I inadvertently broke one of my precepts on taking care of an individual with Alzheimer's. I took Mom to Ikea. You might not think that's such a terrible thing, but the large, crowded, noisy store was too much for her. Did I mention Ikea was having a sale? I put myself first. I wanted to be there. Here is a link to my five precepts on caring for someone with Alzheimer's. Yup. Precept no. 4: Sheild them as much as possible. Mom's bewilderment started in the car park. What were

I knew they’d be hanging there, knew I’d have to share the paintings with others. Yet they still caught me by surprise. It’s my daughter’s last week in high school. As part of her graduation, Liora presented her 12th grade final art project. Rich in scope and imagination, the project focuses on Mom’s Alzheimer’s. Seven water colors, arrayed chronologically, recreate scenes from Mom’s life from her childhood to her engagement and marriage; to her motherhood; playing with her g

There’s an Alzheimer’s joke that goes like this: Joan and Stan are watching TV on the couch in the living room. Joan gets up. “I’m going to the kitchen to get some ice cream. Do you want some?” she asks. “Sure,” says Stan. “I’d also like some strawberries on top. And sprinkles.” “Ok,” says Joan. She starts to walk away. “Are you going to remember that?” asks Stan. “Do you want to write it down?” “I can remember that,” says Joan, “I’ve still got half a brain.” Joan leaves and

It was the advertisement for the red toilet seat that caught my attention. What’s with that, I wondered, and why is it appearing on an Alzheimer’s website alongside red plates, red utensils, red handrails, red…well, you name it. Our eyes are expert at seeing red. Of the 6 to 7 million cones, the tiny cells in the retina that respond to light, about 64 percent of them respond most strongly to red light, while about a third are set off the most by green light, and another 2 per

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,

Mom and I walked in the rain today. It was a light rain, and as we ambled along, we sang rain songs. It felt good to be out, and when we were rewarded with sunshine, it made the walk worthwhile. Exercise is such an important aspect of health at any age. One study I came across suggests that increased activity levels can prevent Alzheimer’s in one in three individuals.* Regular physical activity ensures there is a steady flow of oxygen-rich blood to the brain that in turn prev

For some reason, I can never get the code right to open the door to my parent’s apartment building. I buzzed up to say I was there then started my way up in the elevator. Mom remembered how to buzz me in, unlock the door, and had started walking down the stairs by the time the elevator arrived on their floor. I called to her and she came back up, greeting me with wonderful hugs. Hmm, I thought to myself, Mom is still capable of getting outside by herself. About a year ago, ma

I feel guilty when it’s time to leave my mom. She is effusive in her kisses and hugs. “It’s wonderful to spend time with you. When will I see you again?” she asks. Today I hurried out the door, stingy with my goodbyes and frazzled that I was late to catch the bus for home. As I rushed towards the bus stop, I kept telling myself I should have spent a little more time with my parents, said a more leisurely goodbye, given a few extra kisses. I was afraid I’d end up missing the b

Alzheimer’s patients suffer terribly as their abilities and their world shrink. They are often confused or lack the ability to express themselves. They are frightened and throw tantrums, sometimes lashing out at the very people they love most. In some ways it’s just as hard for family to watch and accept the disintegration of a loved one from Alzheimer’s as it is for the Alzheimer’s patient to tumble down that deep well of forgetfulness and confusion. It’s often difficult to

I’d brought with me a small gift, a disc of Danny Kaye singing songs from the musical, “Hans Christian Anderson.” When we finally got it to work on the computer, Mom was ecstatic. She sang along to all the songs each time we played them. I also helped Mom pack for a weekend vacation she and Daddy are taking. We’ve packed for trips before, but this time I was aware that her mental facilities have slipped. She randomly picked clothes from her closet, making no distinction betwe

I didn’t see my parents this week, but I did do their shopping. Yes, I confess. I am an online shopper. Soon after Mom was diagnosed with Alzheimer’s, grocery shopping became difficult. She would write a list then forget it at home. Or she’d forget her way to the store. Sometimes she’d buy too many tomatoes and no milk. Or bring home two loaves of bread and more toilet paper than their cupboard could hold. On the days I visited, Mom and I would go shopping. Off we’d trek, whe

“I dream about you,” Mom says to me. We are sitting together on the couch in the living room. “Oh, really? What do you dream,” I ask. “I dream you are with me, and when I wake up, I can’t remember if you’re here or not.” “That must be hard to sort out,” I say, trying for empathy and understanding. “You don’t know the half of it,” she says. The summer I was 16, I was part of a program that tried to teach us what it was like to grow old. We wore glasses with Vaseline smeared on

This entry is a departure from my usual subject. This was my second week of staying home. My head is still fuzzy, though I’m not sure if it’s from my cold or the news. The funeral yesterday of Gilad, Naftali and Eyal left me shattered, along with the rest of my nation. Today, everything I do is in the memory of these three young boys kidnapped and murdered by Palestinian terrorists. I made pizza with my precious son, Hillel. He is their age. He also attends a yeshiva high sch

Sometimes it is hard to be in the moment, to push aside internal thoughts and give over to the now. That’s what Mom’s Alzheimer’s demands from me; that’s what I want to give her. We strolled around the city’s main square, watched the expanse of blue sky, felt the hot sun on our backs, bought ice creams, and sat in the shady breeze of umbrellas. Idyllic. When we got home, we watched the first half of The Sound of Music. Mom couldn’t remember having seen it before, and she coul

Post-Independence Humus Situation Here’s the perennial question: What do you do with your left-over humus after Israel’s Independence Day? If you are lucky enough to have a friend named Ken who loves to cook and share his creations, you make Ken’s amazing Meat and Humus. Our family has a tradition of getting together with our University of Maryland friends who have also chosen to live in Israel. Even my parents have joined in some years (though this year, Daddy decided to sta

...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

and a little chicken.... “I hope you don’t feel I’m a nuisance,” she said lightly as we were sitting in synagogue. I might have grumbled internally at answering the same questions over and over again. I might have inwardly groaned at helping her find her place in the prayer book at the expense of my own prayers. I might even have quietly rebelled against helping her dress for synagogue or supervising her in the kitchen and at the table, but until she said it, I was content to

What’s the difference between Alzheimer’s and forgetfulness? It’s tough to see a parent age. Beyond the physical changes—faces thin, hair grays and balds, eyes weaken, fingers stiffen—are the emotional implications of once dominant personalities becoming forgetful, slow and indecisive. How can you know that what you’re witnessing is normal aging and not dementia? My in-laws just left after a tremendous three-week visit during which they were present at their grandson’s weddin

Here’s what I found under Jeff’s bed-side table: a dusty bag filled with emails from 1997 and 1998. I wasn’t quite sure how they got there, but as I started to sort through them, I was amazed at the detailed letters that had been sent between us, my brother- and sister-in-law Zeev and Rise, my parents and my in-laws. What a treasure trove. I was struck by several observations: we actually used to write letters to each other; my mom was an active part in the life of our family