We were sitting together, the four of us, our core family: my brother Simon visiting from California, my parents, and me. It gave me the comforting illusion of being whole, at least for a few moments. Mom has enjoyed these family visits so much, but only during the last one could she name us all or remember who we were. During the other visits, she accepted us as people she trusts but does not know. We dance with her, sing her favorite songs, laughingly engage her in absurd c

I’ve been wandering around inside this holiday trying to find my spiritual compass. It doesn’t help when Mom, on being told it’s Chanukah, says in a snippy voice, “I don’t care.” As an antidote to the sadness I was feeling after my visit today, I went to the local mall. The stores were all decorated with Chanukah themes. It was a lively place to be. I was excited to bump into a friend I hadn’t seen in a while. Judy told me about her recent visit to her father in his senior re

The nature of our relationship has changed. I am not always able to connect with Mom like I used to. Even when we find a quiet corner to ourselves, she is distracted and often isn’t interested in singing with me. It’s not that she’s forgetting our favorite songs, she just isn’t attentive. Her ability to focus has dwindled. Sometimes, her eyes are half shut and she’s too tired to interact. Often, she’s in an angry mood. She’ll comment on how she hates everyone. They are all up

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