I saw mom today.   Since we were out of town last weekend, it has been two weeks since I last saw her; and those two weeks were not kind to her.

Alzheimer’s is a wicked nasty disease.  It has turned my very intelligent, talented and articulate mother into someone I barely recognize; someone I pity; someone who requires round-the-clock care;  someone who alternates between anger, confusion and a quiet resignation.  Very soon (we may already be there) she will not be able to tell us if she is in pain or hungry or needs to go to the bathroom.  Care-taking has become something of a guessing game.

She is in a good place and receives high-quality care from the Memory care staff and by her loving husband (my father) who sees her every day and takes her to all of her Dr. appointments. Despite all of that, it is hard to think of her as being fortunate.  Alzheimer’s is a persistent and relentless diminishing of life’s essence.  What is left of our personality, of our being,  of our very soul when we can no longer recognize or relate to the world around us?

I have other friends whose parents had or have Alzheimer’s.  Part of the fear is the knowledge that a certain percentage of us will also become afflicted as we age. We talk about quality of life and how we would not want to live beyond a certain threshold.  Obviously, defining the threshold is tricky and defining contingency plans should the threshold be reached is even trickier.

For mom: we keep her comfortable;  we rehash old memories; we hold her hands; we take her for walks; we sing to (or with) her, we bring some cheer to her days with pictures and videos of the great-grandchildren that she does not remember holding.   It is not enough; yet it is all we know to do.

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