THE BURDEN OF LIVING with Mom finally drove Jill to move out. Alone in her house, Mom began calling her children and complaining about terrible loneliness. If she got an answering machine, she sometimes argued with it until she broke down and whimpered.

One day, Mom turned left into oncoming traffic and totaled her car. Luckily, she didn't hurt herself or anyone else.

We all agreed Mom shouldn't drive any more, but we still failed to grasp the severity of her illness. We couldn't accept that she was incapable of even ordinary tasks. There was a certain naivete about the disease that dulled our decision-making. With the alternatives unthinkable, we allowed her to continue living alone. Her neighbors and Jill helped her get along.

In April 1995, Jill enrolled Mom in an adult day care program. It was long overdue. In day care she ate at least one big nutritious meal daily. She made friends and enjoyed being there.

But the downward spiral accelerated.

Jill began noticing that Mom wore the same clothes day after day. Mom layered several pairs of underwear, pants and shirts. Jill had to coach her through showers. Standing on the toilet, she'd gently remind Mom to use soap. Soon, even that wasn't enough.

In a poignant role reversal, Jill began to bathe her mother.

It's horrifying to know that your parent's brain is dying. You either run, avoiding the issue, or you fear. Fear for her, for yourself, for your children. You wonder if a time bomb is ticking inside your own head.