The spiritual teacher Ram Dass says, “We’re all just walking each other home.” That’s how I feel about my role as caregiver.

Just last week, I finished walking my mother home. She died peacefully in my arms as I sang to her, told her how much I loved her, prayed for her, and reassured her that her long journey was finally over.

Mom’s Alzheimer’s journey lasted for over a decade. Along the way, I discovered many gifts and blessings:

The Blessing of Selective Memory. Remarkably, Alzheimer’s erased all my mother’s unhappy memories, resentments, and long-held grudges. When I asked, “Remember your sister Eloise?” she nodded and answered, “Oh yes, she’s as sharp as a tack.” She’d completely forgotten that she and her sister didn’t speak for decades – both women nursing grudges since childhood.

When I asked about Dad: “How about my dad, Ken Gallagher? Remember him?”

“Oh yes,” she smiled. “We traveled all over the world. We met the queen!” Gone were the bitter memories of their divorce 40 years ago, with the ugly, protracted legal and financial battle they waged. I heard her complain about that divorce for at four decades – but with Alzheimer’s, not a hint of resentment lingered.

For the last six or seven years, Mom had nary a bad word to say about anyone – her ex, her siblings, her parents, or neighbors and friends who hurt her feelings. What a blessing to have all those unhappy memories, old resentments, and negative feelings completely wiped away – leaving only warm, happy, joyful memories in their place.

The Gift of Laughter. I don’t recall my mother being particularly funny before she got Alzheimer’s – but she sure got funny with the disease. I recall one day I arrived to feed her lunch and asked, “Hi Ma, how do you feel?”

“With my hands,” she said.

Another time, I picked up her glass of juice and put the drinking straw in her mouth. But instead of sucking on the straw, she blew into it, making the juice bubble over all over the place. I shrieked “Ack!” at the surprise … and she laughed so hard she had tears rolling down her cheeks. My mother, the prankster.

Sometimes she’d get really quiet, leading me to think she’s drifted off into her own world. Then suddenly she’d say, “Boo!” If she succeeded in starling me she flashed a big grin – quite pleased with herself for shaking things up.

My mother, it seems, had become quite the entertainer.

The Blessing of Giving Back. Mom’s illness gave me the opportunity to reciprocate the love and generous support she’d given me. She was always my biggest fan, my best cheerleader, and the source of financial help on more than one occasion. I wouldn’t be a writer today if it weren’t for my mother’s help. I wouldn’t own a house today if not for her. Up until she got Alzheimer’s, I had no way to pay her back for the help she gave me.

Her illness gave me that opportunity. I could be her companion, her witness, her comforter and soother. At long last, I had a way to reciprocate her generosity, support, and unconditional love.

The Gift of Time. When a loved one dies suddenly and unexpectedly, there is no time to say good-bye, no time to create a few final memories. But with the glacial pace at which Alzheimer’s moved, I had over ten years to create more wonderful memories of Mom.

A few weeks ago, the hospice nurse Miriam came to check on Mom while I was feeding her lunch. “How come you smiled at Miriam when she came today, Mom, but you didn’t smile at me?” I asked.

“I smile at you all the time,” Mom replied.

Sweet memory now that she’s gone.

And just last week while we were sitting quietly after lunch, she looked at me, puckered her lips, and blew me an air kiss. “My love,” she said softly. My heartfelt like it would burst when she did things like that.

The Gift of Enrichment. Being my mother’s caregiver made me a better person. Her disease gave me the opportunity to be of service, setting aside my own selfish desires. I could practice being fully present – listening attentively, discerning her wants and needs from moment to moment, and tending to those needs. I often held her hands, rubbed her back, fed her lunch, kept her company until she got tired, then sat by her bed until she fell asleep. Every day I got to leave my world to meet her in hers.

The Gift of Grace. My mother seemed to be living in a state of grace. All the baggage from her past, all the minutiae of normal day-to-day life, all the layers of her identity had fallen away … and what was left was love. When I was with her I felt like I was in the presence of nothing but pure love.

I feel blessed to have had the opportunity care for Mom. Alzheimer’s was difficult and challenging at times, for sure, but it also gave us many gifts and blessings. I am deeply

enriched by the experience.