I forget a lot of things. “Where did I put my keys? Did you see my phone? I know I put my sunglasses right there.”  Mom though, Mom forgets different kinds of things. She forgets how to swallow pills. She forgets that she is taking her pills, while she has one in her mouth. She forgets that she is standing up while you are trying to transfer her to a different seat. Mom forgets that the compression bandage is covering a wound on her arm and she takes it off to see why she has it there.
I worry when someone’s name (often someone I know well) disappears off the tip of my tongue. I worry that I should be taking the Alzheimer’s meds myself. I worry how long will it be, before the erosion of personality starts on me. That may be one of the biggest hidden tolls of taking care of Mom, the conviction that I am looking at myself in a few years.
Some of the things mom forgets makes my life more arduous, like when she forgets how to move her feet to get into the car. Some of it makes life less pleasant, like the toilet chores that are routine for me now. But nothing is quite as bad as the dread of what lies ahead. With Mom and Dad both severely incapacitated with the disease, genetically speaking, I feel doomed.
Well, enough of such pleasant thoughts this morning. I need to check on Mom. It is a gray rainy morning here, I hope yours is brighter, inside and out. Shalom for now.