The moment I arrived at Mom's I could no longer face the inevitable. It was our regular Sunday lunch, but there were no smells of a roast.

She was sitting at the table with two clocks and two watches and crying. "I can't remember how to set them back." It was two weeks before daylight savings time ended.

I gave up my flat, put my things in storage and moved into my old bedroom. I took down the Duran Duran posters and put up a favorite painting that had been in my living room, painted the walls and hung new curtains. I bought a new duvet cover.

I missed my old flat. I missed my boyfriend Hamish, especially Sunday morning breakfasts when he'd stayed over. He thought I was crazy to give up so much to go take care of my Mom. He gave me a choice her or me, which told me all I needed to know about him.

Thank goodness I can work at home.  

My brother came to Edinburgh from London to see us, the only time he did. He told me I was crazy. We should put Mom in a home.

One day a week we bake biscuits together and use a bird-shaped cookie cutter like we did when I was little. 

I'd read nasty people were nastier with dementia. Sweet people stay sweet. Her dementia increased faster than normal.  I took her after she asked if I could help her find Sally. I'm Sally. Her doctor agreed.

Her heart gave out three years, five months, and two days after I'd moved in with her.

At the funeral, I realized that I'd lost Mom twice.