The good news is that Mom still reacts positively to personal interaction with the staff at her memory care facility. The bad news is that Corona has prevented us, her loving family, from engaging in that personal interaction. Most of the video chats we’ve held with Mom are utterly depressing. While she may initially be interested in hearing our voices or seeing our faces—and may even react a little—not even her most beloved songs seem to stir her to talk to us. Mostly, Mom s

We lost a friend to cancer this week. She was my mother’s age. I visited her a few hours before she died, and it was clear that she had only hours left. Those telltale signs: shallow, labored breathing; a hollowness about her cheeks; intermittent consciousness. She’d stopped eating and drinking. Edna was a large, vivacious woman who lived life independently and on her own terms. She wasn’t very social, and could be amazingly brusque and prickly at times, yet warm and engaging

It happened unexpectedly, a feeling I did not anticipate, a depression as I walked away from Mom’s residence. For the first time in a long time since Mom was diagnosed with Alzheimer’s more than eight years ago, I felt that she was no longer there. This goes against my whole outlook on Alzheimer’s. Despite all the hurdles and obstacles, all the anger and unpredictability, the overwhelming sense of loss, I have always made a conscious decision to find joy in Mom’s existence. W

Finding happiness in the little things is something that I work at. It doesn’t necessarily come naturally when it relates to Mom. It is fleeting and precious and unpredictable. When we went out to dinner for my birthday this past Sunday, Mom wasn’t with us. My brother Simon briefly contemplated the idea of signing her out of the home and bringing her along, but we knew she wouldn’t be able to negotiate the experience. Think about it. Restaurants are often dimly lit at night t

When Mom and I took a short walk to the grocery store and back, she was hesitant about where we were walking. She literally recognized nothing. Instead, she watched the people walking past us. As a social individual, Mom tried to connect to almost everyone who was on the sidewalk with us. She’d say hello or smile and nod. Quite a few people, either because they recognize her or because she’s a friendly old bird, reacted. This was so important to her, that she actually comment

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