It all started with an iron that my mom had placed in her oven. It was clear that Mom — living in an apartment on her own after my father’s death about a year before — needed to move in with us. Once she was under our roof, it dawned on me and my husband that something was seriously amiss with my mom’s thinking process. I researched Alzheimer’s and dementia online and finally realized that my mother was indeed suffering from dementia. On bad days, dementia is a curse that makes my mother feel like less than she is and makes me question my sanity. On good days, it opens a glorious window into the many ways in which I am blessed to have my “special” mother in my life. This summer, Mom was placed in a rehabilitation facility near our home. It was her decision to extend a temporary respite stay there into a permanent one. Yes, you read that correctly. Her decision. Dementia can take away a lot, but not my mom’s bravery, her never-ending desire to protect me, and her faith in God’s plan. All of which has led her to a contented life in her new place. My newer posts will share insight into my new role as visitor and not caregiver. I will also provide updates on my progress in editing the book I have written about me and Mom — “Dementia Dolls: A Daughter’s Story.” Based on the blogs I have written, it is hopeful and funny. At least I think so. I hope to find a literary agent or publish it myself post-haste. Because if there is one take-away from elder care that I can share with you, it is this one: Get a move on, time’s a wastin’.