I only went about once a week for quite a while, and TBH I sometimes chickened out, just couldn’t face it, because of the endless, ‘Have you come to take me home?’ and the angry accusations that we’d only put her (DM) there because we were intent on stealing her money. I did just once try to say, ‘Have you any idea what this place costs? If we were just after your money we’d have left you at home!’
Of course any such reasoning was useless - her dementia was quite bad by then, she had no idea that she could no longer even make herself a cup of tea - and had so often been anxious and frightened (of things she could not even name) at home.
In her head she was absolutely fine.
It did gradually get easier - I developed strategies for coping with the ‘home’ issue. One fib that worked very well (DM had been an inveterate ‘mover’ and had often talked of moving to ‘a little flat’) so I started saying that I was looking for a really nice flat for her, just down the road from me, and as soon as I found one, we’d go and have a look together.
Given that short term memory was zero, could repeat this ad lib - it always pacified her.
Visiting once a week was the norm, but she never knew whether I’d been or not. I once went back after barely 2 minutes to retrieve a cardigan or something - she genuinely had no idea that I’d only just left.
Sad to say, the easiest visits were after she no longer recognised me, except as the ‘nice lady’ who made her cups of tea and brought her chocolate. 🙁