The difficulty of sorting through and parting with my mom's clothes.

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

I finally saw Mom today after three days of being sick. I had stayed away because I didn’t want her to catch my cold. I think of her as vulnerable: a cold would knock her out. My mood, like the last of the rainy winter weather, was down and dragging. When I walked into Mom’s home today, the staff was more excited to see me than she was. I’ve been there every day for the last two weeks, so my absence was noticeable. When I arrived, the residents were sitting in a circle kickin

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

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

Each time I walk Mom home from synagogue and see her safely to her door, I am tinged with sadness. I know I’m doing the right thing by bringing her there with me. I can visibly see the excitement on Mom’s face when she is with me in synagogue. She radiates joy in her whole demeanor. Why then am I disheartened by it? During the extended period of the Jewish holidays, I took Mom with me to synagogue as often as I could. Not only did it get Mom out of the house for a little whil

Many of my friends are taking on the responsibility of caring for their elderly parents. We all go through the same process of realizing our parents' limitations: their memories fade, their stride slows, their eyes weaken, they lose their hearing. We spend time helping them shop or visit doctors; we become their eyes and ears, their extra pair of hands, their walking sticks, their active memory. Many of my friends are also losing their parents. Yes, death is inevitable, but

I’m not going to remind Mom that her father’s yartzeit, the anniversary of his death, is coming up. He died 17 years ago just before the holiday of Shavuot, the Jewish holiday that commemorates the giving of the Torah, which starts this Saturday night. In fact, the timing of his death was such that the shiva, the traditional seven-day mourning period, was cut to just one day. Mom’s sense of time has collapsed. She remembers her childhood. She remembers her father. She knows s