We were gifted a rare interaction with Mom this week. When we called to video conference, Mom was alert and communicative. Though she reserved her best endearments for the staff with whom she interacts in her facility, she actually followed our conversation and nodded along with us when we sang to her. She told us she loved us. And as we were saying goodbye, she spoke directly to my dad and said, “Bye bye, Darling.” How is it that such a small thing can buoy our emotions so c

This is what I tell myself: Don’t get upset, it’s not worth it. This is just Mom’s way. If you are frustrated, don’t let her know it. If she doesn’t want to eat, don’t worry, she’s not starving. If she wants to play with the food, moving it from here to there, mixing and adding it on her plate in random patterns, let her. If she won’t take the spoon from you, perhaps you can feed her. If she won’t accept you feeding her, let it go. I am having a hard time controlling my frust

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

Mom is forgetting how to dress herself. The most difficult item of apparel that she must negotiate is her bra. If you are a woman reading this, you may not be surprised. Bras are sometimes impossible to figure out. We often twist ourselves into knots hooking the bra around our waist, sliding it backwards, hiking it up to the right position, and sticking our arms elbow-first into the thin straps and our breasts into the uncomfortable cups that are meant to support us. Maybe we

This is the first time in about two weeks that I actually have time for myself. What a blessing! With the cycle of Jewish holidays that began with Rosh Hashana, and that end almost a month later with Sukkot and Simchat Torah, I’ve spent hours shopping and cooking, cleaning, and catering to all sorts of guests, including my newly-married son and my parents. Don’t get me wrong, it has been enjoyable; each day so full that sleep comes as soon as I put my head down. I’d rather be

Every time I tell Mom I can’t visit this week because of Shavuot, the Jewish holiday that commemorates the giving of the Torah, Mom starts talking about Sukkot, the holiday of booths that is celebrated in the fall. I don’t know what the connection is, other than the sound of the holidays’ names. “We used to build a sukkah on our balcony,” Mom tells me. I wonder where she is in time. Certainly not since their move to Israel almost 20 years ago have they constructed a sukkah. A

Sometimes traveling to visit my parents is exhausting. I leave the house at 6:30 am to catch a 7:00 am train. That means getting out of bed at 5:30. In winter, it’s still dark at that time, but the birds are already up, already piercing the quiet of my back garden. Now that it’s almost summer, the birds seem to have doubled their noise. There’s quite a bit of daylight, and the chilly morning air is refreshing. Mom and Daddy signed their revised wills at their lawyer’s office

Passover is a wonderful holiday but it involves extreme changes to routine including switching utensils, closing off cabinets, and buying special kosher for Passover foods. A nightmare for anyone, let alone someone with memory issues. Each day this week when I called my parents to say hello, Daddy kindly asked me to remind Mom that it was still Passover and not to open the cupboards that had been closed. Mom was absolutely furious that each time she tried to take out a cup or