It was my mom’s birthday this week. Even though she is no longer aware of this, we celebrated it anyway and thanked God that she is still with us—especially since she has been ill for the past few weeks; she caught the flu, on top of the Alzheimer’s, which continues to cause further deterioration. Even with medication, the condition is irreversible, and one has to be realistic about that. Some of my cousins, however, try to deny this reality—claiming that an uncle of ours, who also has the condition, has had his progress halted by treatments he’s receiving in the United States. But looking at recent videos, it’s clear that’s not the case. While his condition may not be as advanced as my mom’s, you can’t simply ignore the truth; unfortunately, it is a disease for which there is currently no cure. It might be possible to slow its progression, but the eventual loss of cognitive faculties and memory is inevitable. Anyway, I wanted to bring this up because I’m not sure if perhaps I’m just too acutely aware of the situation—to the point where I’ve fully accepted it—while others choose to avoid facing it altogether.

I mention this because this particular photo was the last one we managed to take together; in it, she is looking directly at the camera. It was also our final moment together as a family—celebrating my sister’s birthday—and the last time we were able to go out with her before she began to experience disorientation, along with many other changes that have unfolded over time. I wish I could go back in time to celebrate so many more moments together, to tell her how much she means to me, and to let her know that I will always cherish the beautiful times we shared. Even though I tell her these things now, it just doesn’t feel the same; seeing her with a vacant gaze and hearing her speak so little—it’s truly heartbreaking.