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.

We were sitting together, the four of us, our core family: my brother Simon visiting from California, my parents, and me. It gave me the comforting illusion of being whole, at least for a few moments. Mom has enjoyed these family visits so much, but only during the last one could she name us all or remember who we were. During the other visits, she accepted us as people she trusts but does not know. We dance with her, sing her favorite songs, laughingly engage her in absurd c

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

I will never be enough for Mom. I am second best at most. Here’s what happened. My dad went out for an early evening lecture to a retiree group here in Beer Sheva. It was his chance to start meeting some of the local English speakers in the area. He did not bring Mom; it was easier that way. Mom and Sahli came to my house for a visit. Mom was in great spirits. We danced and sang, we pet the cat, we laughed and giggle, and we read kids’ books. Suddenly, Mom decided she had to

My mom’s instinct for social interaction is incredibly strong. When we are out on the streets of the city, we often pause in our rambling to say hello to people we know. Often, though, it’s random strangers who are targets of her sincere and infectious cheerfulness. We stopped into several jewelry stores to check on the methods they use to remove rings. (Yes, I’m still planning to have Mom’s rings removed, though how we’re going to convince Mom to go along with it is another

My brother Simon is here for a visit! He is all laughter and warm hugs, and it is a pleasure to be around him. I arrived early at my parent’s house in order to spend time with him and with my parents; it’s not often we are together, the four of us, our nuclear family. We slip easily into our familiar roles, recalling family jokes, reworking the same silly arguments. And yet, we are older now, perhaps wiser (and definitely crankier). How protective we’ve become of Mom. She is

I grew up singing John Prines’ song “Dear Abby,” a humorous look at the kinds of people who write to advice columnists. Be satisfied with who you are and what you have, the song implies. Of course, Calvin of Calvin and Hobbes fame, takes a different perspective. His suggestion: all the whiny people of the world should just suck it up and stop whining. If I were writing an advice column about Alzheimer’s, I’d tell you to learn from my mistakes. I’ve made plenty in taking care

Those of us with relatively good health take feeling well for granted. When we get sick, no matter how minor the illness, all that changes. When we're sick, life becomes difficult. It's as if we enter a netherworld, a parallel reality, where even minor tasks become a challenge. Worst of all, we must rely on others to help us function. It takes a strong person to allow themselves to give up control of certain facets of their lives and accept assistance. Add to that the difficu

Today is my blog’s first anniversary. If I look back to what I was writing a year ago, I can almost make believe we are in a holding pattern, that the “near distant future” will be a long time coming. Although it is unclear how much time remains, we are aware each day, each month, each year, that Alzheimer’s will soon claim all of Mom. It is not always easy to keep my emotions in check. In my darker moments, I cry for the loss of my beloved mother; I achingly accept her repla