Periodically I will add posts here if the sources provide additioanl informaiton on how to think about and deal with Dementia/ Alzheimer's Disease.


SCROLL DOWN FOR TEXT and BIBLIOGRAPHY from DAI WEBINAR 2/22-23/2017. You can also find this information on my website:

Even though this blog is now dormant (see info below) there are many useful, insightful posts. Scroll back from the end or forward from the beginning. My guess is that you could spend a lot of time here and maybe learn or experience a thing or two about living with and loving someone with Dementia/Alzheimer's or maybe come away with the feeling that "you are not alone" in YOUR work with the same!

• • • • •


Happy New Year 2016. With a new year comes new beginnings and sometimes endings. If I am personally progressing and if I am doing a good job in my grieving Gregory's death; if I have been able to learn my lessons in living and loving someone diagnosed with Dementia/ Alzheimer's; if I am to get on with my life ... I need to bring this Alzheimer's blog to an end since my writing has been dealing less with Dementia/ Alzheimer's and more with life after Dementia/ Alzheimer's.

Of course, I will always continue to work for and support fair treatment on behalf of people with Dementia/ Alzheimer's and may post here from time to time. Also, there are many wonderful posts here through which you may browse.

With this change, I will continue and reinvigorate my "michael a. horvich writes" blog which deals with grieving Gregory's death, life lessons, personal experiences, observations, memoirs, dreams, and humor in essay and poetry, as well as an attempt now and then at sharing a piece of fiction.

Please follow me there by clicking or click the link located on the right side of this page.

Finally, COMMENTS are always important to me and you can still comment on the posts on this blog! CLICK "Comments" and sign in or use "Anonymous." Leave your name or initials if you wish so I'll know it's you? Check the "Notify Me" box to see my reply to you.

Sunday, March 2, 2014


Earlier today at Lieberman, Barbara died. I do not remember what she looked like but I did notice her empty place at the table just behind Gregory's. She had stopped eating some three days earlier.

And I heard that Marie was probably on her way out as well. I do remember what she looked like. She sat at the other end of Gregory's table, or better said, was brought into the dining room and placed at the end of the table.

In stark contrast to the other active, somewhat responsive people at the table (Greg, Betty, Julie, and Fred,) she spent her time in the dining room asleep, waiting to be fed, crumpled into a fetal position in her tipped back wheel chair/bed. At times she would be staring off into the distance but never responded to a "Hello" or "How are you today?" Her world was mostly limited and internal.

On earlier days, I remember looking at her and even in her disheveled condition; imagining the loving, sophisticated woman she used to be. But no more.

After kissing Gregory goodnight and on my way towards the elevator, a nurse was headed to Marie's room where family had been sitting with her all day. I asked the other nurse who was just outside the room how Marie was doing and she told me that Marie had just passed.

No matter how "far gone" some of these residents may be, or how angry and non-communicative, I cannot walk by a fellow human being in the hall and not smile real big and nod my head or say, "Hello." In turn, over time, some of the residents regularly now smile at me and say hello.

When in the dining room and someone needs help, if I know how to help without getting in the way and for example only if I know what to do, like getting thickened juice for someone who needs it to be thickened so they will not choke when drinking, I have to help. When Freddy is upset and cursing, I hold his hand and he holds my hand back and settles down.

My love for Gregory continues to grow, my expectations for him now are in the present moment and mostly in line with his abilities and not my hopes and fears for the future, and my love of fellow humanity continues to be tested and stretched. There is such great love and beauty to be experienced at Lieberman.

I grief and am also grateful for Barbara's and Marie's deaths.

1 comment:

  1. I remember the woman at the end of the table too, the one wrapped into that fetal position, the uncommunicative one. I remember thinking how small she was making herself, wondering if she made herself any smaller that she would just disappear. And now it appears she has.

    May she rest in peace.


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