Magic, Mirrors, and Memory: Using Story to Transform Dementia.

A fog settles over life when the word dementia is whispered. For those of us inside it, the hardest part isn’t always forgetting; it’s how others begin to look at us as if we're already gone.

We find it especially hard to get the message across to some of our underserved communities. All we see are the differences. Well, let’s turn that perception on its head, and look at our commonalities - the things we share. First and foremost amongst these in my humble opinion, is our shared love of storytelling.

People see dementia as a tragedy, but we can find a better way to discuss it by revisiting the stories that shaped us. This shift - from seeing dementia in purely medical terms to exploring it through shared narrative- changes how we experience and discuss the journey.

Fairy tales have always been our way of handling the things that scare us. By weaving the reality of dementia into culturally appropriate legends (using the heroes and tricksters we already know and love), we can turn a clinical "death sentence" into a shared human journey.

The Power of the Trickster

Every culture has a trickster. Whether it is Anansi the Spider, Coyote, Reynard the Fox, Maui, Puck or Loki, these characters represent the unpredictable nature of the world.

Dementia, in many ways, is the ultimate trickster. It moves my keys, hides my grandchildren's names, and changes the house overnight.

If we tell stories where a hero must outsmart a trickster who steals "bits of time" or "colours of memory," we do two things:

• We give it a face: It becomes an external challenge to navigate rather than a shameful internal failure.
  

• We find the humour: Trickster stories allow for a bit of wit. When I lose my train of thought, it isn't just a symptom; it’s the Spider playing a prank. That shift in perspective makes it easier for my family to laugh with me rather than grieve for me.
  

And, we can transition from the Trickster to become the Hero.

The Hero’s New Quest.

In many tales, the hero is young, but some of our best stories feature an "Old Wise One" finding new ways to lead. A hero with dementia might not remember the path, but a "magic thread", a routine or caregiver - guides them.

Including these themes in folklore demystifies dementia, showing that identity remains: even if the hero forgets names, their heart and bravery endure. Community is vital; legends show heroes succeed by listening to birds or helping ants.

For us, the "magic" is the support system that helps us navigate the days when the map goes blank.

Why Folklore Works

More broadly, why does folklore work so well? Using these cultural pillars takes the "scary science" out of the room. It replaces cold medical terms with symbols that everyone, from a young child to a village elder, can understand. It turns a lonely struggle into a legendary battle of wits and endurance.

By putting dementia into our oldest stories, we remind the world that we are still part of the human tapestry. We aren't disappearing (we are just travelling a different, slightly more winding road).

I honestly think that using fairy tales as a vehicle to inform and educate is the way forward - let’s face it, that’s what they have done since the beginning of time.

I’ve written some examples on a single theme, designed for different ethnic groups.

Please take a few minutes to read the one below, based on the wonderful Anansi the Spider from Ghanian folktales. The Weaver and the Great Mist

Once, in a village tucked between the roots of the world (a place where stories were kept in jars), lived a wise weaver named Akosua. For years, her hands had danced over the loom, creating patterns that told the history of the stars and the secrets of the soil.

But lately, a thick, silver Mist had begun to roll into Akosua’s mind. It didn’t come all at once. It nibbled at the edges of her thoughts, swallowing the names of her grandchildren and hiding the path to the market. Some villagers whispered that she was "fading," but Akosua was still there, even if she was often lost in the fog.

The Uninvited Guest

One afternoon, a familiar eight-legged figure dropped from the ceiling on a shimmering thread. It was Anansi the Spider, the master of stories and tricks. He looked troubled, which was rare for a spider who usually spent his time outsmarting tigers.

"Akosua," Anansi clicked, "the Great Mist isn't just in your garden anymore. It has escaped and is swallowing the entire world’s stories. People are forgetting how to plant, how to sing, and even how to be kind. I tried to catch the Mist in my web, but it’s too slippery!"

Akosua looked at her empty loom. She didn't remember Anansi’s name, but she recognized the rhythm of his voice. "If you cannot catch it," she said softly, "you must guide it."

The Brave Journey

The Mist grew heavy, turning the world gray and silent. While the young and strong hid in their homes, afraid of forgetting who they were, Akosua did something very brave. She stepped right into the heart of the thickest fog.

She didn't use a map, for the Mist had erased all the lines. Instead, she used her inner rhythm.

• She felt the vibration of Anansi’s silk thread.

• She listened to the heartbeat of the earth.

• She used her hands to "feel" the memories that the Mist tried to steal.

  
  

Anansi watched in wonder as Akosua began to weave, not with wool, but with the Mist itself.

The Wisdom of the Weaver

"You are a trickster, Anansi," Akosua whispered as she worked, "but you cannot fight the fog. You must treat it like a tangled fleece. You pick through it, find the strongest threads, and make something new."

With every loop of her fingers, Akosua tied a "Feeling" to a "Moment." She couldn't remember the word for water, but she remembered the coolness of it. She couldn't remember the name of her son, but she remembered the warmth of his hand.

She wove these feelings into a Great Tapestry of Light.

Because she was not afraid of the Mist (having lived with it for so long), she was the only one who could touch it without disappearing.

The Triumph

As the sun rose, Akosua’s tapestry caught the light. The Mist didn't vanish, but it changed. It settled into the valleys and the hollows, no longer a monster that swallowed stories, but a soft blanket that reminded people to cherish every moment.

The villagers ran out, their memories returning like birds to a nest. They found Akosua sitting by her loom, tired but smiling. Anansi sat on her shoulder, for once completely silent in his admiration.

Akosua might still forget where she put her tea, and she might ask the same question twice, but the village never forgot her bravery. She had shown them that even when the details of a story fade, the love within the story is a thread that can never be broken.