"Time and Tide wait for no one...."

"Time and Tide wait for no man..." -- Robert Frost

Three of my good friends are both in the midst of dealing with the ramification of having parents in different stages of Alzheimer's or dementia. Their stories are heartbreaking, loving, frustrating and angst ridden. It is a journey many of us will take, and yet none of us are prepared for. Even as adults, we look to our parents for guidance. I don't know how I would have survived my early years of marriage, parenthood and beyond without my mother's wisdom, advice, insight and suggestions. In my own life, I've come to admire my mother more and more as time has gone on. I have appreciated her battles against the trials and difficulties in her own life, and used these as examples of how to face my own challenges. I have consulted her on almost every step on my life path. She has been my cheerleader, my confessor, my greatest fan and my admonisher. I trust her opinion in all things above everyone else.

How does one reconcile the strong, courageous and all knowing parent of our childhood and our young adulthood, with the parent who becomes angry, belligerent and even vicious? My friends are facing this very question right now. When does one step in, and assume legal control over one's parent? It's a double edged sword: if one steps in too soon and involves doctors and lawyers, one risks losing the love and respect of her parent. And yet, if one waits too long, one runs the risk of the parent becoming a danger to herself or others, particularly if she is still driving. One also runs the risk of the parent making very poor decisions or failing to take care of the very basics of life and health. When is it the 'right time' to step in and say "Dad, I love you but you can't do this anymore"? I wish I had an answer to this question. I'm afraid that it's difficult for everyone involved...the parents themselves, who see their independence and their very lives being removed, and the children, who are now setting themselves in the place of becoming a parent to their own mothers and fathers.

My family experienced this with my Grandmother. My mother watched her own mother's decline with sorrow, anger, devastation and profound frustration. Grandma would have excellent days in which she would make perfect sense to everyone who spoke with her. She would be lucid, articulate and intelligent. Grandma would seem completely in charge of her own life, her own affairs and her own well being. The next day, or even the next hour, she would become paranoid, bitter and hostile. She would become accusatory and challenge everything meant for her well being. It was both painful, and frustrating, because we never knew whether we'd have "Real Grandma" or "Other Grandma". My mother watched her beautiful, successful mother leave the house to go food shopping at Safeway, which was less than five minutes from Grandma's home...and become lost and end up on the complete other side of time.

A wonderful novel that tackles the issue of Alzheimer's in a beautiful, moving way is "Still Alice" by Lisa Genova. Rarely can a work of fiction create a story in which the characters are achingly real, and still incredibly informative. This book, which I recommend highly to everyone, shows every side of the Alzheimer's, and explores each point of view. "Still Alice" does not skimp on storytelling ability. It is a powerful, moving and captivating novel. And yet, I found myself better informed and more knowledgeable about Alzheimer's than I had been...even after my experience with Grandma. I only wish that I had been able to read "Still Alice" in the years before Grandma passed away. It taught me a great deal about the process, about love and about dignity.

One of the ways in which I believe people can help shield their positive memories of their loved ones with dementia is by not neglecting those memories. It's extremely easy to begin to lose sight of the "real" parent (or grandparent) who is angry, who is mean spirited and who may not remember you. My own wish, from our time with my grandmother, is that I'd kept alive more memories of her wonderful years while she was ill. I wish I remembered more about my own playhouse in her garden on Russian Hill. I had forgotten about her taking my cousins and me out for ice cream at Swenson's, in San Francisco, instead of feeding us dinner. I had forgotten how she gave me my own easel for painting right next to hers, and how she bound my first little books of creative writing. I mislaid the memories of her teaching me everything from art to articulation, and of her being my such an enormous part of my growing up. Those memories were overwritten by the hostile woman who was unkind to my son, without remorse. Now that she's no longer with us, I find the joyful times creeping back into my thought patterns, and I am filled with sadness that I couldn't reconcile these two people as 'one'. And yet, I do hope that she knows, somehow, that I love her and will never forget her true self.