I got my hug! My dad, my daughter and I were given permission to celebrate Mom’s birthday with her up close and personal! We donned gloves, blue hospital gowns and a clear plastic mask over our faces and over our cloth masks, and at the end of the visit, we were allowed to hug her shoulders. We could not light candles in the facility. We couldn’t even eat or drink in her presence as that would entail us removing our masks. What we could do—and we did!—was sing with Mom and gi

We received a surprise message from Mom’s care facility late last week that they were reinstating visits. My dad and I were so excited! It would be the first time in about a month that we’d be going to see her. We’d been in touch via video chat and we’d sent a family photo to the home for Israel’s Family Day, but nothing can compare to visits in person. We still weren’t sure if they’d allow us physical contact, though. Indeed, when we arrived, we were restricted to the other

We have the ability to look at a bleak situation and still find something to be thankful for.

What an auspicious day! It’s my birthday! And we finally get to see Mom again, albeit with masks and social distancing. Our family gathered in Jerusalem at a lively, tasty restaurant near Machane Yehudah for the celebration. It was the first time my dad had ventured so far from home since the start of the pandemic, and the first time he’d seen his grandson and great-grandsons in six months. The food was tremendous. Ten-month-old Lavi excitedly “danced” in his highchair with e

Moving my cat Zipper reminded me how someone with Alzheimer’s might react to a planned upheaval.

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

It is hard to write and post a blog on this heavy Memorial Day in Israel. We remember the 23,741 souls who have fallen in wars and in terrorist attacks since the founding of the state in 1948, including my husband’s father's cousin, Ami-Yehiel Grossbard, who fell in 1957. And, tonight, we will transition from sorrow to joy as we observe Israel’s 71st birthday in a spirited Independence Day celebration. Yesterday, before the start of Memorial Day, I attended Mom’s "unbirthday"

Sometimes there are large billboards on the side of the road that seem to scream out at you as you drive by. I felt I was passing one this past Friday when we visited Mom for her birthday. “ALZHEIMER’S SUCKS! IT WILL STEAL YOUR TIME.” That’s what was written on my private billboard. Sadly, Mom has no sense of what it means to have a birthday. None of the anticipation of growing older, maturing or receiving presents that kids feel, or, sometimes, even us middle-aged adults exp

Finding happiness in the little things is something that I work at. It doesn’t necessarily come naturally when it relates to Mom. It is fleeting and precious and unpredictable. When we went out to dinner for my birthday this past Sunday, Mom wasn’t with us. My brother Simon briefly contemplated the idea of signing her out of the home and bringing her along, but we knew she wouldn’t be able to negotiate the experience. Think about it. Restaurants are often dimly lit at night t

My brother Simon is arriving this Friday for a two-week visit! I am so excited to see him, and also a little trepidatious—he has not seen Mom since she moved to the closed Alzheimer’s ward. Simon has spoken to her by video chat quite often, and he gets daily updates from Daddy about how she’s doing. But this will be his first in-person visit. I hope it will not be too much of a shock. I was with Simon in California when Mom was first moved in May. I sobbed achingly and mournf

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

In the middle of my short vacation with my family I suddenly remembered that I’d been writing a letter for my dad in Hebrew to explain their move to the Netanya city offices. Right in the middle of being in a different place and setting, the realization that I’d written the letter but never sent it to him sent a shock through me. Two weeks and counting. I was hoping I hadn’t left it until too late, so I dashed an email off to him to say I’d send it by week’s end. I tried call

“It’s your birthday today,” I told Mom. “It’s my birthday?” she asked innocently. “We’ll have to have a party.” We’d already come back from a celebratory lunch, but Mom didn’t remember. When we asked her to guess how old she was, she answered 16 or 17. I don’t think I’d chose that age again, though at 16, I was a strong individual with an eye to the future. Teenagers willfully forget common sense and sometimes even reality to pursue their own agendas. In comparison, Mom’s for

We took Simon out to a fancy restaurant to celebrate his impending 50th birthday. We had a laugh-filled evening, despite it being harder and harder to take Mom out to eat. Mom can’t always remember how to use a fork or knife, or eat a sandwich, or she removes parts of the meal from the plate claiming it belongs to someone else. She purses her lips when we try to help and pronounces loudly that she is not a child. We try to placate her as best we can. My dad, Simon and I remin

“To forget your birthday is…tragic,” Mom declared in a moment of clarity. We watched her bounce between unbridled joy, disbelief and even annoyance as she “discovered” it was her 75th birthday today. The first time we told her, she expressed such enthusiasm. “It is?” she asked in a child-like voice. The third time, she rebuked me. “Don’t be ridiculous,” she said. “I don’t have time for that nonsense.” By the time we’d left for a birthday lunch at a nearby restaurant, Mom was

I had an “aha” moment this week, an epiphany produced by the videos my brother Simon found and transfered to the computer from 1966. When I was a few months old, we traveled from England to Israel for my father’s two-year post-doctoral work. During this time, my grandparents Hilly and Millie Silverstein came to visit. The video shows them playing with me in our small Rehovot apartment, loving interactions with peek-a-boo and chase, reading books, and horse rides with my grand

When I presented Mom with her birthday present, I couldn’t get my phone to record her reaction. The present was a big frame with eight photos of our family, and she loved it. So, what did I do? I took back the present, waited about 10 minutes, and gave it to her again. This time I filmed it—the same, wondrous reaction to seeing all her loved ones is now recorded. I’m both amused and horrified by my use of Mom’s Alzheimer’s to get what I wanted. What I really want is my mom ba

What should we give Mom as a birthday present? What would she appreciate? My dad is taking her to a local production of Fiddler on the Roof. I know she’ll love that. The best idea I have is to present her with an album of photos of our family. That way we can have many moments of looking at them together and remembering who they are. Mom’s birthday is on Sunday. She’ll be 74. She was diagnosed with Alzheimer’s five years ago. I can’t even remember what it was that alerted us

“It’s my birthday,” I told Mom. “It is?” she asked. “Why didn’t you tell me? How old are you?” When I told her I was turning 50, she didn’t believe me. “It’s my birthday today,” I told Mom a short while later. “It’s my birthday, too,” she said. “Hey, that’s great,” I replied. “We can celebrate together!” “It’s not your birthday!” Daddy interjected. Mom was instantly puzzled. “It’s not?” “That’s ok,” I said. “We can still celebrate together.” There it was again, that tension b