Alzheimer’s steals not only memories but the ability of the mind to connect with the body. My mother has this, and I’ve come to grips with it, now used to the sadness of watching the disease progress. I stopped by the nursing home after work today and found my mother eating ice cream and watching the others use children’s watercolor sets to paint coloring book pages of flowers. I sat down to work with her, pushing to see if old talents would come to the surface. I’m glad I finished writing her life stories before the Alzheimer’s took firm grip of her. I urge others not to wait until too late.
Landscapes
She
who once painted birch trees
reflected in a still pond
and dark pines
moody in the snow
can no longer paint
even a single tulip.
She holds the brush
in a frail hand
unsteady and uncertain.
Her mind cannot stay in the lines
or connect the dots.
A red smear marks the trail
of her disease.
She falls asleep
and I wonder if her dream
will be of beautiful trees
or whether her thoughts
can only be
still water.
moonbridgebooks 
A very moving poem Linda. You're Mom did lovely work.
Just beautiful, Linda!