At home with the Happiness Programme: “It gave us a way to reach her again.”

Suzanne is living at home with advanced Alzheimer’s. She has no speech, very limited mobility, and spends much of her day in bed due to pressure sores.

The challenge wasn’t a lack of things to try, it was that nothing felt quite right. The TV could be on, but it faded into the background. Other dementia-focused tools felt too passive, or didn’t hold her attention. And some approaches, like dolls or toys, just didn’t sit comfortably.

“She always had quite a sharp, dry sense of humour,” her daughter explains. “When we tried things like dolls… she’d just give me a look.” No words, but completely clear.

Her personality was still there. The family just hadn’t found a way to truly reach it.

They discovered the projector by chance, through a handyman who worked in care homes and recommended the family look into The Happiness Programme.

They decided to try it and haven’t looked back since. Unlike anything else, it didn’t feel patronising. It gave them a way to engage with her that still felt respectful and meaningful.

Even without speech or physical interaction, the impact was immediate. During care routines that had often been stressful, washing, checking sores, carers noticed a visible change. With the projections on, her body relaxed.

“This is the best money we’ve spent (during Suzanne’s Alzheimer’s journey). It’s not subtle — you can physically feel her relax.”

The projector is often used from bed, adapting around her care needs. Because Suzanne needs to be repositioned regularly due to pressure sores, where she’s facing, and what she can comfortably see, is constantly changing. The flexibility of the projector means it can move with her. Sometimes it’s on the ceiling, sometimes across the bedsheets, sometimes onto a nearby wall, wherever works in that moment. It creates something the TV never could; not just background noise, but meaningful engagement.

“It wasn’t about trying to get her to respond…it was about having something we could share, something we could be in together.”

The other day, Suzanne and her daughter spent some time using the Flowers activity together. Suzanne was quite quiet to begin with, not really reacting or engaging, just resting…but as the flowers appeared and moved across the surface, her daughter started talking; reminiscing about how much Suzanne had always loved roses.

They began gently turning it into a bit of a game, following the projections, encouraging small interactions, responding to what was happening. There wasn’t a clear moment where Suzanne suddenly “came back,” but something shifted in the atmosphere. It gave them something to do together, something to share; a way of being alongside each other that hadn’t been there before. For a while, they were simply in it together.

What this experience made clear is something many families feel, but struggle to articulate:

Even in advanced Alzheimer’s, a person’s identity doesn’t disappear.

They still have taste.
They still have emotional responses.
They still know when something doesn’t feel right.

And when something does — you can see it.