“You’re only fit for the gutter, you are,” she angrily spat at me. It hurts to hear her talk like that. I know my mom would never say that. But my Alzheimer’s mom says things like that all the time. And in that instance, that other mom hated me. Why? Because I had tried to guide her to a bench to sit while we waited for my dad to pick us up. It is ironic that I’m using Mom’s designations—the other Jack, the other Miriam—to describe how I feel about her. The truth is, Daddy an