Dementia takes us Piece by Piece, but this is the Last Piece to Go.

I’ve raised my voice to my mother a few times in my life.

Granted, it mostly happened when I was a teenager, but a few years ago, it was because she was in the middle of a full-blown conspiracy delusion about the doctor, my sister, and a truck load of crazy.

And I made her cry. It’s quite a gift to make a woman in her 80s cry—well done, self.

In my defense, I didn’t really understand dementia then, even though it’s a growing worldwide problem.