The Hallucinations We’ll Never Forget
When people talk about hallucinations in Lewy Body Dementia, they often describe fear and distress.
But for Grandma, they were never frightening. They were simply part of her world. She wasn’t scared by what she saw. She treated them like visitors. Like people who had turned up and needed acknowledging. Sometimes she would even talk to them, asking questions like, “What are you cooking tonight?”
To her, this all made perfect sense.
The Man and the Morris Minor
One of the first hallucinations I remember clearly was when Grandma calmly told me there was a seven-foot man trying to get into a Morris Minor outside the house.
She wasn’t upset.
She wasn’t alarmed.
She was just reporting it, as though it were a perfectly normal thing to notice.
It was oddly specific and completely real to her, and honestly an image that had me laughing even though I know I shouldn't have.
The Cat Who Looked at Her Funny
There was also the cat(s).
Apparently, this cat would look at her in a way she didn’t like.
Not aggressive. Just… disapproving.
She would complain about it as if it were a neighbour who had bad manners. She also threatened to throw a coke can at it if it didn't stop looking at her and even asked carers to remove it from the house.
“There’s One Climbing Up Your Leg”
One visit at the care home, she made me get up urgently because she said there was something climbing up my leg at first I thought she meant an insect and she had me searching both pant legs like a mad man thinking there was a spider or something on them. Then she went no the cat, the cats crawling up your leg, grab it!
There wasn’t. But to her, there absolutely was!
She wasn’t frightened - just wanted me to grab it.
Telling Them Off for Dropping Ash on the Floor
Some hallucinations came with rules.
She would tell off invisible people for dropping cigarette ash on her carpet and insist they use an ashtray.
Even then, she still cared about her house. She still cared about manners.
Head, Arm and Leg
Perhaps the most touching part was that she gave them names.
They weren’t strangers. They were Head, Arm and Leg.
They became part of her daily conversations and part of her world. And somehow, part of ours too.
When the time came to scatter her ashes, none of us had the heart to separate them.
Because of those names.
Because of those moments.
Because even in illness, she had created meaning where there should have been none.
What These Moments Taught Us
Hallucinations were not something we could correct away.
We learned not to say, “That’s not real.”
We learned to say, “It’s okay, you’re safe.”
Because her experiences weren’t frightening to her.
They were just… there.
And by responding calmly, we made them easier for her and for us.
Holding the Memories Gently
Hallucinations are one of the hardest parts of Lewy Body Dementia. They are unpredictable and exhausting. But they can also hold unexpected moments of tenderness and personality.
Grandma still worried about people’s behaviour.
Still made conversation.
Still cared about what was happening in her home.
Still asked, “What are you cooking tonight?”
They don’t make light of her illness.
They remind us that she was still her.
And sometimes, remembering these moments with warmth and amusement feels kinder than remembering the stranger she became.