It was a calm afternoon—one of those rare moments where everything seemed quiet. Too quiet, in a way that made me suspicious, but also grateful. We were sitting in the living room, the sun filtering through the curtains, casting warm patterns on the walls. The old radio played something soft in the background.
My mother was relaxed, sitting on the couch with her hands folded in her lap, eyes gently watching the window. Next to her on the armchair was our familiar fluffy grey blanket—the one with white spots. We’d had it for years. She used to call it “the snowcloud blanket” because of how soft and speckled it looked.
“I feel a bit thirsty,” she said, turning her head slightly. “Can you bring me a glass of water?”
“Of course, Mama,” I replied, relieved she’d asked instead of trying to get up herself. Her legs had been increasingly unsteady, and we were well into the stage where walking unsupervised was dangerous.
I stood up and turned toward the kitchen. I had barely taken five steps when I heard her scream.
“AAAAH! Look! LOOK! The mice! They’re on the chair! They’re everywhere!”
My heart leaped into my throat. I spun around to find her half-standing, one hand pointing at the armchair, the other gripping the couch cushion for dear life. Her face was filled with pure, raw terror.
“Mama, what is it? What’s wrong?” I rushed to her side.
She kept pointing, eyes locked on the grey blanket. “There! Can’t you see them?! There are mice crawling all over that chair! So many of them!”
I looked at the chair. The blanket sat exactly as it always had—grey, soft, dotted with white circles. Not a mouse in sight.
But her mind didn’t care about logic or sight or reality.
Understanding Visual Hallucinations in Dementia
What happened that afternoon is something called pareidolia—a type of visual hallucination where the brain misinterprets patterns as familiar objects or living things. It’s incredibly common in Parkinson’s disease dementia and Lewy body dementia.
In my mother’s case:
- The grey fabric = mouse bodies
- The white polka dots = their faces or movement
- The folds and shadows = mice crawling and multiplying
Her brain, damaged by disease, took a harmless pattern and transformed it into a living, terrifying swarm.
Why This Happens
According to neurologists, visual hallucinations in Parkinson’s dementia occur due to:
- Lewy body deposits in the visual processing areas of the brain
- Impaired depth perception and contrast sensitivity
- Poor lighting creating shadows that the brain misinterprets
- Pattern recognition gone wrong—the brain trying to “make sense” of visual input
The hallucination isn’t voluntary. She couldn’t “choose” to see it differently. To her, those mice were as real as I was.
How I Responded (The Wrong Way)
My first instinct was to use logic. I knelt beside her and said calmly:
“Mama, it’s not mice. It’s just the blanket. Those are just little white dots. Remember? The one you used to call the snowcloud blanket?”
But nothing I said mattered. She wasn’t hearing me—not really. She was still staring at the chair, panicked, her chest rising and falling rapidly. When I reached for the blanket to show her, she recoiled, afraid I’d bring the “mice” closer.
That’s when it hit me: Logic doesn’t work on hallucinations.
Her fear wasn’t based on misunderstanding. It was based on what her brain was genuinely showing her. And no amount of explanation could override that faulty signal.
What I Did Instead
I took a deep breath and changed my approach.
“Mama… I promise there’s nothing there. But look—I’ll take it away, just in case. Okay?”
She didn’t stop me.
I gently gathered the blanket, folded it carefully like I always did, and walked straight to the hallway closet. I placed it on the top shelf, shut the door, and gave myself a moment to breathe.
When I came back, she looked calmer. Still shaken, but no longer in panic mode.
“Did you get rid of them?” she asked softly.
“Yes,” I nodded. “They’re gone now. You’re safe.”
And just like that, she accepted it. Her body relaxed. She even smiled a little—like a child being told the monsters under the bed had left for good.
The Aftermath: When Objects Become Triggers
We never talked about the blanket again. She didn’t ask for it. I never brought it out.
Even now, months later, that blanket remains tucked away in the closet. I’ve opened the door a few times, thought about taking it out, even just to wash it. But something always stops me.
Maybe I’m afraid that if I bring it back, she’ll see the mice again.
Or maybe I’m afraid that I will start seeing them too—that I’ll begin to understand how patterns can deceive, how the mind can betray.
But more than anything, it reminds me that no matter how ordinary life seems in one moment, it can shift in an instant. A simple polka-dot pattern can become a swarm of fear. And there’s nothing I can do to prevent it.
What This Taught Me About Dementia Hallucinations
1. Remove the Trigger, Don’t Fight the Reality
Once I realized I couldn’t convince her the mice weren’t real, I stopped trying. Instead, I removed what her brain perceived as the threat. The blanket went away. The “mice” disappeared. Problem solved—at least for that moment.
Key Lesson: When an object triggers hallucinations, removing it is often more effective than reasoning.
2. Validation Over Logic
Telling her “there are no mice” didn’t help. What helped was acknowledging her fear:
- “I’ll make sure they’re gone.”
- “You’re safe now.”
- “I took care of it.”
This validated her experience without reinforcing the hallucination.
3. The Environment Matters
I started paying attention to patterns and lighting after this incident:
- Busy patterns (florals, polka dots, stripes) could trigger visual distortions
- Shadows and dim lighting made objects look like people or animals
- Reflective surfaces created confusing images
I began simplifying her environment:
- Solid-colored blankets instead of patterned ones
- Better lighting in her bedroom
- Removing decorative items with complex designs
4. This Wasn’t “Just Confusion”
Before this, I thought dementia hallucinations were vague, dreamlike experiences. But watching her terror that afternoon, I realized: To her, this was as real as a house fire. As real as an intruder in our home.
Her fear wasn’t exaggerated. It was appropriate—for what she was seeing.
Other Objects That Became “Alive” in Our Home
The blanket wasn’t the only thing that betrayed her perception. Over time, I noticed a pattern:
The Water Bottle That “Moved”
One afternoon, a water bottle sat on her nightstand. Her eyes widened suddenly.
“Look! It moved! It’s moving!”
Her hand shot out, grabbing it as if to stop it from escaping. “Quick! Before it falls!”
There was no movement. But to her, the bottle was animated, alive. I immediately made a rule: No water bottles within reach while she’s in bed. The risk of her lunging for a “moving” object and actually falling was too real.
The Curtains with “Little Builders”
Before the mice incident, she’d see tiny people constructing buildings in the folds of our curtains. These didn’t frighten her—they fascinated her. She’d describe their activities with childlike wonder:
“They’re carrying little stones. So hardworking.”
But when those “little builders” started running, fear replaced wonder. Movement transformed benign hallucinations into threatening ones.
The Rug That Was “Stolen”
Later, she became convinced that people were stealing her handmade rugs—precious items her own mother had worked on. The rugs were always there, but her brain couldn’t process their presence correctly.
My solution? I gathered all the rugs in the house and piled them beside her bed—a mountain of familiar textures she could touch and see. Only then did her anxiety ease.
How to Handle Visual Hallucinations: A Caregiver’s Guide
Based on my experience and conversations with healthcare professionals, here’s what actually helps:
✅ DO:
Acknowledge the emotion, not the hallucination
- ❌ “There are no mice, Mom.”
- ✅ “I can see you’re scared. Let me check to make sure everything’s safe.”
Remove or modify the trigger
- Put away patterned blankets, busy wallpaper, or decorative items
- Improve lighting (shadows create illusions)
- Close curtains if outdoor movement is being misinterpreted
Create a calm environment
- Reduce visual clutter
- Use solid colors
- Ensure good lighting without harsh shadows
Distract and redirect
- “Let’s go to the kitchen for some tea.”
- Change the scenery; shift attention
- Offer comfort (holding hands, gentle touch)
❌ DON’T:
Argue about reality
- This only increases agitation and makes them feel unheard
Force them to confront the object
- “Look closely, it’s just a blanket!” can intensify fear
Dismiss their fear
- “It’s nothing” invalidates their very real terror
Leave triggering objects in view
- If something consistently causes distress, remove it
The Emotional Toll on Caregivers
Here’s what nobody tells you: Watching your parent experience terror over something you can’t see is heartbreaking and exhausting.
After the blanket incident, I found myself:
- Second-guessing every household item (Is that pillow too patterned? Will those curtains scare her?)
- Feeling guilty for all the times I’d dismissed her concerns
- Grieving the loss of shared reality (We could no longer both look at a blanket and see the same thing)
- Hyper-vigilant about her environment in ways that drained me
Give Yourself Permission to Grieve
You’re not just managing hallucinations. You’re grieving the loss of a shared world. The blanket she once loved now frightens her. That’s a loss—small, but real.
It’s okay to feel sad about it. It’s okay to feel frustrated. It’s okay to need support.
When to Contact the Doctor
Visual hallucinations are common in Parkinson’s dementia, but you should contact the neurologist if:
- Hallucinations are new or suddenly worse (could indicate medication issues or infection)
- They cause severe distress or dangerous behavior (trying to flee, aggression)
- They’re accompanied by confusion, fever, or sudden decline (could be delirium, not dementia)
- Medication adjustments might help (some meds worsen hallucinations)
My mother’s neurologist explained that mild, non-threatening hallucinations often don’t require treatment. But when they cause fear or unsafe behavior, medication adjustments may be necessary.
The Blanket Still Sits in the Closet
Months have passed. The grey blanket with white spots remains on the top shelf, folded neatly, untouched.
Sometimes I open the closet and look at it. I think about bringing it down, washing it, using it again. But I never do.
Because that blanket isn’t just a blanket anymore. It’s a reminder of the day I truly understood what dementia hallucinations meant. It’s a symbol of how thin the line is between comfort and fear, between ordinary and terrifying.
And maybe, in some way, keeping it hidden protects us both.
Her—from the mice that only she can see.
Me—from the heartbreak of watching her see them.
For Other Caregivers: You’re Not Alone
If your loved one is experiencing visual hallucinations with everyday objects, please know:
- This is a symptom, not a character flaw
- You cannot reason them out of it
- Environmental modifications really do help
- Your frustration is valid—caregiving is hard
- You’re doing better than you think
The blanket incident taught me that sometimes love means removing what hurts, even if it once brought comfort. Sometimes protection looks like an empty chair and a blanket tucked away on a shelf.
And sometimes the greatest act of caregiving is simply believing your parent’s fear—even when you can’t see what they see.
Continue Reading Our Story
This is just one chapter in our ongoing journey with Parkinson’s dementia. Want to read more?
Read the full story: Whispers From the Attic on Amazon
Subscribe to our newsletter for weekly caregiving stories, tips, and updates on Mom’s journey.
Have you dealt with visual hallucinations in dementia? What objects became triggers in your home? Share your story in the comments—let’s support each other.
