The Hard Truths I Learned While Looking After My Mother at Home.

My mother didn’t disappear from me all at once.
She faded—quietly, almost politely—like a light being dimmed one notch at a time.

First came the small lapses: keys left in the freezer, appointments forgotten, stories told twice with the same gentle smile. We laughed then. We told ourselves it was normal.
Until one afternoon, she studied my face with warm uncertainty and asked if I lived next door.

The diagnosis arrived wrapped in careful language. Progressive. Unpredictable.
The doctor spoke softly, as if volume could soften reality.