I think part of that is recognizing that dementia is different for different people.
Let me talk as a caregiver as opposed to a physician.
My mother was the first female obstetrician-gynecologist and the first one of Asian descent in British Columbia. She faced a lot of racism and a lot of sexism. She was a firecracker. She was not someone who would sit down and take crap from anybody.
When she became demented, we thought, “Oh my gosh, this is going to be terrible” because she lost so much of her autonomy. She was happy. I know we wonder how you can tell if someone is happy if they can't talk anymore. She would sit there with her grandchildren—I'm going to cry, sorry—holding hands. She would sing. Even after she couldn't talk anymore, she would sing.
She passed away at home with my dad by her side. She had a great life. If I had asked her when she was in her full glory as a physician and a trailblazer if she would have wanted to die like that, she would probably have said, “Hell no!” At the end, though, I would say that, yes, she had a good death. She had a dignified death, and she had a happy death. It was really with the support of everybody at home. You cannot tell from how you are when you are in your fifties or sixties what it's going to be like in a situation you have not yet experienced.
There is another paper that I reference a lot of times. They had patients who were going to have—