“They’re hacking my brain!” she exclaimed. “There’s a camera in the ceiling fan recording me. They follow me everywhere!”
You probably think this is about how Alzheimer’s has hijacked my mother’s brain.
But this is a story about my step-daughter.
My mother’s had her share of delusions. The man in the closet wearing her high heels. Being held prisoner in the cellar with illegal immigrants. She’s never owned heels. Her memory care home has one level.
Both women have a brain disease. Last week, one chose to end her life. The disease became too real: sanity was elusive; treatment refused.
Again, I find myself packing up a life once lived.
Grateful Dead posters. Zeppelin CDs. Crystal Scotch glasses. Prada handbags. Digging through the layers tells the story of my step-daughter’s life.
We all have a chapter we don’t read aloud. In this case, there were volumes.
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