Mom was telling me today that even after Dad’s dementia had progressed, Dad would still request a beer at night as had been his nightly habit since he was an adult. (Well, back in the day, after putting in a long day at the trucking company, it would be a few beers.)
Old habits die hard, but dementia can alter old habits just the same.
Mom said Dad would just sip the foamy head off the beer and then forget about the rest of it.
He would wear a moustache of beer foam, like a confused clown, until Mom would help him wipe it off.
Poor Dad, robbed of even the smallest of pleasures.