The Lemon Bar Queen ūüćč The Book

Blog followers,

The Lemon Bar Queen, my memoir about my mom’s memory loss, is finally here. It dawned on me last week that I hadn’t let my blog followers know that it had been published. I’m very excited to share it with you.

This has been a two year labor of love. I’m so proud of how it turned out! We had the book launch the beginning of October and I’ve had two fun book signings at my hometown Dairy Queen and Caribou Coffee near my home in Plymouth.

I’ve had a wonderful response and I’m on my second printing. I’ve also met the nicest people in this process. I love hearing your own stories about my mom and about your own loved one. Yesterday, at my Caribou event, I met the sweetest woman. Her mother has been taking care of her dad in Texas. Her mom is struggling with his memory loss and the daughter is so far away. I completely understood her feelings. It’s hard not to get teary.

All your kind messages are saved in my “Thank You” folder. I’m so glad you’ve connected with the book.

If you’d like to order it, it’s currently on Amazon, Barnes and Noble, Kindle and Itasca Books of Minneapolis. I’m open to events and book clubs. I have seven book clubs on my calendar and I’m so excited to meet fellow readers.

Thank you for following along the last six years. Many of you have kept me afloat as I hope I’ve done the same for your journey.

If you have any questions or comments about the book, please reach out to me. I’d love to hear from you! ‚ô•ÔłŹ


The Athlete

The last few months¬†have been difficult. I have missed my mom’s wisdom and guidance. It has been gone ever since she was diagnosed with memory loss so my guess is that her guidance has been gone for about ten years. Not that I took her advice every time, but more than likely she was correct about what ever problem I was struggling with.


My second born and my girl who thinks she looks “large”. It was early this year that she told me she looks fat. Fat. My girl thinks she looks fat. My long-legged, brown-eyed girl thinks she looks fat. I cringe to even hear or type the word.

I’ve heard her say a few times that she doesn’t look right. After her birthday party in July she looked at her party pictures and stated, “I’m the largest one in the picture”. I’m quiet, trying to think of the words to say to her that will get her to understand how worthy she is. How I see her. A beauty with the kindest heart for animals and who had the greatest understanding of her grandma’s memory loss. She was like the memory loss whisperer. All the residents loved her.

I use the words…perfect. Strong. Healthy. Everyone is different. I can hardly get past the thought that she doesn’t like how she looks at nine.

I don’t talk about people’s weight. I have girls and I know how easy it is for people to point out how people look. Sophia and Emme are different shaped but I don’t draw attention to that. They are two different human beings just like all humans are. As Emme sits in my lap, I tell her none of us are built the same. None of us.

Last month, she had her nine-year check up. I was trying to put on her intake sheet what my concerns were but I could tell Emme was looking at what I was writing. In small letters on the bottom of the page, I asked her doctor if she would talk to Emme about how she is feeling.

The conversation went like this with me in the background:

Dr. J. : Emme, I checked your height and weight and you are right on track with where you should be. I’m glad to see that you are still playing soccer and hockey. Your mom tells me that you played flag football last year! I love that you play sports. Your body is strong!

Emme: blank stare

Dr. J. : How do you feel about everything? Anything you want to tell me?

Emme: I look big.        (me tearing)

Dr.: Emme, you are the strongest girl I have seen this week. You have muscles, you’re tall, strong and your weight is perfect. All of this (points to her own belly) is normal to have. Skin and fat protects our organs. We need that to survive. Emme, you are athletic and you are exactly where you need to be. If I was worried about you, I would tell you.

Emme: Smile.

Fast forward to this week and Emme comes home with this:


In school, she was asked to describe herself and she had to write it down. She came through the door on Friday and set it down on the table. I took one look at it and I knew where that statement came from.

I loved the doctor’s conversation with her. Casual, non-threatening, direct and poignant. Emme got it. I got it. I think she made her feel worthy again. Even though I had been supportive and loving, it was the best ten minutes.

Worth. I hope she never loses that feeling of being worthy.

Emme hasn’t mentioned anything since her visit with Dr. Jennings. I sent a message to her the week after the visit to tell her thank you and her words were perfect.

Half the time I have no idea what I’m doing right as a parent. Highs and lows. Good and the bad. I wonder how often my mother felt this way and how she got past it. I wonder if the things I said made her sad.

I know that she always made me feel worthy. And I hope I do the same things for my girls.






The Second Year

It’s hard to believe that on Saturday, my mom has been gone two years. I have been consciously trying to not talk about her as much. The next two weeks will be difficult for me. In the span of the upcoming two weeks, it was her birthday (April 26th), anniversary of her death (May 6th), and Mothers’ Day (May 14th).

I was at Target today picking up things and there is a whole section of Mothers Day cards, spanning the whole row. I don’t necessarily think of cards or gifts for me, I think naturally of them for my mom. And the books I would buy her. I honestly hope the weeks go by fast.

In memory of her birthday this year, we again celebrated the day by giving away 100 free Blizzards and cones in our home town of Starbuck. She loved her Dairy Queen and in her confusion, she still remembered that it was a special place to her. The DQ is smaller, family owned and was voted WCCO viewers Best of Minnesota. They did discontinue the Snicker’s Blizzard, her favorite, but you can’t beat this special place. Thank you to all of you who came and to Carrie and staff who helped run everything. All tips went to respite care for families that could use a break in caregiving. Both of my parents would have loved this idea and its our second year putting it on.

On my off days and weekends, I have started to formulate my writings and timeline of the events that led up, starting with my dad’s death, the assisted living and finally her move to memory care. In this blog, I write a little about the past but mainly of  the days she spent in memory care. It has been very difficult to put it all down and to include all the factors that led up to it. I have boxes and boxes of papers, files, doctor orders, bank statements, cards and receipts that my husband would love for me to get rid of. It just sits there waiting for me to go through it all again, like I don’t remember how hard it was before. Its like ripping the scab off a wound and reliving the pain again. It brings up such sadness, anger, occasional hope, frustration, joy, grief and pain. I get frustrated with my writing and feel it is hardly good enough to be put out there. I am not a writer. My boss gave me a CD to listen to on writing and I know I make a lot of errors just listening to the CD. But I still keep going. I have about 65 pages completed, pre-memory care with much of it surrounding her beautiful home town and the help she received. Hence, the free Dairy Queens.


I have come to believe that some sort of grief lives in everyone’s heart. Sometimes the space it occupies is just a tiny speck that you can hardly see or feel. It’s there but you don’t notice it. Other times, I feel the weight of grief taking up all the residence in my heart. Just sitting there. Heavy. I know it’s there and there are days I can’t shake it. It can occur at a stoplight, at a game, when I see a Client who may look like my parents, at the grocery store or especially writing. It’s hard to have both of your parents forever gone. I can’t bounce anything off of them or call them for advice. There are days that I need my dad and days that I need my mom. I feel like I need my mom more, just to answer my parenting questions or show me one last thing.

How did she always get merengue to turn out so well?

How did she turn out to be such a good parent when I constantly feel I miss the mark?

How did she know what was best for me and what would she do differently?

Did she worry all the time like I do? Did she care what other people thought about her or worried that a group of moms that maybe didn’t like her?

How did she keep so many balls in the air and how did she keep them from falling?

What was the key to her being so organized?

How did she know how I was feeling before I even knew it?

How did she deal with mean or unkind people?

Daughter questions I can’t ask her now. I wish I knew the answer to some of these.

I think that we will always be linked by love. A strong link.

It was love that started us off by both of them choosing to adopt me. Saving me.

It was love that kept us going through my elementary and high school years. We both survived and came out of it somewhat unscathed.

It was love watching me become a nurse, marry Steve, have her favorite girls and watch her grow old.

It was love watching me from her chair or bed but not quite knowing who I was most days. The Girl.

It was love saying goodbye to me and her family on that Wednesday morning at 4 am.

I miss her but it’s not like the The First Year.

“When you are sorrowful, look in your heart and you shall see that in truth, you are weeping for that which has been your delight.”

Kahlil Gibran


Jodi ‚̧ԳŹ







The Six Months

It is hard to believe that my mom has been gone for six months. There is not one day that I don’t think of her briefly or that I am reminded of her or my father in some way. I feel like I have been given little reminders of both of them in the last six months.

On the 7th of this month, I celebrated another birthday. Over the past few years, I have celebrated with Mom at her memory care unit. I would¬†remind her that its my birthday and¬†she¬†would become sad because she forgot and I would¬†try to make her happy with cupcakes, Snicker’s¬†and coffee. The day before my birthday was the 6th month anniversary¬†of her death. Boy, I miss her voice.

This was from my birthday last year, November 7th, 2014.


When I was at Cub this week, I brought a bunch of change to put in their machine. Sitting right next to the coin exchange machine was a woman in her late eighties, may ninety or so. She sat on the bench with her legs crossed, perfect hair, a rain jacket on and small bags of groceries at her feet. I noticed how tiny she was and she sat very quiet with her hands crossed in¬†her lap. She gave me the sweetest, kindest smile. As you can imagine, she reminded me of my mom. She watched me pour the change in and she asked me a few questions. Simple talk. She was my Mom probably seven years ago. Interested, kind, alert and such a mother. I so badly wanted to sit down with her, hug her and tell her¬†how much she reminded me of my mom. ¬†I also thought she probably thinks I’m a nut or a tiny bit crazy. I got in my car and thought…she was a little sign from Mom. I’m also proud that I didn’t cry when I was talking with her.

Do you remember that bird that kept tapping on mom’s window when she was dying? I have her bird feeder in our backyard, right outside our sunroom. I ran out of bird food and bought some new food for them. Guess what? No birds. I even moved the feeder to a tree in our front yard. Steve thought they didn’t like the food I bought so I went to the store again and bought new food. Again, no birds. I have moved the feeder to different spots and this week I noticed a cardinal just sitting on top of the feeder, not eating, just staring at me. I think the birds have flown away for the winter or¬†I hope they¬†are off flying with mom somewhere.

I haven’t been able to let go of her clothes yet. It sounds so silly not getting rid of them. I know they are just sitting in buckets waiting for someone to use them. I was talking with my friend at hockey and we were talking about her mom and I asked her if she needed any clothes. She does need some clothes and I realized that my mom would want her clothes used by someone who needs them; not to just sit in a bucket. I will keep some of my favorite items but it has taken me six months to realize I can let go of her clothes. My mom would want to help someone, that’s the way she was. A giver.

Grief is ever present but has lessened. It helps me to see my aunt, my mom’s sister, who is just a miniature version of my Mom. Emme interviewed her for a school project and I loved that¬†my girls still¬†have someone to talk to. I know that many of you have lost parents, grandparents, friends and loved ones. The loss of them is incredibly hard. I have a hard time when people say to remember all of the good times. I do remember the good times but I would much rather talk to her or hold her hand again. Just one more time.

Over the past six months¬†my Mom¬†has missed the start of¬†school and hockey¬†for the girls. She has missed Emme getting a special award from school and Sophia almost getting straight A’s in her first year¬†of¬†middle school, with the exception of a B in shop tech! (My dad is laughing somewhere!) She has missed my recent attempts at cooking, some winners, some losers. I’m trying to cook and bake more. (Somewhere she is laughing!) She has missed the frustration I sometimes have over things I can not control. She always said, “Let go and let God.” She has missed how hard Steve works and how much the girls adore him. He is coaching them in hockey and he needs to help the girls in math, since I can’t understand the new math. She has also¬†missed my brother starting to feel better. She has missed a lot but somewhere, somehow…she knows. And I hope she knows how much I love and miss her.






The Day Off


Today has not been a good day for Mom. We sat on her bed this afternoon¬†and talked about what¬†was bothering her.¬†She is a little clammy and I’m not quite sure she knows it’s me. Here is what she is trying to tell me:

I feel “cheesy” inside.

I wish I could die. (100+ times)

I’ve got to get to work…I need to get to work…It’s my work day.

I’ve got to get to bed.

Are you tired of me?

She is very out of sorts about work, which is very new. I try to calm her down and let her know that it is her off day and that they don’t need her. I also let her know it is Saturday. You know what worked?


This picture says a lot. They are holding hands with¬†Mom looking so sad. It¬†speaks volumes about this disease. I really can’t make it all go away, but my soon to be eleven year old can for just a while.¬†They talk a little and she is calmer. I wonder if she thinks Sophia is me at a younger age. She also has her doll and her blue dog. We lost it for a few days but when we arrived today, there Blue was sitting, waiting for us on the piano. Sophia said it was like magic, finding it right there.

There are many reasons to hate this disease. To watch her so worried about getting to work was very difficult for me. Something must have triggered in her brain that made her think that today was a work day. She’s always been a hard worker.

Day 23 of hospice care…I’ll be glad for her when tomorrow comes and it is a new day.


The Cry


This picture was taken last week, upon our return from vacation. I love that they are holding hands and that for that day, she remembered Sophia’s name. They chatted like they normally do and she got to slap Sophia’s bare legs, which has been her recent way of communication. We also brought her a big cupcake from Gigi’s and I think she was in heaven.

Fast forward to last night and her small stroke. I have noticed that things happen when you are the busiest. Yesterday was the first day of school and I was up early. Work was busy and I got to try a new fitness class after work. Finally noting missed calls on my phone and talking with Steve, he told me mom had a stroke.

Stroke.¬†What is the word you don’t really want to hear? Stroke.

I found her sitting in a chair, glasses crooked and her beautiful face drooping on the left side. Her¬†first words? “Where have you been?” I laughed. Her speech is garbled but I can understand her. The nurse gives me a quick update but I can tell. Just when I finally¬†got her to eat and back on track from her hospital stay, we have a set back.

I ask her if she can walk with me and I can feel myself assessing her. She is weaker on her left side but able to walk and her field cut seems ok. She notices her church she built that looks like her Fron Church and I ask the staff if I can get her ready for bed. She slaps my bare thighs and I know she is feeling better after the slow walk.

She is a little confused and she asks, “What’s wrong with me?” I tell her that I think she had a small stroke and that her speech is a little goofy right now. She asks me to scratch her back and I can tell she is tired. We finish all of her cares and I get her into bed. I can tell her eyes are not as wide open¬†any more and her speech is worse as she gets into bed with her baby, AKA Jodi. She pats my face and tells me, “Thank you for helping me”. I can clearly understand that jumbled speech.¬†I hadn’t cried since I arrived but I can feel the tears start. She watches me and starts to tear up also. She states,¬†“I want to die” over and over and over and over and over again.

I haven’t seen my mom cry since my dad died, seven years ago. Part of this disease is that it robs people of emotion…she rarely smiles, never cries and states things that are not the most appropriate. The filter is gone and so is the ability to show that emotion that I sometimes long for.

I hate that this is happening to her and I am hoping that¬†it is¬†resolved. I feel like we are on a roller coaster with this disease. One thing after another. Highs and lows. Happy and sad. At times, it is exhausting but you feel you can’t complain because it could be worse. Much worse.

I put the picture of my dad right by her bed and tell her he will watch out for her tonight. She stares at it and I wonder if she can see it, due to the stroke. The last thing she asks is, “Am I alive?” I tell her yes and that you are¬†not in heaven yet. I’m teasing her but she doesn’t respond. She’s already asleep, that quick.

Today, I’m writing this with her and¬†her speech is still the same and we went for a short walk. I have a call in for her doctor and I am watching her eat a mini doughnut I brought her. Another day.

Finally, thank you for all the loving and kind words for my mom. I told her that I let my friends and family know that she was not feeling the best and that they were thinking of her and praying. That seemed to bring her comfort. It takes a village sometimes and I thank the people who offered help. Leanne, you are the best cook ever and we loved your chicken pot pie. What a blessing. Thanks also to the friends who offered help with the girls.

The journey continues…<3


The Father


Tomorrow marks the day that my father has been gone for seven years. It’s a day I normally bring up with Mom so that she still remembers his name and his image. I can hardly believe he has been gone for that long.

There is not one day that goes by that I don’t think of him for some reason. In Mom’s room, I keep a great picture of him right by her bed and I have hung¬†their wedding picture above her bed. They¬†were married on August 16th and if he was still alive it would have been their 67th anniversary.

I caught her playing with her ring the other day and she asked me about mine. Our rings are both platinum and she likes to twist mine on my finger, questioning who gave it to me. I asked her last week, “Who gave you your ring?” She looks at it and also twists hers around on her finger. “Oh, I guess Russell did”. I am grateful she remembers. They had many ups and down in their life but they managed to stay together and I miss him a lot.

I miss that he never got to meet Emme but I have been told that he had a hand in Steve and I finally getting a second child after¬†many heartbreaks. I miss that he hasn’t been able to see Sophia play his favorite game, baseball. If he were here, he would be yelling at the ballpark, giving pointers¬†and we would have to make him go to the ice rink. Like myself,¬†he didn’t really get or¬†understand hockey. I miss his wisdom and advice, whether I wanted to hear it or not. He was a complex man, but his wisdom was normally right on.

He loved my mother very much and the day before he died is etched in my mind. From the bed in his den, he detailed his concerns about Mom and her memory loss. He wanted me to make sure she was taken care of well and that I looked over the money that they had saved and worked so hard for. After seven years of watching her finances, her money comes to an end next month and I will apply for medical assistance. For the second time, since I was denied in December because she had too much money.

I feel my Dad around me sometimes¬†and I continue to ask him questions but I do not get a response. I feel like sometimes I am making a mistake and long for him to tell me I need to try a different way. I was thinking of him Friday when I didn’t make the best nursing judgment of being alone with a client in a hotel room, setting up the client’s¬†medications and feeling uncomfortable. We got on the subject of my Dad because they were both engineers and I truthfully felt like he was watching over me to make sure I was safe. If he were alive, I know that he would have called me a knucklehead, just like he used to and reminded me to use my head.

I wish I could just hear him call my name, I so miss hearing¬†that. I hope he is proud of the way I’ve taken care of Mom. Grief really never goes away, its always there, sometimes a small¬†black cloud hanging over your head,¬†deciding if it¬†should rain on you or not.¬†I’m sometimes glad that Mom may forget the pain of losing him.¬†A rare¬†good thing about her loss.


The Baby


If you look really close, you can see my Mom smiling. It is a rare smile that comes every so often and it is a good sign…she is happy.

When Sophia and I went to see her today, we found her with a baby. In fairness, I found her with a baby last Tuesday at the BBQ they hosted at her memory care unit. It was sitting on her walker, naked and a little beat up. She introduced me to her baby and I went to put it on a chair, hoping she would forget about it. The week before, I had called her at night and she finally answered the phone and she said she was in bed and snuggling with her baby. I thought she meant her stuffed dog, Matilda. What she was really talking about was this new addition, The Baby.

Honestly, I am not thrilled with this new addition. I have gotten used to her talking to her animals and mainly her dog, Matilda. We take the animals with when we go on our trips and appointments and I have gotten used to their presence. It does bring her comfort and joy. Now she has Matilda the crazy haired dog, the blue stuffed dog with no name and a hockey bear that she also cuddles with. And now the new baby.

I will share with you that it is very difficult for me to see my Mom holding this baby. I know logically that it brings her some joy, just by seeing her face. When I worked in the nursing home and even with home care now, I see the elderly with their most loved items. When I worked in the memory care unit, it varied from a suitcase, a fake baby, a blanket and a purse. I know that the items bring something familiar to them, especially when most everything is taken away from them, especially their memory.

As I look at this doll, it represents what my mom is right now and where she is at in her loss. She is comforted by a plastic, heavy, very real looking doll. I asked her today, “Do you know that the doll is fake?” Her answer was a simple, yes. She then¬†began to talk to it and¬†offer it a bite of banana that we brought for her.¬†I think that Sophia, my soon to be eleven year old handled it better than I did. She asked Mom questions and we found that she named the baby Jodi. I should be proud that she did not name it Ross, after my brother. I should feel happy, but I am torn.

Here is my mother, now with her baby and she is content and smiled today. Know that I understand her loss, but it is hard for me to realize she is finding comfort in this. It’s hard for me to put this in words, but when I see her talk to the baby I feel her loss and see her loss. She is talking to a life like baby that weights about forty pounds. Someone has given the baby to giver her comfort and it is working. I need to accept that.

Before we leave, I go into their nursery area that they have and I trade out her baby for a lighter one. Sophia and I put on a different outfit and she doesn’t even know we have changed her baby. She snuggles right in with it and gives it a kiss and then tells Sophia, “I think I am too rough with it!”

On the car ride home, I was thinking that she is really just holding me when she holds that baby. She may be going back forty plus years and holding what she thinks is me and I must understand that. So if the baby is a reflection of me, I am ok with that. Well, I guess I have to be.

We leave after a long visit and she tells me she loves us both and she waves the babies hand at us. This baby thing is going to take me a while to get used to, but I will. For her.

The Roommate

Just for today, I’m not writing about Mom…I’m writing about her roommate.

I have just come back from a beautiful break with my family and I have not talked to my mom in over a week. I know that she is well cared for and I have not worried about her, though I have missed our banter back and forth.

So today after work, I had headed to Mom’s to bring her a treat. The good thing about memory loss is that I don’t think she even remembered I was gone. She gave me a big smile and I told her that we went to the lake and I showed her the video of Sophia getting up on water skis. She needed to get to bed and so we went.

I opened up her bedroom door and waved to her roommate and I did not get a response. I brought Mom to her chair and I went over to say hello to her. I could tell right away she had a stroke and I wiped the drool from her face. Half of her face gave me a smile and I know the nurse could not tell me much. There was a lone chair sitting by her bed and I know that someone had most likely used it today.

I don’t know much about Mom’s roommate but I know that she is beautiful, sweet, well dressed and always worried about Mom, especially when she came back from the hospital. Always worried about her and telling me about her cough.

I love to see her pictures on the wall of a much different looking woman, cheeks heavier, hair high and very blonde and with her handsome husband. I know that her sister has faithfully taken her out for lunch every Thursday. Her life, like Mom’s vastly different than it used to be.

My girls quickly formed a pact that they pretended to be her grandchildren. They would come in her room, shout a hello to her and Sophia would sit in her chair while she was in bed and they would discuss Mom. I loved that little relationship that they formed with her. I think children are always a highlight for the elderly. Remembering days that have long passed and how much noise they make, especially my girls.

I think Mom could not have found a better roommate and I also have enjoyed my time with her. I always gave her a mini snicker of Mom’s and she would make a basket with the wrapper. Twice, I have watched her fall while I was in the room. She was a sneaky one, transferring herself into bed when she should have waited. One time, she would have broken her wrist but I saw her out of the corner of my eye and picked her up right away, knowing it is sometimes an instinct to help when I shouldn’t at Mom’s place. I scold her kindly and tell her she has to wait! No more falls.

Now, her face is pale, her beautiful face drooping and she is coughing and no one is around. It reminds me of my nursing home days and wanting to be every where as a nurse and not being able to. I went to get her nurse and they helped her get comfortable, my Mom not even realizing what is going on. For a brief moment, I get to hold her hand. It’s always hard for me when family is not there and you are the only person with them. Knowing that her time is limited, I hope that she gets comfortable quickly.

Life changes so quickly…eight days ago my girls saw their grandma before vacation and got to talk to their grandma’s roommate. A kind and gentle woman that I hope finds peace and finds her handsome husband soon.


The Other Slapper

The last few weeks have been some long ones for Mom and I. This disease is one that changes daily and we have good days and not the greatest days.

I was at work last Friday assessing a woman with dementia. She had been leaving her stove on and getting up in the middle of the night looking for her dead husband. Sometimes, the people I assess mimic Mom and the things she used to go through. It is fair to say that I think about this disease every day. If I’m not at work, I am signing paperwork, picking up medications, fighting with Medicare, going through bills or taking her to an appointment, like today. She needed a follow up appointment today because the hospital doctor would not sign off on her PT so the girls and I picked up Mom to bring her to see Dr. D. She is a wonderful doctor who understands this terrible disease.

When I got done assessing this woman, I went back to my car and there were two missed calls from her memory care unit and the messages sounded urgent. My heart starts to beat a little faster and I know that I will most likely not receive the best news. I get a hold of the nurse right away and I can tell by her tone that it’s not going to be great news. Mom was slapped across the face by another resident. I can feel the air rush out of me and my heart sad. Apparently, the woman grabbed my Mom’s lunch tray and my Mom was not very happy about that and told her to give it back and the woman, with an open hand, slapped her on the cheek and was pushing her chair. The incident was witnessed and the removed the woman.

I won’t let you know my first thoughts, I think in all fairness I thought as a daughter and then as a logical nurse. It brings me back to the days when I worked in the memory care unit in the nursing home. We were hit almost every day and we prevented people from getting hit. It was a constant battle sometimes. When they can’t communicate, they hit out and I think this is what the woman did. The diabolical side of me only last for a few minutes and I thought about the bigger picture.

This woman, just like Mom, is a mother, sister, friend, cousin and human being. I can imagine that her family is also dreading a call, just like the one I received. I think it maybe even worse on their end, knowing that their loved one hurt someone else. It could also be my own mother hitting someone else. For proof of that read The Smacker.

You almost feel like that mother on the playground that watches another child hit your own in some battle. Your inner “Momma Bear” comes out and I think this situation is the same, only I am the daughter. Today, I saw the woman and I could tell she was having a hard day again. I waved to her and I have come to peace with her. She can’t help it just like my mom saying over and over that she wants to go to bed and that she wants to die. I will add this woman to my thoughts and prayers, and we will move on. I will keep an eye on her though. ūüôā

This is such a terrible disease.