My dad is on vacation. He is, as I write, in California with my brother Simon. I am so proud of him for taking this opportunity to live his life outside the shadow of Alzheimer’s. This journey to acceptance—and to allowing himself to travel—has taken a while. The last time he left my mom for more than a day was three years ago. Daddy’s ability to travel has everything to do with where Mom currently lives. First, there was the acknowledgement that Mom’s symptoms were becoming

Sometimes I feel so tired and overwhelmed by the enormity of caring and loving my mom. I try hard not to show it when I’m with her, though there have been occasions when I lean back and let her prattle on, with barely the energy to nod my head at her outrageous conversation. Mostly, though, it is enchanting to sing and smile with her and supply the words she struggles to remember. It’s Mom’s birthday tomorrow. She’s turning 77. We will of course tell her, and celebrate, but s

The tagline for the book Elizabeth is Missing* is: “How do you solve a mystery when you can’t remember the clues?” This first novel by Emma Healey is narrated by a woman suffering from Alzheimer’s. At first, I wondered if the book would be repetitive, given the nature of Alzheimer’s. It made me uncomfortable, peering into the lives of a family similar to mine. The shame the daughter feels at explaining her mom’s actions; the sadness as the narrator, Maud, flits from memory to

The hardest aspect of growing old or being sick is recognizing our limitations. What we could do yesterday we may not be able to do today. And there’s no guarantee that what we can do today we’ll be able to do tomorrow. If, as (somewhat) rational adults, we have the ability to acknowledge our boundaries, then it is up to us to swallow our pride, put aside our anger, and bravely ask for help. My mom cannot ask for help. Alzheimer’s has robbed her of that ability. I write this