Yesterday I made a fried egg sandwich, ate it, left the house to go shopping, came back two hours later, and turned the burner off under the frying pan. I thought maybe I should put an X on the calendar so we could have a definitive date for the onset of my Alzheimer’s Disease but my husband said, no, I’d done it before.
I wasn’t so sure.
It seemed an especially egregious error. Noteworthy.
The stove incident led me to wondering about what might have been my mother’s watershed event, the moment she knew she was at a point of no return. She’d had Alzheimer’s Disease for many years before I knew about it. We were estranged, split over a bad telephone conversation, something so inconsequential that if I told you right now what it was, you’d shake your head and wonder what kind of person I am. In any…
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