In the absence of our touch, the staff is now responsible for doling out affections to Mom.

Current events have a way of affecting all aspects of Israeli life, even my mom’s. She’s not cognizant of what happens outside the walls of her care facility, but visiting her yesterday made me realize that there is no escape from the impact of living in Israel, even if you have Alzheimer’s. Israel’s civilian population is under rocket attack from Islamic Jihad in the Gaza Strip. This is in retaliation for a pinpoint execution of a Palestinian Islamic Jihad terrorist chief na

Mom doesn't seem so excited to see me this morning. When I knock on the door, I hear my dad tell her a surprise visitor is arriving. And then it is just me standing there, a familiar face whom she can’t quite place. “Hi, Mom, your Miriam’s here,” I call as I give her a big hug. Ah, recognition. I make a point of showing Mom photos of the family when I come. I take out my phone and show her our latest pictures. There’s the one of the big fat cat that she adores. Here’s one fro

Mom’s watch is missing. The digital gold-plated watch she got from her sister as a birthday present a few years ago. Gone. We’ve looked in all the “regular” places: under her pillow, in the depths of her handbag, the refrigerator. Nothing. Perhaps it’s just as well. Mom can still tell time, but I’m not sure how significant knowing time is for her. She doesn’t remember the year or the month. She doesn’t even remember what day it is. She tells time by whether it’s dark or light

How is it that poetry can stir such strong memories? I accompanied my mom to her monthly poetry class where they read and discuss poems on a specific topic—this month, work and occupations—with sources from the Torah, medieval Jewish poetry, Robert Lewis Stevenson, Walt Whitman, D.H. Lawrence, Seamus Heaney, Philip Larkin, and Philip Levine, among others. It was clear from the British participants, as opposed to the Americans in the room, that a greater emphasis was placed on

It was so much fun catching up with my aunt Barbara—Mom’s real sister—who is visiting with her partner Brian that I almost forgot to interact with Mom. We did our share of laughing and singing, but my focus was directed elsewhere, and I was reminded again how fragile, how tenuous is Mom’s connection to reality. These are heady days for Israel. Today is Yom Hazikaron, the national day of remembrance for soldiers and victims of terror. Last night, at the start of Memorial Day,

...and a helping of baked salmon. I hadn’t intended to enjoy myself taking Mom to her weekly concert, but the enthusiasm of the tenor (which made up for his lack of talent) and the fantastic piano accompaniment won me over. The concerts are usually on Mondays, but this week’s was postponed to Tuesday due to Holocaust Remembrance Day. Mom loves these “Music at Midday” concerts that are organized by She’arim Netanya. Even though she’s now a non-functioning member, she’s still o