I am so worried. We received word this week that the physiotherapist in Mom’s care facility was diagnosed with Corona. This is beyond upsetting, and we are now waiting with fingers crossed and hearts thumping that the tests the staff and residents have been given will come back negative. It is highly unlikely that Mom would be infected with corona from the physiotherapist. He wore protective gear throughout his twice-weekly sessions with the residents. And Mom barely particip

It is amazing how small our worlds can shrink when we are ill—physically, emotionally, even intellectually.

When my dad is away, as he is this week, I try to visit my mom each day, even if only for a short while, so that I can verify with my own eyes that she’s ok. And, I post a photo of her to our family WhatsApp group so that they can see her, too. Mom was smiling today, and when I took her photo, she asked to see it. “Is that me?” she queried as she studied herself. I assured her it was. I’m guessing that Mom thinks of herself as much younger, certainly unlike the other resident

Many hospitals and senior care facilities give supplemental nutrition drinks to their patients or residents. These drinks typically provide up to 250 to 300 or more calories per serving, 14 grams of protein, and up to 20 grams of sugar. They come in many flavors and styles, and their primary function is to assist in weight gain. Or, more radically, stop weight loss. When my mom was first moved to her memory care facility, she lost a lot of weight. She was anxious and disorien

I have been impersonating my mom to pay my parents’ credit card bills, sort out the cable provider, turn down business solicitations, even fix the water bill. We live in Israel, and as my Hebrew is better than my dad’s, I am tasked with making calls for him to insurance agents, banks, stores, government offices, doctors, you name it. It is so much easier to take on Mom’s persona than explain that I’m the adult daughter making arrangements for them. As most of these interactio

How does the little bird in P.D. Eastman’s classic book, Are You My Mother? know who his mother is? The bird intuits that only his mother will love and cherish him, feed him and care for his welfare, and in his short travels he eliminates those animals and things that cannot do this. This question has been troubling me as I both wilfully stay away from my mom and devotedly rush to visit. I can’t seem to reach a compromise. Because behind it all, I keep asking myself if she is

I tried to sit in silence, but it was painful to listen to Mom attempting to answer the doctor’s questions. Mom knew she was having trouble finding the right words. She knew she didn’t know where she lived or what day it was. And she was becoming upset. “Why are you testing her like this?” I asked. “Can’t you see she doesn’t know the answers? What’s the point?” Dr. Avshalom had been sent by the insurance company for a home visit to examine Mom’s surroundings and to test her m

There is always a certain risk involved in taking Mom to the mall. She may not be able to shed her angry morning voice, she may run determinedly away, or she may become overly tired and refuse to move. Thankfully, today Mom and I had a wonderful outing. We gaily sang our way on the 15 minute walk to the mall, then went shopping in the grocery store. It took more than an hour to shop and make arrangements for the delivery; and though Mom was nonplused some of the time, I kept

It has been two weeks since their move—a week since my brother Simon left—and my parents are firmly ensconced in their new home. Thanks to Simon, almost all the boxes are unpacked and paintings are up on the walls. There’s still more to do, but it can be handled on a more leisurely basis. We’ll get to it “acharai hachagim” (after the holidays), as everyone says here. I did not anticipate the joy I feel at popping over to my parent’s house to say hello. It is still hard to bel

If you had asked me how life was yesterday, I would have written about the quiet day we had in paradise. Mom and I sang songs, drank coffee at our favorite cafe, went grocery shopping, then met my dad for lunch along the cliff top overlooking the Mediterranean Sea. The day was warm and sunny. It felt like winter had ended. That was yesterday. This morning, 7:00 am Israel time, my precious grandmother passed away. She was 101-years-old. There were emotionally fraught calls bet

As soon as you start measuring good deeds to determine which is greater, which takes priority over the other—you have already entered precarious ground. Your job is to do whatever is sent your way. ~From the wisdom of the Lubavitcher Rebbe Each night from the second night of Passover, we actively count the days until the holiday of Shavuot. This period is known as the Counting of the Omer. These seven weeks are a time of reflection and personal growth, a chance to take note

We are standing in the middle of the mall and we have a half hour to spend before my father picks us up. Mom is agitated. She wants to be with him already. “Why are you angry?” I ask. Up until now, we’ve been having a good time window shopping and drinking coffee. It is a rainy day outside, and this is the perfect place to loiter. I don’t really expect an answer. I ask because I am surprised by her sudden turn in mood and until that moment we are any mother and daughter enjoy

I’m worried about Mom’s legs. We were out for about two hours and by the time we started walking home, mom was complaining about pains in her legs and her gait was noticeably shorter. It turns out that our gait—the way we walk or stride—can reflect not only physical disabilities but neurological conditions. Talk about medical information I never thought I’d know. There’s a Parkinsonian gait and a gait that is prevalent in stroke victims, myopathic gaits (from muscle diseases)

What a relief to come home to a quiet house. When I got back from visiting my parents, I actually looked forward to doing the laundry, to cooking dinner, to—dare I say it—doing the dishes. It was a nice day, but I worked hard to keep Mom occupied. Let's blame it on the weather. Israel is blanketed in a yellow hazy sandstorm with temperatures in the 90s. And it’s humid. Mom was restless at home, so we decided to walk the 15 minutes to the local mall. Big mistake. By the time w

There’s an Alzheimer’s joke that goes like this: Joan and Stan are watching TV on the couch in the living room. Joan gets up. “I’m going to the kitchen to get some ice cream. Do you want some?” she asks. “Sure,” says Stan. “I’d also like some strawberries on top. And sprinkles.” “Ok,” says Joan. She starts to walk away. “Are you going to remember that?” asks Stan. “Do you want to write it down?” “I can remember that,” says Joan, “I’ve still got half a brain.” Joan leaves and

Mom and I walked in the rain today. It was a light rain, and as we ambled along, we sang rain songs. It felt good to be out, and when we were rewarded with sunshine, it made the walk worthwhile. Exercise is such an important aspect of health at any age. One study I came across suggests that increased activity levels can prevent Alzheimer’s in one in three individuals.* Regular physical activity ensures there is a steady flow of oxygen-rich blood to the brain that in turn prev

I feel guilty when it’s time to leave my mom. She is effusive in her kisses and hugs. “It’s wonderful to spend time with you. When will I see you again?” she asks. Today I hurried out the door, stingy with my goodbyes and frazzled that I was late to catch the bus for home. As I rushed towards the bus stop, I kept telling myself I should have spent a little more time with my parents, said a more leisurely goodbye, given a few extra kisses. I was afraid I’d end up missing the b

Sometimes it is hard to be in the moment, to push aside internal thoughts and give over to the now. That’s what Mom’s Alzheimer’s demands from me; that’s what I want to give her. We strolled around the city’s main square, watched the expanse of blue sky, felt the hot sun on our backs, bought ice creams, and sat in the shady breeze of umbrellas. Idyllic. When we got home, we watched the first half of The Sound of Music. Mom couldn’t remember having seen it before, and she coul

and a little chicken.... “I hope you don’t feel I’m a nuisance,” she said lightly as we were sitting in synagogue. I might have grumbled internally at answering the same questions over and over again. I might have inwardly groaned at helping her find her place in the prayer book at the expense of my own prayers. I might even have quietly rebelled against helping her dress for synagogue or supervising her in the kitchen and at the table, but until she said it, I was content to

What’s the difference between Alzheimer’s and forgetfulness? It’s tough to see a parent age. Beyond the physical changes—faces thin, hair grays and balds, eyes weaken, fingers stiffen—are the emotional implications of once dominant personalities becoming forgetful, slow and indecisive. How can you know that what you’re witnessing is normal aging and not dementia? My in-laws just left after a tremendous three-week visit during which they were present at their grandson’s weddin