🎵 “Can’t Find My Way Home” — EOA What If They Really Can’t? (Blind Faith)
Practicing the information that could help your person get home safely
Maybe it’s happened to you already.
Maybe it hasn’t.
Maybe your spouse has never wandered, gotten separated from you, or forgotten where home is.
But here's something I started thinking about:
If they aren't driving anymore, how often are they actually practicing how to get home?
When we drove, we constantly reinforced where we lived without realizing it.
You saw the street signs.
You knew the route.
You typed your address into things.
You filled out forms.
You drove home from work.
You gave people directions.
Then Alzheimer's happens.
Driving stops.
Someone else handles the paperwork.
Someone else talks at appointments.
Someone else orders the Uber.
Someone else gets you home.
And slowly, information that once got reinforced constantly...
isn't being practiced anymore.
🧠 We Practiced the Important Stuff
Early on, we did occupational therapy weekly for a while.
And part of what we worked on wasn't particularly exciting.
It was basic information I desperately wanted Rob to hold onto for as long as possible.
His address.
His birthday.
The kids' names.
My name.
Important pieces of his life.
Over.
And over.
And over.
About an hour every week.
Then we'd reinforce some of it at home.
Because there's so much happening after an Early Onset Alzheimer's diagnosis that I think we sometimes forget:
They may need help practicing information we assume they'll always know.
📉 And Did It Actually Do Anything?
Here's what I found interesting.
His MoCA scores weren't magically getting better.
We weren't reversing Alzheimer's.
But during that period, he tended to stay around 12–13 instead of dipping down into the 9–10 range we'd sometimes see.
Do I know that occupational therapy caused that?
No.
And I wouldn't tell another caregiver that practicing an address is going to preserve someone's MoCA score.
MoCA scores can fluctuate, and Alzheimer's continues progressing regardless of how many times we practice something.
But for us?
Maintaining anything mattered.
If he could hold onto useful information longer, I considered that a win.
🏠 “Where Do You Live?”
Try something sometime.
Ask your person:
“What's our address?”
Not to embarrass them.
Not as a test they can fail.
Just to find out whether they still know it.
Then maybe ask:
“What city do we live in?”
“What's your full name?”
“What's my name?”
“What's your birthday?”
“Who would you call if you couldn't find me?”
You may be surprised by what's still there.
You may also be surprised by what's already disappearing.
And that's information you need to know.
❤️ Don't Quiz Them. Practice WITH Them.
There's an important difference.
I don't want to spend every Tuesday night interrogating my husband:
WHAT'S YOUR ADDRESS?!
That's miserable.
Instead, weave it into life.
Driving home:
“Here's Northeast Drive. This is our street.”
Getting the mail:
“Look—there's our address.”
Filling something out:
“Here's your address. Let's read it together.”
Going somewhere:
“We're in Tampa. That's where we live.”
Then occasionally:
“Hey, what's our street again?”
If he knows it?
Great.
If he doesn't?
Give him the answer.
We're reinforcing information.
We're not administering the SAT.
🧠 But There's an Important Reality Check
Practicing something doesn't guarantee Alzheimer's will let them keep it.
This isn't:
“If you practice your address enough, you'll never wander.”
Unfortunately, it doesn't work that way.
As Alzheimer's progresses, memory, language, recognition, orientation and judgment can all change.
Eventually, a person may not reliably remember information they've practiced hundreds of times.
And that's why I think we need two plans running at the same time.
PLAN A:
Help them maintain useful information for as long as they can.
PLAN B:
Assume there may eventually be a day when they can't tell anyone that information at all.
That's where identification comes in.
🪪 If They Couldn't Speak, Could Someone Identify Them?
This question scares me more than:
“Does he know his address?”
Imagine your person gets separated from you.
A police officer finds them.
They're frightened.
Aphasia kicks in.
They can't remember their address.
They can't remember your phone number.
They can't clearly explain that they have Alzheimer's.
How does that officer know who to call?
Don't make your person's memory the only safety system.
Consider identification they can wear or carry, such as:
⌚ A medical ID bracelet
🏷️ An identification tag
👟 Identification attached to shoes
📱 Emergency information on their phone
👛 An emergency card in a wallet
🎒 Identification inside a frequently carried bag
📞APPLE TAGS
Depending on the person, a GPS/location device may also be worth discussing.
And put your contact information somewhere accessible—not just theirs.
🚨 Teach ONE Emergency Plan
I'd keep this incredibly simple.
Don't give them seven things to remember.
Choose something they can still do.
For example:
“If you can't find me, show someone your bracelet.”
Practice it.
“Where's your bracelet?”
Point.
“If you're lost, what do you show someone?”
Bracelet.
That's it.
Or maybe it's:
“Find a police officer and show them this card.”
The emergency plan needs to match what your person can actually do today, not what they could have done two years ago.
📱 Practice Using the Phone While They Still Can
This is another ability worth checking.
Can they still:
Unlock their phone?
Find your contact?
Call you?
Answer your call?
Use an emergency contact?
If the answer is yes, simplify the hell out of that phone.
Put the important people front and center.
Remove unnecessary apps.
Use photos with contacts if that's easier.
And practice:
“If you can't find me, call Jessica.”
"Hey Siri, call Home"
But don't assume the phone is enough.
A person who becomes frightened, confused or disoriented may suddenly be unable to perform a task they can normally do.
That's why I want redundancy.
Phone.
ID.
Bracelet.
Location technology.
Another human being who knows what to do.
👀 Practice Getting Separated BEFORE You Get Separated
This doesn't have to be scary.
You're at a familiar store together.
Ask:
“If you couldn't find me, where would you go?”
Maybe the answer is:
The front desk.
Practice identifying an employee.
Teach:
“I need help finding my wife.”
If language is becoming difficult, make it even easier.
Have a card that says something like:
I HAVE A MEMORY DISORDER. I MAY BE LOST OR CONFUSED. PLEASE CALL MY EMERGENCY CONTACT.
Now they don't have to explain anything.
They just have to show the card.
🧭 And Don't Assume “Home” Always Means an Address
This is one of the heartbreaking parts of Alzheimer's.
Eventually someone may say:
“I want to go home.”
While sitting in their own house.
At that point, giving them the street address probably isn't going to solve the problem.
“Home” may mean something completely different.
Their childhood home.
A place from decades ago.
Or simply:
Somewhere that feels familiar and safe.
That's a different stage and a different problem.
And arguing:
“YOU ARE HOME!”
probably isn't going to help.
This post is about preserving orientation and emergency information while your person can still use it.
Because there's a window.
And I want to use it.
📝 What Information Would I Practice?
Keep it small.
I wouldn't try to make someone memorize an emergency binder.
I'd focus on:
🏠 Home street/address
🌎 City/state
👤 Their full name
🎂 Birthday
❤️ Spouse/caregiver's name
📞 Who to contact for help
🪪 Where their medical ID is
🚨 One simple action if separated
And maybe the most important one:
“Show someone this.”
Because eventually recognition may be easier than recall.
💜 Independence Isn't All or Nothing
This is really what I'm trying to preserve.
I know I can't make Rob independent forever.
Alzheimer's has already made some of those decisions for us.
But there's a huge space between:
Completely independent
and
Completely dependent.
If he can tell someone his name...
That's something.
If he remembers our street...
That's something.
If he can call me...
That's something.
If he knows to show someone his bracelet...
That's something.
And I'll take every something I can get.
🎵 Why “Can’t Find My Way Home”
Because someday...
He might not be able to.
That's incredibly hard for me to write.
But pretending it can't happen doesn't protect him.
So while he can still learn, practice, recognize and follow simple instructions...
We're going to practice.
Not obsessively.
Not like homework.
Not to prove what Alzheimer's has taken.
A few minutes.
A few times a week.
Your name is Rob.
I'm Jessica.
This is where you live.
This is your bracelet.
If you can't find me, show someone this.
Over and over.
For as long as those pieces stick.
And when they don't?
That's when the systems I've put around him have to remember...
what his brain no longer can.
💜 CAREGIVER CHECK-IN
Tonight, without making it a test, figure out whether your person can still tell you:
Their full name.
Their address or at least their city.
Your name.
Who they should ask for if they're lost.
How to call you.
How to Call 911 (if something happens to you)
Where their medical identification is.
Whatever they don't know?
That's where I'd start practicing—and building a backup that doesn't depend on memory.
💬 Disclaimer:
Keep in mind, I am writing this blog over years, not in one day- I repeat some things, but because it became more applicable today. I’m not a doctor, lawyer, therapist, or expert—just a wife trying to figure this out one day at a time. Everything shared here is based on our experience and things that have helped us along the way. Take what helps, leave what doesn’t, and always check with professionals when needed. I also use AI to help clean up my writing, organize thoughts, and pull together resources because honestly… caregiver brains are tired too. If something here helps another family feel less alone, then it’s worth sharing.
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