About seven years ago, the first warning sign that my mother wasn’t herself was her inclination to comply. She would ask permission (it seemed) for small, simple things. She’d look to her husband, “is this OK?”

It pricked my senses. What was happening?

I didn’t see in him as desiring to control her. They had already been through her first round of cancer together. He took on his new role and became caregiver. It didn’t make sense.

No. This was something else, this was the first symptom of Alzheimer’s settling in. Dementia has

The Goodbye Girl movie credits scrolled on the TV in my mom’s hospital room just after she fell asleep on Monday. I sat next to her as the song played:

…

Goodbye doesn’t mean forever.

Goodbye doesn’t mean we’ll never be together again.

…

I left for a few hours for an event with Marcus, we came back to the hospital after.

She was asleep. I talked to the night nurse a bit and told her I’d be back the next morning, but we agreed she would call me if I needed to come earlier.

Marcus whispered, “Goodnight Grandma” as we left the room.

…

After