Dementia destroys the father-daughter bond

"Do you have a boyfriend?" he asked me. He was about 84 years old and interested in a date.

Sitting before him with my young son on my lap, I gave him the bad news: "No, but I have a husband and two kids. And I am your daughter, Dad."

My father's confusion was the consequence of his battle with Alzheimer's disease. One day he recognized me, the next, maybe not. Though my brain could process that, my heart could not. No matter how realistic I tried to be about my father's decline and our awkward exchanges, I found it impossible to accept that he really didn't know me.
Kathy Tyrer writes in the Los Angeles Times about realizing that the father-daughter connection she had with her dad is gone. That's something to which I can relate.

In my case, it has been a gradual realization. Did our relationship disintegrate when he could no longer safely drive, and I was the one driving his car? Was it when he stopped saying my name or recognizing my voice? Or when I knew I could no longer seek his guidance?

If I lived close enough to visit at his memory care center, would that just prolong the process, make it more evident, more painful? Probably. Though, distance doesn't seem to make it easy. If I lived near my Dad, I could have transitioned if not from daughter to caregiver, at least to care helper or care over-seer, or even to daughter who dutifully visits.

From afar, I'm just daughter who reads about frontotemporal dementia and feels frustration and anger at how the disease has taken my Dad away from me.