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

Mom was sitting in her usual seat when I entered the common room at her care facility. She was intently “playing” with a game matching shapes and colors—one of the first times I can recall that she was so engaged by an activity. She looked up at me when I said hello. “Is that me?” she asked, staring into my face. What? Mom and I do look alike, but for her to think that another individual shares her identity was very weird. How was I supposed to respond to that? “Ha ha ha,” I

Recently, I’ve been struggling with the notion of time. How do I divide my time when my loved one is in an institution? Is there any specific formula that works, i.e., visits every day, or once a week, short visits or long, or at specific times of the day? It seems that it is all tied up in my thought process and in my difficulty in making decisions. As much as I know my mom is receiving good care in her closed care facility, I also know that there are blank hours in her day

“I’ll be with the dead people.” “What?” I asked into the phone. “What did you say?” “I’ll be with the dead people,” repeated Mom. I wanted to ask what she meant, but I knew Mom couldn’t explain the isolation and abandonment that I sensed she was experiencing. “Why don’t you have a cup of tea and a biscuit?” I suggested. “We’ll be home in about 20 minutes. “I can’t open the door and I want to go home,” she cried. “This is not my home. Where’s Jack?” It is rare that Daddy spend