An open letter to Alzheimer’s: thanks for stealing my mom

Now fuck off and die.

Hey,

I hesitated to share this piece because it feels deeply personal, but writing it was a cathartic experience. In the end, I thought, fuck it. I know a few of you are navigating or have navigated a similar path, and if this resonates with even one person, it will have been worth it.

What follows is a piece I submitted to McSweeney’s “Open Letters” column. It didn’t make the cut, which I’m okay with. It was my first time sending a personal submission, and I’m proud of myself for taking that step.

An open letter to Alzheimer’s: thanks for stealing my mom, now fuck off and die

Dear Alzheimer’s,

First off, fuck you. You have stolen so much from my mom and me. You should be arrested and locked up for life. Or better yet, the death sentence. 

I’m not talking about jewelry, fur coats, and other valuables, I’m talking about precious time. You stole my mom’s memory and robbed her of other cognitive abilities like knowing how to cook a meal, take a shower, and wipe her own ass. 

Now I have the joy of managing all my life admin plus my mom’s because you snuck into her mind and snatched away her ability to keep track of days, dates, and her finances. Forget about birthdays. I don’t get a gift, card, or even a call from my mom anymore. So thanks for that. 

Because of you, my mom doesn’t even know where I live anymore. When I call her from Amsterdam, she thinks I can meet her in Florida that day for lunch. If only you came with a personal turbo jet that could transport me in minutes across the Atlantic Ocean so I wouldn’t feel guilty telling my mom, “I’m sorry I can’t see you today” almost every time I call her. 

Thanks to you, I’m a 38-year-old parent to my 71-year-old mother. I change her diapers, wipe her ass, and help her eat ice cream. I haven’t even had a child of my own yet (maybe I never will), but you sure have given me a glimpse into what it’s like to take care of another human being. 

Thanks to you, I’ve got a huge weight on my shoulders, like a ton of bricks that I carry around wherever I go. I’m just waiting for the moment when they come tumbling down and you set me and my mom free. I can see the crash in the distance, but I can’t tell how far away it is. 

Thanks to you, I’m even more of a control freak than I was before. I have no say in what you do to my mom and how and when you do it, so instead I cope by criticizing my partner’s every move… Does it really matter if he forgets to put the egg cooker back on the shelf, leaves dirty socks around the house, or neglects to put his shoes on the rack? I don’t think so. You might end my relationship before you end my mom’s life. 

Thanks to you, my brother and I have become closer and we even sometimes laugh about what you’ve done to our mother. Like the fact that she now drinks beer through a straw. I guess it goes to her head faster. 

Thanks to you, I’ve seen another, more vulnerable side of my mom. She has even willingly shared her feelings with me instead of icing me out and avoiding the topic altogether. 

But still, I’m so pissed at you. You didn’t warn me. You came out of nowhere. You moved quickly and you stole my mom. She can’t even hold a conversation anymore, but sometimes I get a glimpse of my mom before you fucked up our lives. Like when I asked her about the time the retail store in Brooklyn that she managed got robbed. She replied…

“I wasn’t scared, because when I’m pissed, it’s just like what the fuck.” 

I bet that’s exactly how she feels about you. 

Best wishes, 

Alexis 

P.S. Go fuck yourself.