How can I even describe the surreal world my mother inhabits? It’s like watching an artist paint an inexplicable painting yet still be perplexed by the finished product. I’ve been staying with my parents for the last three days while Mom’s caregiver is in the Philippines visiting her family. I’ll be here next week, too, and then they’ll be with me for Passover. Mom has an intense connection to my dad because he is her primary caretaker. When he left for a two-day conference,

When I was growing up in Maryland, we lived near and frequented the Jewish Community Center of Greater Washington in Rockville. Next door was the Hebrew Home, to my mind a labyrinthine building with strange smells and even stranger residents. One of those residents was Sadie Rose Weilerstein, the author of K’Tonton. As kids, we loved K’Tonton stories. K’Tonton was like the Jewish Tom Thumb, a tiny, marvelous child who always managed to get into mischievous trouble.* Mom worke

Of all the things that happened today, Mom remembers that I spilled my coffee. Yep. All over my bag, on the chair, table and floor. We helped clean it up, and the waitress kindly made me a new one. Why do Alzheimer’s patients remember some things and not others? What was significant about my spilling coffee that made Mom remember? Spilling coffee isn’t a traumatic event, but it does have a lot of drama. “Oh, no!” “Are you hurt?” “Did you get burned?” Mom went into "mom mode."

“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

“Look how blue the sky is!” Mom commented as we sat in the sun drinking our coffee. I’d been prepared to find Mom angry and out of sorts. Daddy had told me that she’d verbally abused him. She doesn’t like it when she’s reminded to do things like brush her teeth or wear pajamas to bed (instead of the clothes she’s worn all day). When you ask why she’s yelling and cursing, she vehemently denies these incidents, these jagged shifts in mood that seem to come and go without warnin

Here’s something you many not know about Alzheimer’s. Loss of smell is an early warning sign for Alzheimer’s and other neurological diseases.* When I go on line to learn more, I discover that much of what we experience in the context of the disease is uniquely personal. Smell is not the only sense that is affected by the disease. Alzheimer’s sufferers are often sensitive to noise. I’ve noticed this with Mom. When we sit in an overly noisy restaurant where lots of conversation

...or, One Knish, Two Knish... I’m guessing most of you, like me, imagine ourselves looking different than we really are. Maybe in our imagination we’re svelte, or our ears stick out less, or our hair is longer. Maybe our eyes are blue instead of brown, and our clothes the latest fashions. But to look at a recent photograph and not recognize ourselves at all, that’s rare. That’s what happened yesterday with my mom. It’s been a busy week! My in-laws are here from Maryland to m

“My Mirale, it’s so good to see you,” Mom says, drawing me into a big hug. She knows who I am! We dance across the living room, and I am comforted to be in my mother’s arms. I’ve arrived on a beautiful winter morning, the sun bright, the city calling us to walk out and explore. We grab our coats and head out. Our mission: buy a house warming present for my son and daughter-in-law who we will visit next week. This is kind of hard for Mom to understand. Simon, my brother, is ar

My dad is on the front lines of Mom’s Alzheimer’s. He bears the burden of being Mom’s primary caretaker. He schedules and takes her to doctor’s appointments. He is her emotional touchstone, and he is painfully aware of her need for his constant presence. From my perspective, Alzheimer’s has brought blessings to our family almost as much as it has brought heartache. Here’s what I mean. We used to say that Daddy never suffered fools lightly. I remember as a child his impatience

Imagine how small the world is when you can’t even remember what you did an hour ago. News is irrelevant. Other countries don’t exist. Your city is defined by the few short blocks you walk in an endless loop of discovery. When I’m with Mom, my world shrinks, too. “I wish I could remember. I can’t remember anything.” Mom is aware of her limitations; and helpless to change them. “I hate when that happens,” I say, echoing Billy Crystal’s line. Mom might not get the reference, bu

What a laugh we had today!! Mom’s sister Barbara is visiting from England, and whenever she’s around, the laughter is contagious. Even Mom was in good spirits. When I arrived, I met Mom, Daddy and Barbara at the doctor’s office. Daddy needed a letter from the doctor that stated that Mom’s Alzheimer’s is a permanent illness. This must be given to the court to process his guardianship of Mom. They’d been waiting for a while when I walked in, and we immediately fell to laughing

“What are you doing here?” Mom asked in an excited voice. “I didn't know you were here! How wonderful! When did you get here?” It was 7:00 a.m., and I'd emerged from the spare bedroom in my pajamas. Most people could figure out those clues. Not to mention that we’d spent the previous evening together. It was precious and priceless, and so full of love. Mom’s memory was a blank slate. I gave Mom a big hug, laughed along at how wonderful it was to see her, then tried to explai

When I first started visiting my parents each week, my goals were to spend time with Mom and give my dad a break from caring for her. Mom was—and still is—great fun to be with. She breaks out in song at the most amusing times. She smiles and laughs at my corny jokes and often makes some of her own. She comments on everything and everyone she sees. Today, for example, when she saw a scantily clad young woman, she turned to me and whispered, “That girl forgot to get dressed thi

Sometimes, life can be so simple. When Mom and Daddy came to visit me this week, it was all about being together. All my errands, pressing issues, even housework got put on the back burner. “This place reminds me of somewhere I’ve visited,” Mom said as we sat in my living room. Where do we go from here? Do I tell her this is my home, that she’s been here countless times over the last twenty years? Or do I just gloss over it? When she lost her way from the bathroom back to the

Her first reaction was annoyance. “I don’t need anyone interfering with the way I live my life,” Mom declared. “Who is she anyway?” It was 9:30 a.m., and we were waiting for the bi-annual visit of the city’s social worker. Try explaining to an angry Alzheimer’s patient why she receives special attention without using the words Alzheimer’s, memory loss, inability to take care of yourself, or caretaker. How many euphemisms are there? When the social worker finally arrived, Mom

“Hi, I’m home,” I say to Mom on the phone. “Where have you been?” she asks. Well, that’s a first. Mom doesn’t remember I visited today. I’m used to being called “Barbara” (her sister’s name), or even being confused with some other Miriam who disappears and reappears with alarming frequency, but to have my whole visit just vanish in the space of two hours, that’s unsettling. When Mom fails to recognize me, I experience warring thoughts: I should correct her and tell her it’s m

I didn’t see my parents this week. I have a sinus infection, and I had no energy to travel two hours each way to see them. So, I stayed home and rested. I missed being with them. Seeing Mom has become the focal point in my week. It pretty much defines my life right now, though there are of course many other things going on. I know they love to see me, too, but given the fact that Mom can’t remember that I’ve even visited, I think the visits are more important for me than they

I always forget how much fun it is to be with my brother. That, coupled with my aunt also visiting, made for a high-energy day. In honor of my son’s upcoming wedding, my younger kids played hooky from school. We all got up early to drive to my parents for the day. We packed the car with all the things we needed—coats for the cool evening weather, umbrellas just in case (no, it didn’t rain), gifts for our family. Then I climbed into the back seat. For me, the hardest part of t

It’s Friday afternoon and time is running out before Shabbat. I’m making my favorite green bean dish that I know will be warmly accepted when I serve it. I have time to call Mom and Daddy to wish them a Shabbat Shalom before the beans come out of the oven. Mom is always so excited to hear my voice. She asks me how I am. Then, where I am. I haven’t moved in 19 years, but Mom can’t always remember the name of the city where I live or even how old I am. I tell her again that Sha