Why are women twice as prone to Alzheimer’s as men? That’s the question that Dr. Lisa Mosconi, Associate Director of the Alzheimer's Prevention Clinic of the Department of Neurology at Weill Cornell Medical College, decided to investigate. There are many factors that could be involved, one of them being women’s longevity over men, meaning that this is a disease that affects mainly individuals in their 80s and up. Perhaps men die before experiencing the changes in their brain.

What a melancholy experience to go through Mom’s closet choosing winter clothes for her. The season has turned, and now Mom needs sweat pants, long sleeved shirts, sweaters, and winter pajamas. My dad and I by-passed all of the clothes that once defined her open, laughing personality—the red and purple sweaters with geometric patterns, skirts with swirls of green and blue—and went for practical, muted garments. I did manage to slip a bright red cardigan into the pile. I hope

I was thankful to arrive home safe and sound after my two-week trip to China. Mom didn’t realize I’d been away. I’d been keeping track of events at home during my travels, so I knew that Mom had begun acting out almost every evening as she searched for her way “home,” pacing the floor in her house, desperately searching for the hidden staircase to a non-existent upstairs, and angrily shouting that she needed to leave. When my daughter Liora returned after a brief visit from m

What an adventure we had today! Mom and I took a walk down town and ended up in a curio shop that we’d passed before but never entered. I was looking for a place that might either buy or sell on consignment the beautiful, vintage bone-china tea and coffee sets that my parents inherited from my grandmother, as well as the exquisite set of Mikasa crystal glassware. It makes no sense to move them to their new home when they haven’t been used in years—or not at all.* The owner of

“Hello, who’s this?” Mom asks suspiciously. “Hi, Mom,” I reply as distinctly as I can. “It’s your daughter, Miriam.” Talking on the phone with Mom is hit or miss. Sometimes she’s sure of how to talk into the receiver, other times she’ll pick up her glasses or even a tissue lying by her bed before she finds the right contraption. When my brother Simon makes his daily call, he calls my dad’s cell phone. That way Mom can see Simon’s photo when she talks to him. “Oh, Miriam,” she

Dealing with a parent with Alzheimer's is mercurial, with ups and downs on a moment-by-moment basis and I often think I'm overly focused on the negative (though I know there is also positive). I don’t want to keep writing negative accounts about how Mom’s abilities are fading. They are, it’s true, and we just have to accommodate her slower gait, her confusion, her inability to hold a conversation. My dad gets an A++ for keeping his cool. I know that his bi-monthly support gro

“This mirror looks like me,” Mom exclaimed. We were in a café with my dad. “It does, doesn’t it?” I answered, as Daddy and I exchanged humorous glances. I was pleased she actually recognized herself. Mom’s general state is often one of confusion. “I don’t know if I’m coming or going,” she says. Today it was, “I don’t know if I’m ready for what I’m waiting for.” How apt a phrase for someone with Alzheimer’s. We try to cheer ourselves up by suggesting that even though Mom is de

Here’s the hard part about visiting my parents once a week: my children have needs, too. I am a typical member of the sandwich generation, those sandwiched between aging parents who need care and/or help, and their own children. Today was a prime example. I had promised my dad several weeks ago that I would be with Mom while he attended a meeting at his city’s community college. And, wouldn’t you know it, today was also the day that my younger son had an appointment with the

“What do you think about us getting a dog?” my dad asked as I came in the house. Immediate reaction: That’s a great idea! Mom loves animals, and a small dog of her own might be a good companion for her. Secondary reaction: You’re kidding me, right? You never let us have a dog when we were growing up, and now you’re going to get one? And who’s going to walk it? On the plus side, studies on animal–assisted therapy (AAT) for psychiatric and dementia patients show that levels of

“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