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My brother told me today that on Friday he was diagnosed with Alzheimer's. He's 58 years old and far too young to have this diagnosis, but, unfortunately there is a family history with this horrible disease. My grandmother had it, my mother has it, and now my brother.

I watched my grandmother rapidly go from a vibrant woman, who made the best homemade goodies in the world, to ten years later not knowing her closest family members. I am currently watching my mother struggle to live alone and take care of her own needs; too stubborn to admit the decline in her mind and her need for help. I am her caretaker, but I don't live with her, and it is a struggle to let her have a sense of independence while watching out for her safety. I set out her meds, but I can't watch her take them; does she take them at the right time? I pay her bills for her and keep her checkbook in my purse after a financial fiasco that cost her several hundred dollars. Some days, I think I'd better get her on the list for an Alzheimer's care unit soon, and then she'll have a period where I wonder if her diagnosis is correct. She'll be so on top of things and can even tell me what day her sister visited. But then there are other days, most days, when she repeats the same sentences, verbatim, over and over, ad nauseum. I have learned, but still question, to take her care day by day.

Mom was Grammy's caretaker until she could no longer keep Grammy safe. Grammy was a night wanderer and had two close calls before Mom decided it was time for her to get her mother into a care facility. They didn't do a lot better; Grammy was nicknamed "Houdini" after two successful attempts to leave via the front door. One day, she did a jig for the nurses after breakfast, and died in her chair an hour later. Her organs just gave out.

Mom told me years ago, when she was told she had Alzheimer's that when the time came, we shouldn't feel guilty about putting her in a care facility. She hoped that she simply wouldn't be aware of her surroundings and that it would be easy for us to make that decision. My mindset has always been her safety was first, awareness of her surroundings and family second. I wonder every single hour how that's all going to come together. I have a firm belief that God will make the timing obvious.

I always thought it would be me next. My grandmother, my mother, and then me; the girl. It still could be. I have no way of knowing. I still could get it; I'm fifty one and always complain of my forgetfulness.

I feel so sad for my brother. His marriage is best described as "on the rocks", so I don't think he can expect his wife to stick around when the going gets rough. She'd have left him years ago if it weren't for the kids and grandkids. He must be thinking about that; about the support system he'll need eventually. I know he has three out of four children who will take care of him, and I know he has a sister and two other brothers that love him dearly and will do what they can.

Please Lord; don't let it be me next.

Learn more about this author, Linda Batey.
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