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Yesterday was my 47th Birthday...mom really struggled with it.

For the past two months she has been losing the memories of when I was a baby, and small child.

She had in fact lost much of my middle and young adult years already but had been talking a lot about when I was born and her two stories about when I was a toddler.

Then it was gone.

I expected this so in a sense it was perfectly fine...but she just didn't understand my birthday...completely no memory of me having a birthday at all...never mind when it was.

For the first time yesterday she actually said she needs to accept the changes to her...rather then fighting it all the time...I think that her forgetting about my birth and birthday has finally brought her to a place where she does in some way realize that something is wrong with that.

I am pretty sure it won't last...but it was hard on her I think.

Sigh...we did expect it so I wasn't really sad to be honest...I expect that soon enough she will forget me all together...especially once we get her into a home.

A part of me is actually looking forward to it...then I'm hoping she will treat me better...like she treats strangers...but we will see.

Just wanted to share...I'm OK...just another sad event that happens with almost everyone dealing with these diseases.

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Look in her eyes. Even when they can't remember who you are, there is something warm there. Even when my neighbor Harold could no longer speak, I could hug him and his eyes would sparkle.
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My Birthday was yesterday...:).

She has lost most memories of my brother and my life...including the birth now...so I'm pretty sure she won't even know she has kids soon.

:)
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I'm sorry. Was it your birthday recently? If so, happy birthday.

Yes, she may forget who you are, and think you're just a friendly visitor. I hope that means she'll treat you better. She may start telling you about her daughter, meaning you, but she's forgotten that it's you. Or she could imagine her daughter is still a little girl, and want to go pick her up at school. Anything is possible with dementia.

If it's any consolation, my MIL likes to tell my husband about his birth in graphic detail: water breaking, mucus plug sliding out, the whole nine yards. He's gotten to dread his birthdays for this reason. If MIL had been young when the internet was invented, she would have been one of those TMI over-sharers who blogs way too intimately about the conception and birth of her babies.
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