She was 81 when they told her the Alzheimer's had begun to slow. Not reverse. Not cure. Slow. And in those early months, even that word felt impossibly large — the idea that the tide that had been coming in for three years might pause, might reconsider. I was sitting with her in the small room at the memory care facility when she looked at me and said my name. Not my mother's name, which she sometimes used. Mine. Clear as a bell. I didn't trust myself to speak. --- The treatment she receive
