I received a call from my mother‘s nursing home. She was unable to walk, withdrawn. So I drove up to see her.

At first, my mother thought that I was her mother. She was tentative, passive. Her once fabulously inventive vocabulary shrunken. Her once over-the-top personality fading.

Alzheimers has put her on a steady path that moves her away from me, toward a place that confuses and scares me.

When I came home, I meditated on this for a few days.

And cried.

This New York Times article is a bit of a buzz kill, since it disputes the benefits of crying.

But this Roy Orbison song is wonderful: