I finally saw Mom this week. It was such a pleasure to see her happy and smiling. She talked a mile a minute for about twenty minutes. Non-stop talking and singing in a rambling word salad that sometimes included full sentences and coherent thoughts. When we sang, her voice often hit the notes beautifully. She sang a soaring rendition of “Oh, What a Beautiful Morning,” from Oklahoma, to the surprise of the staff. And she told me that she loved me. If 2020 has been characteriz

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

Now that my dad is over his cold, we’ve scheduled a visit at week’s end for him to see Mom. She continues to have periods of extreme animation, and the short videos that the nurses send us are truly wonderful to view. I am fearful that I have taken my hands off the reins in striving to care for her. She is well cared for but she is inaccessible to me for most of her days. I keep thinking of that aphorism: Out of sight, out of mind. It has allowed me to momentarily focus on ot

Round two of worries to contend with. Two residents at Mom’s care facility have been taken to hospital after contracting COVID-19; four staff members are in isolation. To isolate the residents from one another so as to prevent any further spreading of the virus, they are all being kept in their separate rooms for most of the day, though the staff does take them out on an individual basis for exercise. Presumably, the staff makes rounds as well on a scheduled basis. I just can

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

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

The terms of visitation sound like they’re straight out of a horror movie.

We are no longer surprised by her absence—we know she cannot be home with us—but we miss her nonetheless.

It’s important to put our Corona pandemic into perspective. We are not being persecuted. We have enough food.

If I try and look at the positives, I can find them.

The combination of age and close living quarters in geriatric facilities creates opportunity for the virus to spread.

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

Mom is no longer in our orbit of care. Neither I nor my father—who still visits her everyday—can know what befalls her during her day.

I spent an emotional day in the Israeli coastal town of Netanya on Sunday, reading from my book, The Lost Kitchen, and talking to my mom’s friends. One woman showed me the bracelet Mom had given her for her birthday 15 years ago, still being worn as a reminder of their close friendship. Another proudly told me that she was the first one to invite my parents to dinner after their arrival in 1994. These friends spoke of her beautiful smiles, her enthusiastic greetings, her melo

My mom seemed sluggish today during our visit: eyes half closed, a slurring of words. “I used to love you,” she said, part of her almost unintelligible word salad. We were sitting together at one of the tables in the main room. The occupational therapist was handing out different projects to the residents. One woman was gluing small colorful sticks onto a piece of cardboard, another sticking small round stickers onto a patterned paper, a third reading the newspaper and tearin

Sometimes, standing still is a good thing. Mom seems to be in a holding pattern in her new Alzheimer’s ward. She exhibits a wide range of emotions, talks a mile a minute to anyone who will listen (even when they don’t understand her), and generally participates in group activities. Plus, she has her music to keep her company. I can’t ask for more. We are resting on a small plateau, knowing there will be more—sometimes rapid—downturns in Mom’s mind and body, and we are enjoyin

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

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

It happened as I knew it would. The second day into my two-week trip abroad, Mom was moved into a closed Alzheimer’s ward. Despite being with my family, despite all the fun things we did together (visiting Muir Woods, the Golden Gate Bridge, swimming in my brother’s pool, China Town, a full Shabbat of enjoyable guests), those quite moments when I was by myself were the hardest. I tried not to cry in front of my kids. I wasn’t too successful. It didn’t help that Mom was disori

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