Tag Archives: memory

Mother’s Day

When I arrived at the Hebrew Home for a visit on Mother’s Day, my mom was sitting alone at her table, hunched over and staring downward, like she was reading a book perched in her lap. She looked up as … Continue reading

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The Bottom Line

My mom and Kenneth are already at the dinner table when I arrive for a visit at 4 PM on a Saturday. They’re not saying much, just waiting for their food, which will be served at 5 if they’re lucky, … Continue reading

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Time

“I want to keep you forever,” my mom says, holding my hand and lifting it to her heart. We’re walking the corridors of the Hebrew Home, having just visited the bird cage, on our way to see the fish tank. … Continue reading

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Are you a boy or a girl?

“Are you a boy or a girl?” my mom whispers into the phone, afraid her roommate might hear her question. “A girl,” I say. “You ARE?” she asks, as if she can’t believe it, as if it’s deeply upsetting for … Continue reading

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Moment by Moment

When my mom’s close friend passed away three months ago, I debated whether or not to take her to the wake. I was exhausted, weather forecasts were terrible, and the journey would include an expensive cab ride to and from … Continue reading

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My mom is growing into childhood

Every day, in different ways, my mom gets a little more childlike. “You’re my bestest friend and … daughter,” she says to me, the daughter part sounding more and more like an afterthought. “You’re the only one left,” she says. … Continue reading

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My mom was deeply insecure

My mom has become very sociable since she’s started losing her mind to Alzheimer’s. She never used to be. It’s as if all of the negative thoughts that kept her fearful of people and reluctant to fully engage have melted … Continue reading

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My mom’s brain was chaotic

There was a time, when my mom still lived independently, when she would regale me with tales of her hallucinations (likely brought on by the Alzheimer’s drug Aricept). “Every night there are people singing Christmas carols outside my window,” she … Continue reading

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The things she’s forgotten

How to tell time. What she had for dinner. The house she lived in for thirty-four years, where she raised her children. The names of her grandchildren … or even that she has grandchildren. Whether it’s morning or night.                        … Continue reading

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Writing things down

“Wait, I have to write that down,” my mom says, during our nightly phone conversation. “Hold on.” “Okay,” I say, trying to wait patiently while she looks for a pen. When she gets back on the phone, she can’t remember … Continue reading

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