I must have been in a light dream state because all of a sudden I heard Mom’s footsteps come scuffling along the hallway. I knew it was her by the way she walked. She was wearing her slippers and her “pinny” (apron), and that big red knit sweater with the large drooping arms that she wore in winter. She came into my room—my current room—and started cleaning up. “You don’t have to do that,” I said. “It’s no bother,” she answered. She leaned in and I could see her face, her gre

My dad is on vacation. He is, as I write, in California with my brother Simon. I am so proud of him for taking this opportunity to live his life outside the shadow of Alzheimer’s. This journey to acceptance—and to allowing himself to travel—has taken a while. The last time he left my mom for more than a day was three years ago. Daddy’s ability to travel has everything to do with where Mom currently lives. First, there was the acknowledgement that Mom’s symptoms were becoming

Sometimes I feel so tired and overwhelmed by the enormity of caring and loving my mom. I try hard not to show it when I’m with her, though there have been occasions when I lean back and let her prattle on, with barely the energy to nod my head at her outrageous conversation. Mostly, though, it is enchanting to sing and smile with her and supply the words she struggles to remember. It’s Mom’s birthday tomorrow. She’s turning 77. We will of course tell her, and celebrate, but s

I washed Mom’s hair today. What a mess! For some reason, Mom, like many Alzheimer’s patients, does not enjoy bathing or showering. Perhaps it is the overwhelming number of tasks associated with morning rituals that someone with Alzheimer’s can no longer remember how to do or what order to proceed in. I imagine Mom has a blank space in her memory when she’s asked to wash. And not being able to do it herself undermines her sense of accomplishment and control when she realizes s

She sounded so…normal on the phone. “We’d love to come visit you!” Of course, the moment I opened the door to my house to invite my parents inside, Mom looked at me, puzzled, and declared, “I didn’t know you lived here.” I laughed. I had been feeling anxious about their visit, about all I needed to do, all that could go wrong, the energy I’d need to entertain them. Here we were on the threshold, literally and figuratively, and I had a choice to make. I could continue to run s

The tagline for the book Elizabeth is Missing* is: “How do you solve a mystery when you can’t remember the clues?” This first novel by Emma Healey is narrated by a woman suffering from Alzheimer’s. At first, I wondered if the book would be repetitive, given the nature of Alzheimer’s. It made me uncomfortable, peering into the lives of a family similar to mine. The shame the daughter feels at explaining her mom’s actions; the sadness as the narrator, Maud, flits from memory to

I recently watched the Disney movie Frozen with my mom. I’d seen it several times before with my own kids, so I was curious as to how Mom would react to it. Mom was enchanted by the opening voices and graceful snowflakes. She laughed when she saw the trolls, and she commented many times about the cold and snow. As we watched Elsa and Anna struggle to assert their sisterly love, I felt like I was seeing new details of the movie through Mom’s eyes. I am one of those people who

The hardest aspect of growing old or being sick is recognizing our limitations. What we could do yesterday we may not be able to do today. And there’s no guarantee that what we can do today we’ll be able to do tomorrow. If, as (somewhat) rational adults, we have the ability to acknowledge our boundaries, then it is up to us to swallow our pride, put aside our anger, and bravely ask for help. My mom cannot ask for help. Alzheimer’s has robbed her of that ability. I write this