The hardest part of dementia wasn't losing my mother. It was watching her lose herself.

The author's mom began to forget her as her dementia progressed. Courtesy of the author Caring for my mother through dementia changed my understanding of grief. Some of my hardest memories remain as vivid as the happy ones. I've learned to acknowledge painful memories without letting them define her life. "Where are all the people?" My mother, Roberta, was standing in the doorway of the guest bedroom in her house, a bedroom I occupied when I visited. Her short frame was visible in the dark of night, and she wore an almost gossamer nightgown, casting an eerie image of gently floating in place. It was 3 a.m., and she stood shining a flashlight in my eyes, rousing me from a deep sleep. "What people?" I asked.