Caregiver Wisdom
If you’ve ever cared for someone living with dementia, you already know the sound of the same question asked again and again.
At first, you answer out of love. Then you answer out of habit. Then you start to feel something else—an irritation you wish you didn’t feel.
This is a story about repetitive questions in dementia, the triggers that cause them, and what I’m learning—not as a master caregiver but as a husband trying to do better. I’ll tell you what I’ve discovered, share the moments that taught me, and circle back to what they mean for both of us.
The Point: Repetitive Questions Are About Reassurance
Repetitive questioning isn’t really about information. It’s about reassurance—tiny flares of uncertainty looking for safe landing.
If we can learn to see the feeling behind the question, we can stop treating it like a problem to fix and start treating it as a moment to connect.
Understanding the “why” behind repetitive questioning is the first step toward calmer, more compassionate dementia caregiving.
The Puppy Trigger: When Curiosity Repeats Itself
A few weeks ago, my wife, Gail, and I cared for a nine-week-old miniature dachshund named Ziggy. We were only keeping him for four days before delivering him to my son. He was impossibly tiny—soft as velvet, with blue eyes that could melt a glacier.
During those four days, Gail asked at least forty times, “How big is he going to get?”
Each time, her voice carried genuine amazement. At first, I thought it was just another repetitive question. But the more I listened, the more I realized it was something deeper.
The sight of something small and new triggered an instinct—perhaps a memory of motherhood or the wonder of life beginning. The question wasn’t about size; it was about awe. I’d been answering the wrong thing. What she really needed wasn’t data—it was to share the joy of something beautiful and alive.
The Cocktail Chair Loop: When Routine Becomes a Question
In the evenings, I sit in my favorite chair—the same one where I read, think, and sometimes drift off before dinner. Almost without fail, when I sit down, Gail asks, “Can I get you a cocktail?”
She’ll ask it once, twice, sometimes three times in a few minutes.
I used to correct her gently: “Honey, you just asked me that.” But that never helped; it just made both of us feel bad.
Now I see the chair itself is the trigger. To her, that chair means it’s time to relax together. Offering me a drink isn’t forgetfulness—it’s affection. It’s her way of entering the moment.
Instead of saying “You already asked,” I now say, “That sounds nice, sweetheart. I’m good for now—but thank you.”
The loop softens. The air relaxes. We both win.
The Day-of-the-Week Question: When Orientation Feels Like Safety
Of all the repetitive questions Gail asks, the most common is: “What day is today?”
It sounds harmless, but it used to puzzle me. She doesn’t have anything scheduled most days. There’s no appointment she’s trying to remember. So why ask?
Over time, I realized the question isn’t about the day—it’s about orientation. It’s her way of asking, “Is there anything I need to prepare for? Am I missing something important?”
So when she asks now, I don’t just say “Tuesday.”
I say, “It’s Tuesday—and we don’t have a single thing we need to worry about.”
That answer lands where it matters: in her heart, not her calendar.
What Repetitive Questions Have Taught Me as a Dementia Caregiver
Like most of us, I’m wired to answer questions. It’s what adults do. Someone asks, we respond. But caregiving requires a different kind of listening—one tuned to emotion instead of logic.
Here’s what I’m learning:
1. Find the trigger, not the fault.
Every repeated question begins with a cue—a chair, a puppy, a sound, a smell. Once you find the trigger, you stop taking it personally.
2. Reframe your reflex to answer.
Our instinct is to fix confusion with facts. But facts don’t always comfort. Sometimes the real answer is acknowledgment. “He’s still tiny, isn’t he?” works better than “He’ll grow to twelve pounds.”
3. Forgive yourself for losing patience.
Even the most loving dementia caregivers get tired of repetition. The guilt that follows is heavy, but it’s misplaced. Guilt means you still care. Recognize it, breathe, start again.
4. Measure success differently.
You don’t “win” by stopping the questions. You succeed when both of you feel calmer afterward. The goal isn’t to silence the loop—it’s to walk beside it.
The Deeper Meaning of Repetitive Questioning in Dementia
Repetition is often labeled a “problem behavior,” but I’ve come to see it as communication in its purest form—raw, unfiltered, emotional. Every repeated question echoes the same need: Am I safe? Am I seen? Am I loved?
Once I realized that, the questions stopped feeling like tests I was failing. They became opportunities for grace and patience.
I still get it wrong. I still answer the same question three times when I could have answered it once with empathy. But each moment teaches me something new about humility and what it means to love someone who is slowly forgetting.
Closing the Loop
When I think back to little Ziggy curled up on Gail’s lap, I remember how she’d stroke his fur and ask again, “How big do you think he’ll get?” I used to think the repetition was the problem.
Now I think the repetition is the message.
Because in the asking, she’s really saying: “This moment matters. Please stay in it with me.”
And that, I’ve learned, is the real answer.
— Gregg Fous, Founder of AtendaCare™
