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An Opened Letter to Alzheimer’s Disease
This letter helped me get some things off my chest.
Dear Alzheimer’s Disease,
I hate you. I mean I really f**king hate you. You didn’t swoop in and destroy my family. No, not at all. You crept into our lives like a cheap pair of underwear. There were no horns blaring or trumpets sounding to mark your arrival. Looking back, I realize you had been hiding in dark corners of my parents’ home for years, waiting for your chance to snatch the only Mom I have and transform her into the Mom we need to protect.
Almost five years ago, Mom was taking care of Dad before he passed away. When she and I spoke on the phone, many of our phone calls sounded like this:
Me: Hey Ma! It’s me. How you doing?
Mom: Oh. You know. Same old, same old.
Me: You don’t sound like yourself. Are you feeling okay?
Mom: You know, something’s off. I can’t put my finger on it, but something isn’t right.
Me: I wish you would see your doctor and get checked out.
Mom: I will. I promise.
