Years ago, before I had any understanding of Alzheimer’s disease, a friend told me that she and her family lied to her grandmother, who had the condition. We’ve long since lost touch, but if granted the opportunity, I would tell my friend, “I get it now.”

My friend had lied because her grandmother had continued to ask about her deceased husband. Instead of making her feel sad, learning all over again that he’d passed away, my friend and her family made up a story that satisfied her grandmother’s questions about his whereabouts and allowed the family to move on.

It was noble for my friend to protect her grandmother from reliving her grief. However, I must admit that, initially, her decision troubled me. I thought that if I were in the same position, I’d find another way. I was young. I was unintentionally judgmental, and I was wrong.

Years later, my mother was diagnosed with dementia, which progressed into its most common form, Alzheimer’s. In the early stages of the disease, my mother could process information. She would forget certain things, but we could remind her, and she’d say something like, “Oh, yes, that’s right.” As she began to lose cognitive ability, it became more difficult to orient her to certain truths. For instance, she was sometimes convinced she must hurry home from Florida to West Virginia because her parents needed her.

My mother was a faithful, caring, loving daughter and caregiver to her parents, who lived into their 90s. She doted on them and was available day or night, though they were blessed to stay in their own home with the assistance of a grandchild who lived with them during the week. My mother visited daily, made their meals, and assisted with their daily care and health needs. They passed away long before her diagnosis.

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To lie or not to lie?

I didn’t lie to my mother about her parents, but she wasn’t satisfied with the truth. I would tell her, “Mom, Granny and Pa aren’t in West Virginia; they went home to heaven.” Her response? “I don’t think so.” I asked her if she thought I’d lie to her. She reasoned, “Of course you wouldn’t lie to me. It’s just that you’re mistaken.”

One day, she was so convinced she needed to return home that I called my brother, who lived in West Virginia, and asked him to gently tell her why she didn’t need to come home. He did, and she believed him simply because he was there.

My sister, who shared caregiving responsibilities with me, and I weren’t perplexed that Mom had lost her cognitive abilities, but we were often astonished at her reasoning. I didn’t lie to her about her parents, but I did lie to her occasionally, often during the kids’ basketball games.

We’d arrive at the game and pay for our tickets. I’d hand the few bucks to the ticket taker, and Mom invariably asked, “Did you pay for me? How much was it so that I can pay you back?”

I’d tell this lie to get out of the line and avoid a conversation surrounding the whereabouts of her purse: “He didn’t charge me for you. Yours was free.” She was elated and touched. “How nice!”

But in the short time it took to find our seats in the bleachers, the lie prompted her to ask additional questions.

“Why was it free for me, and not for you and the kids? Why did he take your money and not mine?” Her questions indicated cognitive reasoning and that her short-term memory was engaged. This wasn’t the only instance, and there was no rhyme or reason for when it would or wouldn’t occur. Perplexing, right?

I tried hard not to lie, but from a caregiver’s perspective, sometimes it was necessary for survival.

On Saturday nights, we led my mother to believe it was Friday night or any night that wasn’t Saturday. Otherwise, she’d fret over what she would wear to church the next day and if she’d brought clothes from my sister’s home to ours. If she went to bed knowing it was Saturday night, I could expect her not to sleep well and to come out of her bedroom to ask repeatedly if she’d brought her clothes to the house. I would enter her room on Sunday morning with a cheery, “Good morning, Mom. It’s Sunday; let’s see what you have to wear,” and she would be happy. She slept well, I slept well, and we didn’t have the frustration of answering the same question over and over again.

I strived not to lie to my mother, but I must admit that sometimes it was for her own good. And, honestly, I also lied to save my sanity.

Note: Alzheimer’s News Today is strictly a news and information website about the disease. It does not provide medical advice, diagnosis, or treatment. This content is not intended to be a substitute for professional medical advice, diagnosis, or treatment. Always seek the advice of your physician or other qualified health provider with any questions you may have regarding a medical condition. Never disregard professional medical advice or delay in seeking it because of something you have read on this website. The opinions expressed in this column are not those of Alzheimer’s News Today or its parent company, Bionews, and are intended to spark discussion about issues pertaining to Alzheimer’s disease.