My mom was a lot of things. She was a farm girl who loved her dad deeply. She was a young nurse and a beloved nursing professor. She enjoyed her friends and she adored—absolutely adored—her children  and grandchildren.

My mom WAS.
Past tense.
My mom is not gone yet, but she isn’t really any of these things anymore either. Most of what we knew and loved of my mom—what lit her up and led her through the world—has faded and is now all but gone. She can no longer make thoughtful choices about her words or actions. She can no longer care about making good impressions or pleasing people.

So what is left, after Alzheimer’s has stripped her down? The wonderful surprise is that, despite such a tragic disease that she feared for so long, my mom is still SO FULL OF LOVE. Her eyes and face can still remind me that she holds an infinite love for me, even though it’s unlikely she knows I am one of the people she cherishes the most in all the world. She still makes the same sounds when she’s loving or being loved. Her laugh has a warm tone of love in it, too.

Thank whatever powers that be, my mom can still feel, receive, and send out love. She lived in love before Alzheimer’s and she continues to live in love as it slowly robs her of nearly everything else. It might not sound like much when the reality of life with Alzheimer’s is so devastating, but it reminds me that my mom is made of love, that her love for me will never end, that love is truly at the center of everything that matters, and that sometimes love blooms in unexpected ways.