“There’s that yellow box on wheels!” mom said delightedly, as the island schoolbus drove past.
I was instantly transported to the early mornings forty-five years ago when I waited to be picked up for school at the end of the driveway.
My mother sketched me waiting for the bus over the span of the seasons, in various outfits and poses. The tiny island school of my youth –there were four others in my grade – represented both excitement and trepidation.
Now, when Alzheimer’s World feels as isolated as our island, that trepidation resurfaces. The woman who taught me how to read and lovingly packed school lunches is often unable to tell time or remember words.
Yet with dementia’s incongruent acuity, there are moments when her intellect shines bright. And I am as proud as she was with my straight-A report card.
Learn more about why people with dementia struggle with telling time
