When my mom first started repeating questions over and over again, I remember taking a deep breath for patience and answering her as if she’d never asked the question in the first place. It wasn’t her fault, of course. It was the Alzheimer’s Disease. When she and I were walking across the street to my house and she asked me who I was, I held my breath because I’d known someday this moment would come and I told her I was her daughter and she was my mom. She looked at me and nodded and said, “O...