The Story Behind Billy's Story

Suzie's sister and mom at the "Happy Hour" sing-a-long.

My mom started showing signs of memory loss decades before she was diagnosed with Alzheimer’s. She would frequently ask my dad who I was, and time and time again he would patiently tell her I was her firstborn daughter, Suzie. She would make a face and say she should remember that. After 60 years of marriage, none of us were surprised with his fierce attempt at shielding us from the extent of that memory loss. It wasn’t until he was gone that we realized!

She knew me as her good friend. I went to Mari de Villa, the nursing home where she lived, almost every day for “Happy Hour.” We always sang along with the various musicians the nursing home brought in for the residents and families. We also did crafts and played cards. Oddly, she always won at card games and she knew all the words to all the songs they played.

Many days I would come home and tell my husband, Bill, that my mom just couldn’t remember the names of things that otherwise seemed simple to us all — like napkin, soda, or fork. She would get frustrated and then, just as fast, forget that she’d forgotten!

Suzie's mom seemed to always win at cards.

My husband, Bill, aka Billy in the book, experienced dementia with his dad, too. His dad, who called him Big Guy, would ask where his ice cream was, and frequently told us stories of days gone by. We weren’t sure whether these events had really happened or not. We don’t think he remembered Bill’s name either, but he always remembered we brought Diary Queen ice cream.

As we got together with friends, they all seemed to have at least one parent with dementia and everyone had stories to tell. It was like group therapy. As sad as it was, collectively, we made a conscious decision to try to keep a sense of humor and just love our parents as long as we could, knowing at some point they wouldn’t be around anymore.

One friend, Linda, retold the story of going to pick up her mom. When she got there her mom had used her eye shadow to color her eyebrows blue. Linda couldn’t believe she heard herself say “Mom, why are your eyebrows blue?” She quickly helped her fix her make-up. I had been thinking of a way I could help my kids and grand kids understand why their grandma couldn’t remember simple things, because kids never forget anything. Something clicked and the title of the book was born. Since then, I have had two other friends tell me their mothers colored their eyebrows, too; one with a lip liner pencil and the other with magic marker!

There are so many stories. Most people think they're fiction, but you can't just make these things up.

There may be more books to come because my hope is, in reading this book to the children in your life, you can start a conversation about long term memory loss and help them understand it’s not just about losing your keys.