Even when memory and language fade, connection, dignity and meaning continue through presence, emotion, and embodied care.
Maurice Merleau-Ponty was a French philosopher who wrote about how we experience life through our bodies and relationships, not just through thinking and reasoning. His ideas are helpful in the context of dementia because they remind us that a person remains present, feeling, and responsive even when memory and language are affected. Using Merleau-Ponty is not about philosophy for its own sake, but about offering carers a way to understand that connection, dignity, and meaning continue through presence, emotion, and embodied care, long after words begin to fail.
Merleau-Ponty helps us understand something deeply reassuring for anyone caring for a person with dementia: a person is more than their thoughts, memory, or ability to explain themselves. Long before we learn to reason or speak, we live as feeling, sensing bodies in relationship with the world. That way of being does not disappear when memory weakens. It continues quietly, often powerfully, beneath the surface.
When dementia enters a person’s life, it can seem as if the person you knew is slowly slipping away. Words become harder to find. Names are forgotten. Conversations lose their thread. This can be frightening and heartbreaking, especially for carers who feel pressure to “bring the person back” by reminding, correcting, or explaining. Merleau-Ponty’s way of seeing offers a gentler truth: the person is still here, just relating differently.
Even when thinking becomes unreliable, the body continues to feel and respond. A person with dementia may not understand a sentence, but they can feel your tone of voice. They may not remember where they are, but they can sense whether the space feels safe or tense. They may not recognise your name, but they can recognise the feeling of your presence. Calm or rush, warmth or irritation, patience or frustration are all picked up immediately, often more clearly than words.
This is because we are always in relationship with the world through our bodies. Familiar movements, routines, and rhythms can offer reassurance when memory no longer can. Walking the same route, holding a warm mug, hearing a familiar piece of music, or sitting quietly side by side can anchor someone more effectively than explanations. These moments matter. They are not “second best” forms of connection. They are real, human ways of being together.
For carers, this understanding can ease some of the hidden pressures you may carry. You do not have to constantly teach, correct, or remind in order to care well. You are already helping when you slow your pace, soften your voice, and stay emotionally present. Your body communicates safety before your words ever arrive. Simply being steady and attentive can help regulate fear and confusion.
There will still be difficult moments. Dementia can bring agitation, withdrawal, or distress, and no philosophy removes the pain of watching someone struggle. But Merleau-Ponty’s insight encourages you to trust what you already know at a bodily level. When you sense that someone needs calm rather than logic, closeness rather than explanation, you are not giving up, you are responding wisely.
Care, in this sense, is not about fixing what is broken. It is about maintaining a relationship in whatever form is still possible. Sitting together in silence, sharing a task, offering gentle touch, or simply staying nearby all say, “You are not alone.” Even when memory fades, that message can still be felt.
If there is one gentle reassurance to hold onto, it is this: you are reaching the person more often than you realise. Presence counts. Kindness registers. Your way of being matters. In dementia care, connection does not vanish, it changes shape, and you are learning to meet it where it now lives.
Jurgen Schwarz
January 2026