One of the more despairing moment when taking care of someone who has dementia or any other form of cognitive decline (and is declining rapidly) is that the person they used to be is gone, but their bodies is still there. Occasionally, a glimmer of the person shines through; it might be with their smile, a joke, a gleam in their eye. And then, it’s gone. They are gone again, and they forgot that they were back, even for that brief moment. That shade of who they were is swallowed by the disease that has taken their minds, invaded their bodies, conquered who they are.
They have become less than a shell of who they are; they are gone but their bodies hasn’t caught up. Something else inhabits them.
In a sad, twisted way, they have become a walking dead.