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. Through my posts, I will share insight from my experience as a 57-year-old freelance writer caring for my 89-year-old mother with the dreaded “D” word — as well as stories from our past to show that dementia should never define a person’s life. People with dementia are so much more than their disease might lead you to believe.