Pizza Friday: How a Weekly Ritual Keeps Connection Alive With a Parent Who’s Slipping Away
Top 5 Meaningful Things to Do With a Parent Who’s Slipping Away
Sing together — Somehow every lyric from childhood lives in the brain forever (Never gonna give you up, never gonna let you down. Never gonna run around and desert you!)
Cook with them — Just maybe keep them away from the oven
Read aloud — Dust off the books you loved as a kid; they might remember them too
Flip through photos — Even if they don’t recall names, the people and stories just might surface
Keep a simple ritual — Pizza night, bingo, or just coffee together. The routine itself is the anchor and the sail.
I remember Mom’s first day at assisted living. We’d just moved her in, and we were sitting in the café, sizing up the food and the people, when she spotted a woman who looked like her—young-ish (Mom was only 73), cool jeans, a groovy haircut. Mom leaned over and said, “Hmm…she looks cool. I guess I could go grey now.”
Unfortunately, the “cool woman” had that vacant, fading look familiar to anyone who’s seen early-onset dementia. I tried to send my mother a telepathic signal so she wouldn’t get too attached to the cool, new girl, “READ THE ROOM, Mom.”A few weeks later, Mom told me a group of residents gathered every Wednesday night to have dinner with the cool girl, aka Dorine, a 70-something year old woman who was, indeed, dealing with dementia. This weekly routine kept Dorine feeling connected to community. My heart melted at the kindness. But for my glass-half-empty mother, the realization stung: many of the women she bonded with would eventually fade away. I didn’t know then that Mom herself would remain mentally sharp but non-ambulatory by the end—an anomaly all the way through.
Meanwhile, my friend Kimberly was walking her own parallel path. Her dad, living at home with 24-hour care, had her visiting with dinner every Friday, Saturday, and Sunday night. She’d moved back to her hometown a decade ago to help close the family business and assist with caring for her parents.
And every Friday? Pizza night.
Pizza Friday had started when her eldest was a toddler and evolved through three kids, then two, then one as they all left the nest. Now it’s just Kimberly, her dad, and the dough. The ritual continues, and in some ways, it’s stronger than ever.
Scene: Pizza Friday at Dad’s house
Kimberly: Hi Dad! It’s me Kimberly! And it’s…Pizza Friday!
Dad: Hi Kimmer! Did you know my dog? He’s in that picture (points at the dog-a-day calendar on the table)
Kimberly: I did, Dad! (plunking pizza dough down in front of Dad) Here’s your dough. Let’s wash your hands. (beat) Ok, now…let’s knead the dough. Use those strong knuckles.
Dad: I don’t know how to make pizza. (as he starts to knead the dough like a pro) I have never made pizza in my life. Am I doing this right?
Kimberly: You did great. Here is a spoon and here is the pizza sauce. Now, you spread it around the pizza, try not to get it over the edge, okay dad?
Dad: Is this right?
Kimberly: It’s perfect Dad. Now let’s sprinkle the cheese. Ready?
Dad: Yes, but I don’t know how to sprinkle cheese (said has be gets the parmesan perfectly even around the pizza)
Once the cheese snow has fallen on the imperfectly round pizza, the pepperoni is added in a perfectly symmetrical ring, then Kimberly pops it in the oven.
While the pizza bakes, Kimberly turns into a caregiving machine. She sifts through the fridge for rotten food that may have been missed by her sister, and then begins grooming her dad’s ears, eyebrows and nose hairs—sometimes even sneaking in a quick haircut.
When the timer dings, she carefully slips the bib over her father’s head—the same way he did for her when she was 5 months old. She slices the pizza into triangles, picking up each one and vigorously blowing on it to cool the molten cheese. He studies the little slices with curiosity until she gently reminds him—hand to mouth mime included—You need to pick it up to eat it.
This isn’t just dinner—it’s choreography. A little dough, a little dignity, a little mimed reminder of what to do with pizza. For Kimberly and her dad, it’s not about the perfect slice; it’s about still sitting down together at the table. It’s a kitchen smells and an oven that is warms the room, its about remembering what it feels like to share a meal with someone you love.
dōteworthy
It’s Not a Burden (documentary film) — A funny, heartwarming look at caregiving that reminds us why love (and laughter) get us through the hardest days.
Activities for Dementia Patients (Alzheimer’s Association) — Simple, practical ideas that spark joy and connection when words or memory may fade.
Check out this link from the National Council of Dementia Minds, insights of Persons Living Well with Neurocognitive Disorders.
dōte note:
Do you have your own “Pizza Friday”? Or another ritual that keeps your parent present even as they slip away? Drop us a dōte note—we’d love to hear it.