When I started sorting papers and things that have been sitting in my bedside table, I came across a stack of birthday cards that my husband Jeff and my kids had written to me over the years. Each one I looked at was so precious. Cards from Jeff dated back to 2011, a sign of how long I’d let that drawer go unattended, though older cards were saved elsewhere. I was overwhelmed by the words of love he’d shared with me. The kids’ cards were filled with mistakes as they learned t

A dear friend posted a video on my Facebook page of a woman with Alzheimer’s describing the disease and how it affects her. Imagine, she says, that your brain is like a bookcase. The most recent memories are on the top shelf: what you had for dinner, the concert you saw yesterday, the walk you took in the afternoon. At about shoulder level are the memories from your 50s. By your knees is the shelf containing memories from your 20s. And at the bottom, on the sturdiest shelf of

My wonderful Auntie Barbara is visiting from England. She is full of laughter and the promise of adventure. It means, though, that Mom is more confused about who I am. I stopped correcting her long ago when she called me Barbara or introduced me as her sister. As long as there is love between us, it doesn’t matter who she thinks I am. Mom’s access to her memories is jagged. One minute she’ll rail that she doesn’t have a sister. The next, she and Barbara are fluidly singing so

Mom’s sister, my Auntie Barbara, is visiting from London. It is great to see her. She is a wild, funny, woman with strong opinions and a quirky view of the world. She is always laughing, a real glass-half-full personality. When they were younger, she and my mom had a close, loving relationship. Even though they’ve lived apart most of their adult lives, they’ve always been in touch and visited each other when they can. Mom understands what a sister is supposed to be: someone y