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Miriam Green

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The Gift of Giving

Aug 19, 2020
4 min

The Gift of Giving

I don’t know if it’s only the pandemic that is making my emotions ride the big roller coasters—taking me up and down on the ride of my life—or other aspects of my current situation, but I’m in a dip again trying my best to climb back up the tracks. It’s taking a long time to find equilibrium. I had an honest and upsetting conversation with the director of Mom’s care facility. I had sent her a message that Daddy had bought Mom a present and would like to give it to her. A simp

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Vacation

Mar 13, 2019
3 min

Vacation

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

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A Walk to Remember

Feb 14, 2018
3 min

A Walk to Remember

I was proud of myself today for bringing Mom home from the mall with absolutely no displays of anger. It was an intense effort to be with her and talk to her in a deferential, unquestioning manner, one of the tips I have learned from the book, Contented Dementia: 24-Hour Wraparound Care for Lifelong Well-being by Oliver James.* Along with asking no questions, the book suggests deferring to Mom in a way that builds her self-esteem as the one who knows more than me. When we wer

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Big Girls Do Cry

Apr 15, 2015
4 min

Big Girls Do Cry

All the gates of Heaven are closed except the Gates of Tears. Berachot 32b, Babylonian Talmud The best place to cry is in the shower. You can break down with impunity. You can claim you got soap in your eyes. For only God sees your heartache. Of course, you have to cry quietly. I remember the first time I heard my father cry. He had just received word that his father had died. His sobs echoed in the tiled bathroom and filled the apartment with palpable grief. I was 12. I did

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