Twice now in the space of a few weeks, we’ve been handed a pair of Mom’s summer pants with a big rip on the left hand side. The tear is near the seam, but also cuts into the soft, pliable fabric of her pants. “Do you know how they ripped? Has this happened to the pants of any other residents,” I asked the duty nurse. “No, there’s nothing in the log book. You’re unique,” she chuckled. Hmm. What could this be from? After the second incident, I checked Mom’s bed and the chairs s

“We are all capable of dancing,” Mom says as we swing round the room. She’s talking to the other residents who are mostly sitting in chairs, many staring off into some distant place. She wants them to join her in dancing. The “radio” is playing 50’s music and with the help of the staff, some of the residents wave their arms or rise and step tentatively in a circle. This dancing is a precursor to our main event—an eye exam with an optometrist who owns a business called OptiCar

I am writing to you from sunny Kiryat Atta, home to my son and daughter-in-law, and of course, our sweet 8-month-old grandson Roi. My husband Jeff and I are three days into a four-day babysitting gig while the young couple enjoys some alone time abroad. What a privilege it is to enjoy our grandson's company and see the shape of his young life. But I would be lying if I told you it was easy. Nights are especially tiring as warmed up breast milk (or Materna) is just not the sam

When Mom and I took a short walk to the grocery store and back, she was hesitant about where we were walking. She literally recognized nothing. Instead, she watched the people walking past us. As a social individual, Mom tried to connect to almost everyone who was on the sidewalk with us. She’d say hello or smile and nod. Quite a few people, either because they recognize her or because she’s a friendly old bird, reacted. This was so important to her, that she actually comment

When Mom is angry, there is no reasoning with her: Alzheimer’s has robbed her of that intellectual function. Come the late afternoon, Mom’s righteous anger and indignant demands to leave the apartment are hard to defuse. We think she’s being affected by Sundowning Syndrome. It is common for Alzheimer’s patients to become agitated, aggressive, anxious or confused when the sun begins its descent. It seems that the fading light and increased shadows disrupt the internal body clo

Mom’s attention fluctuates greatly. We are walking outside noticing the red hibiscus when she veers off course and tells me she’s looking for something in her bag. I stand patiently while Mom opens every zipper pocket, takes out things she’s squirreled away—like a bottle top or three pretzels wrapped in a napkin—then puts them back into their respective spaces. If for a fleeting moment she knew what she was looking for, the image or idea of that thing is now long gone. “Here’

Mom is running a fever and has a cold. Pretty common in winter. In fact, I’m nursing a bad cold, too. It seems that not even the flu shots she got could have prevented this. If Mom were a healthy person, getting over a virus would be relatively easy, but she isn’t a healthy person. She can’t seem to recognize what’s happening to her body, let alone request help. She lay awake in bed one night shivering and shaking, and it was only by chance that my dad woke up to find her suf

How can I even describe the surreal world my mother inhabits? It’s like watching an artist paint an inexplicable painting yet still be perplexed by the finished product. I’ve been staying with my parents for the last three days while Mom’s caregiver is in the Philippines visiting her family. I’ll be here next week, too, and then they’ll be with me for Passover. Mom has an intense connection to my dad because he is her primary caretaker. When he left for a two-day conference,