The writer speaks with his mother, 97, in aged care in Auckland and remains closely involved in her care, visiting regularly to support her and provide companionship. When visiting, he takes her to the Sri Lankaramaya Temple, where she collects the Sri LankanNZ community paper.  He has this to tell…

Many of us have seen The Notebook. In the film, an elderly husband visits his wife every day in a care facility. She lives with advanced dementia. On some rare days, she recognises him for a short time. Most days, she does not. At times, she even sees him as a stranger and asks him to leave.

Yet he returns. Every day.

He reads to her. He tells their story—not because she will remember, but because their bond remains, even when memory does not.

What is important here is not recognition, but persistence. He does not expect a response or acknowledgement. He chooses to remain present, even when nothing comes back to him.

That image is not just a story. It reflects a reality many families face today, especially among diaspora communities.

Distance, Diaspora and the New Reality

For many of us in the diaspora living outside Sri Lanka, this situation is all too familiar. Most families have aging parents still in Sri Lanka, while only a few parents live with their children abroad. Distance creates a natural barrier to connection.

As a result, communication is often limited to phone or video calls. For many, this becomes the only way to stay connected.

However, as parents grow older, conversations begin to change. They may speak more slowly, repeat themselves, or lose track of what is being said. Many adult children find it increasingly difficult to engage, and what was once natural begins to feel effortful.

There is also a difficult truth beneath this. These are the same parents who cared for us when we were young—when we could not speak, understand, or respond properly. Yet when they return to a similar stage of vulnerability, we sometimes find it difficult to stay connected.

When Communication Becomes Difficult

As parents reach their late eighties and nineties, communication changes in noticeable ways. Their speech becomes slower, their memory may not be clear, their hearing may reduce, and their attention may not stay for long.

What we often see as disengagement is, in fact, a change in how the mind processes information.

If we continue to speak as before—at the same pace and with the same expectations—the conversation begins to break down.

Learning to Slow Down

Before calling an elderly parent, it helps to pause and consider a simple question: why am I making this call?

Often, we call without thinking, speaking in the same way we would with friends or colleagues. But this approach does not work well when cognitive ability has slowed.

For those of us whose contact has become infrequent, this calls for honest reflection. Before making that call, we need to consciously adjust how we approach the conversation.

In my own case, speaking regularly to my 97-year-old mother in aged care in Auckland has taught me to be deliberate in how I communicate.

I learned that I must slow down, speak clearly, and allow time for her to process what I say. Simple, gentle openings—such as asking about her room, what she is doing, or whether she is comfortable—help the conversation begin naturally without pressure.

Silence also has value. It gives space for thought and response.

Anil De Silva – Sydney