Alzheimer's Throwback

In every Alzheimer’s story, there is also a love story.
Hold on to yours, for it can carry you and your loved one through the longest days and darkest nights.
Rosalys Peel, “Mike and Me”

by Skip Cohen

​It's one of my favorite days of the week, Throwback Thursday. While my post today connects to the tragedy of Alzheimer's, it's photography that counters the pain. It's all those old photographs that make me smile and remind me of all the good times before my mother started her battle with the disease.

The best throwbacks are often those grab shots. They capture moments from the past, transporting us back to a time far less complicated. The fun of Throwback Thursday for me is the hunt. I went back through hundreds of images, often reliving each smile, laugh, and stretch of joy that, back then, was the norm. 

As I've mentioned in previous posts, I'm honored to be a contributor to the Alzheimer's Association newsletter for Florida. The posts I write for them are all connected to things we learned in dealing with my mother's battle. 

These days, and it's only going to become more prevalent, everyone knows somebody dealing with the horrible disease. There are an estimated 7.2 million Americans living with Alzheimer's disease as of 2025. This represents about 1 in 9 people aged 65 and older. The number of cases is expected to rise to 12.7 million by 2050. 

My most recent post is below, but here's the link to the complete newsletter, with not only my previous posts but also content shared by others experiencing the challenge of Alzheimer's.

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The You're Not Alone Chronicles

The You’re Not Alone series is all about sharing our experiences in dealing with my mother’s Alzheimer’s. My mother, grandmother, and great-grandmother all had the disease, so I’ve seen it from all angles. If you can learn from the mistakes we made, then you’ve got room to make new ones of your own. The one point to remember is that you’re not alone.

As Mom’s Alzheimer’s progressed, she became more and more focused on misperceptions. She was like a dog with a bone when she got an idea in her head. In the beginning, I wasted so much time trying to convince her that what she was feeling or thinking was wrong.

My wife, Sheila, on the other hand, would just go along with it and agree with whatever was on Mom’s mind. Then she’d steer her in another direction with a diversion—something to change the subject and distract her.
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• We were in the car on our way to St. Armands Circle one evening when Mom pointed out at least ten times, “That’s Longboat Key over there.” Finally, Sheila asked, “What’s so special about Longboat Key?” Mom paused and said, “You know, I just don’t know.” That was it—the topic was off her mind, and we moved on.
• On another evening, Sheila caught Mom crying. When she asked why, Mom replied, “What’s going to happen to all my things?” It took seconds to put a smile on Mom’s face when Sheila told her, “We love your things. We’ll take care of them.” Just like that, the crisis was over.
• My mother grew up in my grandfather’s neighborhood hardware store. One night, Mom went into panic mode. Even though my grandparents and the store had been gone for more than 30 years, Mom was frantic. “Dad asked me to lock up, and I don’t think I locked the door to the store!” We just went with it: “No problem at all—Skip’s over there now and just locked up.”

Insulating Mom from the challenges of the outside world also became a necessity. For example, a headline story about violence in the newspaper would send her into a state of fear. The same thing would happen if she saw anything violent on television. Whatever she saw became her reality.

We didn’t realize it at the time, but we were slowly building an inventory of things Mom loved. This became our “happy stash” of distractions for when Mom was most emotional. Coming up with diversions became an art form, and nobody did it better than Sheila.

Here’s my point today: whatever the challenge, don’t argue with your loved one or patient. If you push that button too many times, they’ll withdraw and simply quit talking.

I noticed a distinct difference in how my mother reacted when Sheila came into the room compared with other family members. There was no need for a disciplinarian, but there was a need to keep things on an even keel—with a level of pleasant positivity in our content, tone, and approach to any challenge.
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The key to it all, as simplistic as it sounds, was love and kindness.

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Wishing everybody a terrific Throwback Thursday! If you haven't taken the time to search for some of your own throwbacks, stop what you're working on and chase down a few memories. Imaging is the mortar that holds all our memory "bricks" together.