A Moment That Stays with Me

I once worked with a family who felt like they had already “lost” their mom, Cathy, years before she passed.

As we started going through the home, there were layers of unorganized, overwhelming, mess that built up over time, in a way that only Alzheimer’s really does.

But as we gently worked through those layers, something changed.

It was like we started finding the real Cathy again.

Not in big, obvious ways, but in the small, quiet details.

The way she had marked things on the calendar. The papers that had once been carefully organized. The little notes she left herself, written in her own way.

You could almost pinpoint the moment the memory lapses started down to the month and year.

The family started to remember the mannerisms: ways she wrote certain words, little details she included, habits that were so uniquely her.

You could see it bring a small smile to the family’s faces. Those small things opened the floodgates.

Stories started coming back.

Memories they hadn’t thought about in years.

Moments from before the disease took over.

It wasn’t about the stuff anymore.

It was about remembering her, the way she truly was.

It didn’t take away the trauma of Alzheimer’s, but it eased the pain and helped them remember who she was, not what was taken from her.