rsing home, tapping her fingers on her chair in a syncopated rhythm that reminds me of bebop, talking to herself about her father, who died when she was eight.
“Mildred... Mildred. ” I say.
She looks up at me, her eyes brighten, and her smile reveals snaggles like those of a five-year-old. “Come here, baby doll, ”she says.
I rush over to her, pull close a chair, and sit down.
“Hey, Mildred, how are you?” I don’t call her Mommy anymore. She doesn’t answer to Mommy.
My mother was diagnosed with Alzheimer’s in 1984, right after I graduated from college. While in school. saw signs that something was wrong. Often, when I would call home, she would be upset because she’d lost her money. “Mommy never loses her money.” I’d think.
I fought the disease. Through changes in doctors, diet, and medicine, and through the addition of Chinese herbs, my mother’s health improved. She lost seventy-five pounds and regained her ability to converse with other people. Yet, despite profound physical improvement,the Alzheimer’s continued to unravel her mind over the next six years.