AlzAuthor Linda Brendle Shares Her Alzheimer’s Caregiving Story in “Mom’s Long Goodbye,” a Memoir

By Linda Brendle

Several years ago I wrote A Long and Winding Road, the story of the hilarity and chaos that happened when my husband and I took Mom and Dad, both of whom had Alzheimer’s, on a seven-week, sixteen-state trek across the southeastern U.S. in a forty-foot motor home. In it I also told of the years and the life experiences that brought the four of us together. Readers responded to the emotions in the story – the humor, the joy, the sorrow. But most of all, they responded to the love, and they wanted to know what happened next. Mom’s Long Goodbye is the rest of the story.

This memoir is based on blog posts written as the events happened – when the details were fresh and the emotions were raw – and I knew I couldn’t write anything that was more real. The story takes the reader through grieving a continuous loss, some of the initial changes Alzheimer’s causes, the transition from caregiving to assisted living, Dad’s death, Mom’s last year, and the grief and closure of her final good-bye. It is about the good, the bad, and the ugly of Alzheimer’s – the harsh reality that dementia is bad and ugly, but the sweet truth that there are also precious moments.

I wanted to not only expose the realities of Alzheimer’s, but to strip away the face of the perfect caregiver and give the reader a look at the denial, anger and fear that come as a loved one loses herself a piece at a time to this insidious disease. Through sharing my own struggles, I tried to assure others that they are not alone, that perfection is not required, and that comfort is real. Most of all I wanted them to know that there is life after caregiving. Reader feedback indicates that I have been successful in offering hope and comfort.

One interviewer asked me what I thought my parents would think about my books. Here’s how I answered:

Mom and Dad were very private people, and from an earthly perspective, I think they would be embarrassed about some of the personal details I shared. I struggled with that before I published, but after much prayer and meditation, I decided to go ahead. Now, if they could look back from Heaven and see how their stories are helping those who are going through the same things, I think they would be pleased.

Folk wisdom says that “If Mama ain’t happy, ain’t nobody happy,” and as I wrote one chapter in A Long and Winding Road, that saying was proved true in our family from time to time. However, I truly believe that both Mom and Dad would be happy with their stories and that, like me, they would feel that helping others through their experiences gives some meaning to their otherwise senseless struggles with Alzheimer’s. My task of caregiving was long and arduous, but after having told the rest of the story, I now feel that I have finished that task, and that I have finished well.

Purchase Mom’s Long Goodbye Now

About the Author

After years as a family caregiver, Linda Brendle began to write as a way of helping herself and others deal with the pain and frustration of caregiving. Now that her parents are eternally healed, she writes about life in the country, her feral Kitty, and her amazingly patient husband David.

Connect with Linda Brendle

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AlzAuthor Eleanor Cooney Reveals a Cautionary Tale of Alzheimer’s in her Memoir “Death in Slow Motion”

Cooney CanvaBy Eleanor Cooney

In the third grade, I was kicked out of show-and-tell for three weeks. I told a story that the teacher, Mrs. Fitz, had specifically asked me not to tell. She knew about it because she heard me blabbing a preview to some of the other kids early that morning. “I don’t think that’s the sort of story to share with the class,” she’d said, shocked.

Mrs. Fitz was a gentle soul, and we loved each other, but my story upset her. She didn’t want me to tell it, and I hardly blame her. It was pretty terrible. Roaming around the woods and river near my house in Connecticut, I’d spotted something snagged in the shallow water: a burlap bag. I dragged it ashore, opened it, and found a drowned dog. I remember what it looked like: A brown-and-white Bassett hound. Even though Mrs. Fitz was shaking her head sadly in the back of the room as I stood in the front and she saw that I was about to spill it, I went ahead anyway. I had to. It’s not that I wasn’t sad for the dog. I was, and still am. But I just had to tell that story.

slowmotionI know that some will find the story I tell in my book Death in Slow Motion shocking and terrible, and they’ll think I shouldn’t have told it. When my mother came down with Alzheimer’s and I undertook (in vain) to save her, a calm dispassionate voice, quite separate from the desperate babble of other voices in my head, whispered: Here’s your next book.

This is not to say my motivations were identical to those of that headline-grabbing eight-year-old. But I still know a good story when it comes along. In this case, though, I wouldn’t be telling the dreadful truth for its mere gratuitous shock value; the subject matter begged for a brutally frank telling, something as pitiless and unladylike as the disease itself. I was, by that time, a seasoned, published novelist, figured I had the “chops” to do the job. My writerly sensibilities tend toward the “noir” anyway, and you can’t get much more “noir” than Alzheimer’s. It was a match.

I started with an article, published in Harper’s magazine. Serendipity led me to an editor at HarperCollins, who said: “I don’t want the book to be just a longer version of the article. I want background and character development. I want to know who your mother was, who you are.”

The possibilities were tantalizing: My mother was a writer, and I’m a writer exactly because she was a writer. We lived in a town right out of Cheever. She’d had three husbands and plenty of lovers. Even without Alzheimer’s shuffling onto the stage, her life, the life my brother and I had because of her, would have been the stuff of literary memoir or a roman à clef. The illness added a classic dimension of tragedy to the story, but it was not the whole story. This is not a “help” or a “how to” book, nor even really an “Alzheimer’s” book, though there’s plenty to be learned about the disease, and about failure, including what I learned the hard, hard way. It’s a cautionary tale, and it’s also the story of a woman, my mother, a superb writer, anything but ordinary, brilliant, beautiful, and sometimes dangerous. I wrote it the way I did because of the writer she was. I wanted to bring her to life so that the reader will know, really know, what’s been lost.

About the Author


Eleanor Cooney is the author of the T’ang Trilogy, historical novels set in 7th- and 8th-century China. This September, her nonfiction memoir, written for Frank Gregory Ford, Midnight in Samarra (Skyhorse, NYC), will be released, the searing account of an intelligence agent and medic who went into Iraq in the ’03 invasion and witnessed high crimes and misdemeanors on the part of his countrymen. She’s completing a new novel, a literary thriller set in the 19th and 21st centuries in Wisconsin, plus a collection of essays, No Country for Old Women. Her work has been published in Harper’s magazine and Mother Jones magazine. She lives in coastal northern California.

Connect with Eleanor Cooney

Facebook
Website
The Tang Trilogy
Facebook/TangTrilogy

The links below are for her long essay “No Country for Old Women,” a new “final chapter” to Death in Slow Motion. The editor divided it into four parts because of its length. They should, of course, be read all together, as one piece. They’re in order here:
https://www.theava.com/archives/84373
https://www.theava.com/archives/84659
https://www.theava.com/archives/84904
https://www.theava.com/archives/85174

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For more vetted books about Alzheimer’s and dementia please visit the AlzAuthors Bookstore. Reposted with permission from AlzAuthors.

AlzAuthor Judy Cornish On Providing Dementia Care with Dignity

Judy Canva

By Judy Cornish

It’s been nine years since I left my law practice in Portland, Oregon, thinking I would semi-retire and spend most of my time gardening, skiing and enjoying the outdoors. Instead, I’ve been busier than ever before, with a task I just can’t walk away from. A friend asked me last summer why I’ve taken on so much and am working so hard. “I saw a mess and I saw a broom,” I replied, “and I couldn’t help picking up the broom and doing my best to clean up the mess.”

The ‘mess’ I saw is that we have a senior care industry well equipped to support people experiencing physical frailty, but that offers people with forgetfulness and confusion little more than misunderstanding, psychotropic drugs and locked doors. The ‘mess’ is that we, as families, don’t know how to help our loved ones cope when their cognitive skills begin to fade, and unwittingly cause them more pain and distress. And the ‘mess’ is that we, as a society, seem to have forgotten that life has three stages, not two: childhood and adulthood are followed by elderhood, and being an elder is no less valuable a role than being a child or an adult. The ‘broom’ I saw and picked up is what I learned from my clients—the many people I’ve worked with and come to love.

When I wrote and published my first book (The Dementia Handbook) in the spring of 2017, my dementia care business in Moscow, Idaho was keeping me very busy as the sole case manager, supervisor, accountant, lawyer and administrator. I had started providing dementia care in 2010, and founded DAWN (the Dementia & Alzheimer’s Wellbeing Network®) in 2014—because I wanted to help other families begin caring for their loved ones in the same way. I began developing a training program that would help families provide truly strength-based care at home. I’m still very busy; I’m running both businesses, teaching the DAWN Method, and developing a set of short, dementia care videos for families to subscribe to and access online.

Dementia with DignityBut at the same time, I began writing Dementia With Dignity – Living Well with Alzheimer’s or Dementia Using the DAWN Method® , and published it in January 2019. My first little book had explained the principles of the DAWN approach—what I’d learned from my clients here in Moscow as I strove to help them retain not only dignity and autonomy but also to continue to live rich and happy lives. But this second book is truly a work of love, from my heart. I knew I needed to give families not only the principles of DAWN care, but also the specific tools and techniques my clients have shown me are the kindest way to support their skills. Dementia With Dignity is filled with stories from my years with my clients—stories of their courage, wisdom and perseverance.

I’m still not retired. I’m still running both businesses, but I’m beginning to see that many of us have become aware of the ‘mess’ I saw back in 2010, that I’ve been joined by many who are also using their hearts and minds to the utmost—making a better world for those who experience dementia. We’re not there yet, but we’ve made great progress. Many families are now providing wise and supportive dementia care, at home, and our elders are beginning to enjoy more respect and autonomy, even with dementia. Once again—thank you! AlzAuthors, for the opportunity to share my vision with you and your readers.

About the Author

JudyJudy Cornish is an elder law attorney, geriatric care manager and author who has spent the past nine years working with families and people experiencing dementia in northern Idaho and Eastern Washington. Prior to her law practice and founding the Dementia & Alzheimer’s Wellbeing Network® (DAWN), Judy had worked in vocational rehabilitation and as a psychosocial skills trainer with the mentally ill. With her varied background—and education in literature, languages, fine arts and the law—she discovered a unique and truly effective approach to dementia care. The DAWN Method® enables families to recognize and meet their loved ones’ emotional needs, so they can live comfortably and safely at home for longer. Today, Judy runs Palouse Dementia Care, providing case management and care services on the Palouse, and DAWN, through which she consults and provides training in DAWN care.

Connect with Judy Cornish

Dementia With Dignity on Amazon
The Dementia Handbook on Amazon

Judy’s TEDx talk

Dementia & Alzheimer’s Wellbeing Network® (DAWN):

judy@thedawnmethod.com
www.thedawnmethod.com
The DAWN Method Facebook Page
The DAWN Method Twitter
The DAWN Method LinkedIn

Judy Cornish, JD:
Judy Cornish Public Figure Facebook Page
Judy Cornish Twitter
Judy Cornish LinkedIn

Judy’s dementia care company in Moscow, ID:
www.palousedementiacare.com
Palouse Dementia Care Facebook Page

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For more vetted books about Alzheimer’s and dementia please visit the AlzAuthors Bookstore. Reposted with permission of AlzAuthors.

Timothy Scott Honors His Grandfather in “Don’t Forget,” an Alzheimer’s Novel

I wrote Don't Forget as a reminder to myself and to all of us of the responsibility we have to the memory of those who made us who we are, and an inspiration for us to be that positive force in the lives of the

By Timothy Scott

Almost everyone I know has experienced the pain of having someone in their life affected by Alzheimer’s. The names and faces are different, but the stories are eerily similar. As is the impact and the pain. Forgetting is a terrible cruelty. For me, that someone was my grandfather.

My grandfather was a very special man. He was a larger-than-life figure to me as a child, and a constant source of encouragement and joy in adulthood. He was the same powerful influence on so many others in my family. Alzheimer’s took my grandfather’s mind, and it was hard for all of us to watch as the powerful man we knew slowly faded away.

But I treasure the memories I have of him, and to share his influence with continued generations, his stories have become my stories. The memories that slipped away from his mind have found a firm, honored place in mine. That is my tribute to him.

This isn’t a memoir of my grandfather, but it is a poignant story about the power of presence and memory in the relationships that shape all of us.

My greatest satisfaction in writing this book has been hearing from readers how they found themselves and their loved ones in the pages, and how the story stirred within them deep memories of joy and a commitment to cherish and carry their loved one’s memories.

I’d be honored if you read it. I hope it helps you to remember and keep the memories of those you love.

Purchase Don’t Forget

About the Author

Timothy Scott is a husband and father, and storyteller. He writes stories that celebrate the power of family and relationships in order to make a difference in the lives of others.

Timothy has climbed the corporate ladder, working in the recruiting and talent development functions of Dr Pepper/Seven Up, Inc., Trane Commercial Systems, Yum! Brands/Pizza Hut, and Southwest Airlines. He built a dynamic NextGen Ministry at a growing church, and served two terms as a city councilman.

Whether one-on-one, or on stage in front of thousands of people, Timothy is an engaging and effective story-teller, and has the ability to harness the power of story to inspire and motivate others.

Timothy and his wife, Stephanie, have a daughter in college and two spoiled dogs.

Connect with Timothy Scott

Website

Twitter

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For more vetted books about Alzheimer’s and dementia please visit the AlzAuthors Bookstore. Reprinted with permission of AlzAuthors.

Caregiver Judith Clarke Looks for Laughs Every Day in “Dementia Isn’t Funny”

If nothing else in all our years, I've learned from my husband how to laugh at myself, and life, and always with him. - Judith Clarke, Blogger DementiaIsn'tFunny.com.png

By Judith Clarke, Blogger at Dementia Isn’t Funny

Laughter costs nothing and work instantly.

Take off everything but your underwear,” the nurse said. “Doctor will be in shortly.”

She handed my husband a gown and left. 

Peter looked at me. “What am I supposed to do?”

“Take everything off except your underwear.” 

He took his shirt off. “Is this enough?”

“No, everything but your underwear.”

As he stripped off his trousers he said, “Good thing I wore underwear today.”

I burst out laughing. 

When you live with someone whose medical diagnosis includes the words “mild dementia,” you learn quickly that laughter is absolutely essential for both patient and caregiver. Alzheimer’s disease may be lurking. Laughter can’t slow the disease nor cure it, but it costs nothing and works instantly.

Decades ago I learned to laugh at my husband’s lightening quick rejoinders. Ever the life of any party, he joked about everything. Even now he laughs at himself, though much of the time he forgets why before the laughs have faded.

He was diagnosed with “mild dementia” in 2003. For the next eight years I was his caregiver, a relatively easy job, though worrisome. About six years later the doctor said, “I can no longer rule out Alzheimer’s.”

By then there was no choice but to hire help. I’d come up with the idea of therapy-dog visits for Peter and his dog Nobby. I got lucky with Bill who drove them to nursing homes in our area every Wednesday for seven years.

Peter had just gotten up when Bill arrived. Not one to be rushed, Peter sipped his coffee, nibbled his toast, and wiped (and wiped and wiped) the kitchen countertop. He will not be dissuaded from that task once he starts. Bill and I smiled.

“‘Mrs. Clarke,’” I said, “are you about finished?”

Bill chuckled. “He’s a good little ‘housewife,’ isn’t he?” 

Peter muttered, “Well, someone has to do it, don’t they?” 

In 2017, he seemed to get worse by the day. He’d gotten lost on a sweltering day and was found, hours later, five miles away. With that, his easy-going temperament changed, although still quick witted, a dark side had erupted like a zit on a teenager’s chin.

Mark, an additional companion was a big help too, but by year’s end, my resolve was shredded. A temporary fix, a locater watch, gave me confidence that Peter was safe walking Nobby. But it begged problems because his engineer’s mind soon figured out how to get the thing off.

Then he fell face first into a muddy ditch while walking. A policeman notified me and took me to the ambulance a block away.

Peter was already on the gurney when I climbed in behind him. He turned his battered, muddy face toward me and said, “Uh oh, now I’m in trouble.” He kept the EMTs entertained all the way to the hospital.

With the advice of our daughters I weighed the options. I’d known for months I had to do something, but I’d played ostrich. The choices were assisted living, memory care, private-care home, or 24-hour care at home. He didn’t meet the requirements for assisted living and round-the-clock care at home was a non-starter because he would hate it, as would I.

The only real choice was memory care. The day he was admitted was one of the worst days of our lives, mine because I knew what it meant, and Peter’s because he didn’t.

Anyone who has opened a door to memory care should be prepared for the stress, guilt, and pain that lies on the other side. Peter can’t articulate his feelings, but I can speak to feeling paralyzed while watching confusion engulf him.

The first time his new neurologist visited, she introduced herself, and asked, “Would you like me to call you Peter, Mr. Clarke or Dr. Clarke?”

He grinned. “Dr. Clarke sounds good.” We laughed with her.

I know it’s easier for me than for Peter. I still live in our home while he’s in a strange new environment that will never feel like home no matter how I try to make it seem so.

When I visit, I walk in and immediately begin to tidy his room. One day, in addition to the usual mess, the comforter was turned so that the ends were dragging the floor off the sides of the bed.

“Did an aide make your bed or did you?”

“Is it right or wrong?” he asked.

“It’s the wrong way ’round.” 

“She made it,” he said.

I laughed like I hadn’t laughed in weeks.

If nothing else in all our years, I’ve learned from my husband how to laugh at myself, and life, and always with him.

About the Author

DSC00007.JPG copy copy

The author and her husband, Peter

The writer’s block that stopped Judith Clarke cold was hidden behind dementia’s sweeping skirts. During the years she’d tried to write a novel about innocence, she admitted that her husband’s “mild dementia” diagnosis was actually Alzheimer’s disease. Real life. Not fiction.

Writing a novel, or writing anything at all, was no longer a priority. Peter was, and remains, her first priority.

Daughters Carolynn and Leslie urged their mother to start a blog, Dementia Isn’t Funny. Putting thoughts to paper helps anyone facing a challenge and Judith soon realized that her therapy was helping others —

“…You are my hero and you give me hope.” Ellen

“Such honest, insightful disclosures! You avoid the trite phrases that elicit pity and get to the heart of this very complex life we lead. It’s pure generosity and what’s more, you are gifted.” Mary Ann

“Thank you for some simple answers for a not-so-simple predicament.” Carol

“Thank you…so many [posts] were just what we’ve been going through. I appreciate your candor and humor! It’s a road no one wants to be on, but you are holding a light for some of us who are coming along behind.” Jabberwalky

“So love reading these…treasures and trials…. Such stories can only help us have empathy for those we meet day to day.” Carol

In 2016, Judith placed second in the National Society of Newspaper Columnists (NSNC) contest for blogs with under 100,000 unique visitors.  Her other blog, “Wherever you go, there you are”  has appeared on the Erma Bombeck Writers’ Workshop site.

Judith has written two books, Mother Tough Wrote the Book (2001) and That’s All She Wrote (2007). Both are out of print, but Mother Tough will send an autographed copy, or a boxful, upon request. Contact mothertough105@gmail.com

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For more vetted books and blogs about Alzheimer’s and dementia please visit AlzAuthors.com. Reprinted with permission of AlzAuthors.

Millenial Blogger Rachel Hiles Shares her Caregiving Journey in “Taking Care of Grandma”

By Rachel Hiles

When I became my grandma’s caregiver, I searched desperately for support.

No, not home-delivered meals or adult daycare.

Not home care agencies or government programs.

No, I was on a relentless pursuit for the others.

You see, when we are in the thick of caregiving, there are times when we feel oh so alone. Even if we have watched people taking care of their relatives while growing up, or hear about it on TV, we are never fully prepared for caregiving until it actually happens to us. And then we are islands.

When you realize for the first time your loved one might have dementia, it feels like the ocean is coming to swallow up your island.

This feeling of aloneness is a feeling I have grown quite accustomed to as an only child. As an only child caring for an only child, I realized just how small our tiny little island was and this gnawing only grew stronger.

The people I thought would come through for us never showed up. Some of these same people were the ones who were telling me I should give up and look at placing Grandma in a facility. I said, “No, she can stay at home.” In spite of it all, my primary motivation is to see this through to the very end, making sure she has a good life every step of the way.

I figured there had to be some others like us. Others not just caring for their loved ones at home, but proactively looking for ways to keep them there. Others that could find the humor in caregiving mishaps, instead of being so freaked out by them they never even try. Others that are willing to make sacrifices to help their loved one, who after all, sacrificed greatly for them. Others that are concerned with respecting their elders and values of family and community (yes, they still do exist).

Since I had my own social struggles, I didn’t know anyone personally my age, let alone someone my age who was also caring for a loved one, so I started searching.

In my search for the others, takingcareofgrandma.com was born. It was my desperate attempt to light the branches on the beach and send out smoke signals to other people like me who are caring for an aging relative. I thought that if I started blogging about my caregiving adventure, the others—granddaughters, nephews, nieces and neighbors, people searching for the same things I was searching for—would find me.

Be careful what you wish for, they say. Out of nowhere, the others started popping up left and right. In my inbox. On Twitter. At Grandma’s high school class reunion. At conferences.

Thanks to my smoke signals, the others are showing up all the time.

Ultimately, I hope that my blog is more than just an endearing story from an ephemeral point in one person’s life. I hope that my readers of TakingCareofGrandma.com find my tips and tricks, videos and silly stories helpful, and that they spark ideas of how they might be able to support a loved one they are caring for. When I told my grandma I wanted to start my blog, I convinced her by telling her we were doing the world a service—after all, it is up to us to show the world how it’s done. I never looked back.

Even though I started TakingCareofGrandma.com with the intention of finding, helping, and inspiring others, it is seriously one of the greatest gifts I ever gave to myself. Starting this blog has not only been a source of catharsis for me, it has also put opportunities in front of me and brought people into my life in a way I never thought was possible.

My advice out there to anyone who is currently caring for a loved one with Alzheimer’s or dementia: Never lose hope of finding the others. It is when you least expect it and in our darkest moments that they come into the light.

About the Author

img_3931Rachel Hiles is a 30-something aspiring local celebrity do-gooder in Kansas City. She is a proud graduate of the UMKC Bloch school, where she obtained her Masters of Public Administration with an emphasis in nonprofit management. She worked in the developmental disabilities field in a variety of roles for over 13 years. Most recently, she ventured down the path to self-employment as a graphic, web, and media designer so she could have flexibility in her role as primary caregiver to her grandma, Barbara.

Connect with Rachel Hiles

Twitter

Facebook

Instagram

YouTube

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For more vetted books and blogs about Alzheimer’s and dementia please visit AlzAuthors.com. Reprinted with permission of AlzAuthors.

 

 

Blogger Lickety Glitz Invites Us into Life with Vascular Dementia in “Stumped Town Dementia”

By Lickety Glitz

I started…

… to worry that Mom’s behavior wasn’t old age quirky-ness, but possibly a much more serious problem.

I started…

… a new career that required relocating away from family, friends, and the region I loved best.

I started…

… to consult with Dad on my visits home about how long we thought it might be before he needed me back permanently to support him in Mom’s care. Another year? Three? Five?

I stopped…

… breathing when the ER doctor announced on conference call that Dad had stage 4 pancreatic cancer. I could tell that those who were there in-person had stopped breathing too.

I started…

… sharing 24/7 care for Mom with my sister when Dad died three weeks later.

I started…

… blogging about our dementia adventures a year later as a way to keep far off friends and family engaged in Mom’s life. I’ve been writing for over a year now, and…

… I’ve started to realize it’s so much more.

It’s a lifeline for me. An umbilical cord to a not-so-distant universe of word-weaving creativity; now a tiny galaxy of curling and curving locution that tethers me to the world of my present.

It’s a permanent record of a journey I don’t want to forget. An autobiography of dementia certainties: misplaced items, misplaced poop, mismanaged emotions. A sweeping saga of dementia unknowns; tremendous courage, epic failures, colossal comedies.

It’s a connection to a massive universe of dementia caregivers who see their journey mirrored in ours. It’s a connection to a smaller cosmos of family and friends who can’t always be with their beloved Gloria but want to stay informed. It’s a connection to my sister, The Other Girl, a relationship sometimes fragile and strained, but united in a never-questioned bond of love for our mother.

And lastly, it’s a connection to myself; my devastating defeats, my soaring successes, my inherited joy of hilarity in the tragically absurd – a gift from Mom and Dad who shared the same comedic sensibilities. When I write a post, whether dire and dark or laugh-out-loud light, I have to relive my emotions, examine my responses, assess my behavior with unflinching honesty. If I shrink from that often-painful task, then I am doing everyone who follows our adventures a disservice in telling a dishonest tale.

A year ago, I sat down at my computer to inform family and friends of Mom’s dementia progression. A year later I rise in realization that I’m actually telling myself about myself.

About the Author

Stumped Town Dementia is a personal blog chronicling the dementia adventures of Girl and The Other Girl, sharing hilarious, heartbreaking, bittersweet and courageous moments of life with our Mom who has vascular dementia. We celebrate the insanity and relish the laughter of this long, strange journey. It helps us make it through the days when there are no smiles to be had.

Stumped Town Dementia has been featured on The Caregiver Space, Family Caregiver Alliance, Being Patient, and Alzheimer’s Society UK.

Lickety Glitz has been a former just about everything from non-profits arts administrator to cabaret performer to post-production professional to Crappiest Daughter of the Year award winner about 40+ years in a row. She recently broke that winning streak by stepping up to the plate, hand-in-hand with The Other Girl, to provide their dementia mom with the best end-of-life care possible.

Connect with Lickety Glitz

Website

Facebook 

Twitter

Instagram

Email: licketyglitz@stumpedtowndementia.com

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For more vetted books and blogs about Alzheimer’s and Dementia please visit AlzAuthors.com. Reprinted with permission of AlzAuthors.