Waving goodbye, I watch the glass doors close. On the other side, my mother stands red-faced, tears streaming, in the lobby of her assisted living community. Our family has a habit of damming up grief, but this is a pain neither of us can contain. I am crying too.
I leave my mother like this on the day I am tasked with delivering difficult news. On the advice of her physician and care team, my mother—officially diagnosed with Alzheimer’s two and a half years earlier—will be moving to the memory care floor. The move means admitting that she can no longer safely live without assistance. It means her Alzheimer’s is taking her into the deep end.
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