My Journey with Dementia
Wally Klatch is in the early stages of Alzheimer’s and uses his experience to raise awareness about dementia. Photos: Dana Walker
Two years ago, at the age of sixty-nine, I started having memory problems. I lived in Israel at the time and went to visit the Roman theater in Caesarea. I really enjoyed it and told one of my sons about it.
My son said, “Abba, we were just there a few weeks ago.”
I had absolutely no recollection of going to Caesarea. None. Even after my son reminded me of what happened there, I couldn’t recall anything. My memory was wiped out. That’s when I knew my memory issues were not just due to aging. I realized something was very wrong and went to a neurologist.
The neurologist at Hadassah Hospital in Jerusalem administered a MoCA test, used to assess cognitive impairment, and an MRI of my brain. After reviewing the results, he diagnosed me with mild cognitive impairment (MCI), an early stage of dementia. Since then, I’ve been diagnosed with Lewy body dementia and Parkinson’s disease. This is the stage where I am now, at the beginning of the journey of Alzheimer’s.
I have gone from being a fairly normal person to one whose life has changed immensely. Within a period of two months I went from rarely hearing “can I help you with that?” to hearing it far too often. I am not able to do things I used to do effortlessly, and the phrase “I need help” comes out of my mouth with increasing frequency.
I am not able to do things I used to do effortlessly, and the phrase ‘I need help’ comes out of my mouth with increasing frequency.
I think slowly and I don’t absorb things well. If somebody speaks quickly, I can’t keep up. When I go to shul on Shabbat morning, I take a chumash and a siddur like everyone else. But I keep them right next to me and do not open them up, because following along is too difficult. I can no longer listen to the shaliach tzibbur and try to read along at the same time.
A recent sign of my brain’s deterioration is my inability to recognize people—someone might approach me and it’s obvious that we’re well-acquainted from the way he’s speaking to me, but I don’t recognize the person’s face or his name at all.
On occasion as I speak with my neurologist on Zoom, I have no idea it’s him, except for the fact that I see his name on the bottom of the screen.
There are things I remember and things I don’t. I can’t distinguish between what kinds of things I will remember and what I won’t. Sometimes I remember something asked of me ten minutes earlier, but I will have no recollection of what happened yesterday. Instead of memory, there is blackness, a void. Nothing. 
A very scary moment occurred when I began to talk about one of my sons, and for a few seconds, I couldn’t remember his name. When I finally did recall it, it sounded strange to me—why would I give my son a name like that?
I have four children, thank G-d—three sons and a daughter. I’ve seen enough videos of parents with dementia who don’t recognize their own children sitting rightnext to them. To think that I might be at the very beginning of that path is deeply frightening.
In November 2023, I moved to Denver, Colorado, to be closer to one of my sons. Currently, I live on my own, but my son lives close by. Every morning, I enjoy walking in a nearby park or to the botanical gardens, which relaxes me and helps to clear my mind. I also participate in a few Zoom support groups for people with dementia or terminal illnesses, enabling me to connect with others facing similar challenges.
There seem to be plenty of Jewish support groups for caretakers of individuals with dementia, but not many for those living with dementia. It is unfortunate. I’m sure it is needed.
When memory starts to fail, it drags functionality along with it. When am I going to start forgetting things like taking a house key with me when I leave the house? I don’t know. While dementia often brings a gradual decline, it can also cause rapid, unexpected deterioration—and that’s what frightens me. One woman in the support group shared that her husband, who had dementia, was doing well, and then within a month, he completely deteriorated.
And yet, even while I am frightened, I can see the blessings. I can sense my mild cognitive impairment; I feel my brain working less. I’ve always been a thinking person, but as I experience cognitive decline, I feel my heart becoming more expansive. I’ve become more of a feeling person. I’m much more emotional than I ever was. I cry often. When I go to the supermarket, I always hug the security guard. I’ve discovered that I actually like this new self.
Truthfully, people aren’t used to hearing someone talk honestly about dementia and dying. But one of my goals is to start conversations about these difficult and painful topics. At this stage of my illness, it’s early, and I still have time to do things before I reach that dreadful place.
. . . to think that I might be at the very beginning of that path is deeply frightening.
I had to figure out how I want to spend my remaining time. I decided to document my journey with dementia. Every day, I take videos to record how I feel and post them on a website.
I’ve also started speaking at different venues to raise awareness about dementia, including synagogues, libraries and educational centers. I want to learn what guidance Torah sources can offer me as a Jew on this dementia path. At the same time, promoting dementia awareness and conversation gives me a focus and helps keep me motivated and feeling alive. I believe that not being active or having a focus exacerbates dementia in many people. In that sense, dementia is both my problem and my solution.
Once I got over the shock of the diagnosis, I came to terms with what was happening to me: I was heading toward being an immobile, basically non-functional human in what amounts to a long period of dying.
Dementia takes the person away. The person is no longer who they once were.
While these thoughts of dying dominated my mind, slowly another realization appeared: I’m dying and living at the same time.
But as I see it now, living and dying are not two distinct aspects. Dementia makes dying more real and reminds me that all I have is this moment. Everyone is going to die. But since I’m in the process of dying, I’m trying to live more fully and make every moment of my present life that much richer.
Wally Klatch’s professional career was as a management consultant for large manufacturing companies. Wally is active in raising public awareness and conversation about dementia including Alzheimer’s, Lewy body and other forms of dementia. He writes a weekly post connecting dementia to each week’s Torah portion.
Nechama Carmel is editor-in-chief of Jewish Action.
More in this section:
My Journey with Dementia by Wally Klatch, as told to Nechama Carmel
Dementia in Halachah by Rabbi Dr. Jason Weiner
Writing the Final Chapter: A Torah View on Facing Mortality by Rabbi Daniel Rose
When Dad Has Dementia by Rachel Schwartzberg