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In the early 1990s, my sisters and I began to notice our mother, Jessie, showing the unmistakable signs of the dreaded disease of forgetting. As she neared 80, this woman full of life and song became increasingly incapacitated, every move, meal, and moment needing assistance. By the time she passed in the fall of 2012, constant care seemed all she ever knew. She was 92 years old.    But there is more to our story.

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Sons and Daughters

Jane was my mother. She was beautiful. She was smart. She loved the outdoors, her children and grandchildren, her garden, and sailing. And then she started to go away.

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Sons and Daughters

Ann, my mother, was the youngest of six children, born in 1917. Her father was a lawyer in Hartord, CT. She married her sweetheart, Bernie, during WWII and they raised four children. Ann became an English teacher and taught high school English classes, specializing in Shakespeare. She retired at 62, when she began the long ride to insanity with Alzheimer's disease. My father was her caregiver for a decade. He was devoted to her, but his health began to fail with kidney and heart disease, so he finally asked for help from his children.

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Sons and Daughters

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