The Good Days

Seeing my mother decline through the various stages of dementia at the age of 77 is sad, to say the least. Discovering that dementia is more than just not remembering is difficult to bear. Each good visit, each time we catch a glimpse of a smile on her face, each time there is a giggle, a peaceful good-bye, an almost full night of rest, an seemingly insignificant inquiry about someone else’s well-being, these are the moments of gratefulness which we grab and hold onto to carry us until the next bright spot on this dark journey.
By: Jennifer Steiner

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