In the beginning when I suspected Alz. was knocking on our door, I compared it to tectonic plates, seeming to move so imperceptively. Then the little earthquakes started. Not noticeable to anyone it seemed, except me. I didn't call everything Alz., just because it was new. I waited until the jolt had aftershocks.

Today, euphemisms fail me. I guess I thought, subconsciously, that if I could compare it to some experience I had had, then I had a handle on it. I had lived in Southern California. Felt the shaking of the ground, the floors beneath me in that way that goes in all directions, wondering when it would stop. Alz. doesn't stop. I need a new euphemism.

Maybe a mudslide, in slow motion that covers up my LO's memories and abilities. I could think of trying to chase the mud away with a hose that uses my own memories to wash away the whatever is clouding his own. But he has memories I wasn't a part of, since I was born when he was thirty and many who knew him then are gone already.
Maybe Alz. is like dry rot or termites both of which insidiously steal away strong, healthy structures, like the strenghth we counted on in parents and other loved ones.
I just need something to see, as if that means I can stop it. Self-deception is good in very small doses as long as it doesn't compromise my care for my LO.
I do know the "FACTS" OF Alz.. A few moments of fiction, a euphemism or two, are just a small break.

Hi Val-Re. Thanks for your musing. I, too, find euphemisms for it. I often compare what's happening with my father as reverse childhood.
He has a lot of the same temperaments that young children do. When he has trouble speaking, I sometimes think it's like a kid trying to learn language. He wants attention and is very affectionate in a childlike way. The sad part is that it's a reversal. There won't be development, just regression. I try not to think about that part too much right now.

When he was in the hospital and rehab last year, and it was one thing after another, his health, my family, me, I remember comparing it to peeling an onion. Just one stinky, tear-filled layer after another.

I am also reminded of something he said once, about how if he was ever in a mid-air collision and found himself in a free-fall, he would try to have fun with it. Do a little air surfing on the way down. I remember thinking that all I would do is scream and have a heart attack. But sometimes I do feel like I'm free falling, he is too. We're just falling and nobody can really stop it. It's just the way it is. But maybe we can have a few moments of fun while we are where we are. Sounds totally impossible, I too often feel like I'm screaming inside. But it happens now and then.

Hope I didn't butt in on your musing! Big hug.

Shellishell12,
Your onion euphemism and your dad's free fall, how expressive....
Reading some of the musings and the other postings, including One Good Thing, way out weird humor, have me both crying with those onion layers and laughing in free fall. I hope my computer always works so I can be connected to this site.
Thank you for chiming in... you did not butt in at all.
Hug you, too.
Peace and prayers.