and yet I miss her already. This woman, my mother, who I love dearly is slowly slipping away. To call it the "long goodbye" sounds so cliché, but that is what it is. It isn't Alzheimer's but it is dementia, and observing this deterioration, even from a distance, is painful. Somewhere in my mid-twenties she became my friend and not just my mother. Circumstances did not give us much time together during my adult life, but I could easily spend hours on the telephone with her every week and the time would just fly by. Today, if she manages five minutes before the conversation starts looping or she starts talking about things that clearly make no sense it is practically a miracle. This is clearly not the same woman I knew.

In the spring of her life she lived through the divorce of her parents, something most unusual those days, especially in Brazil, where divorce was not legal at the time, particularly if you were Roman Catholic as most everyone there was. An only child, she was shipped off to Catholic boarding school after the divorce. It is her most vivid memory of her childhood, and the only one she ever really shared. She was not treated well by the nuns because her parents were divorced.

Her childhood included the Great Depression, something that we rarely look at beyond the borders of America, but that in reality was even more difficult a time around the world. Every family has its own story of that time, but I'm sure Dad's was more difficult than Mom's because his father died during that time and his mother struggled to keep the family afloat. Still, I mention this as we are a product of that generation, and even though my mother was raised in Brazil, her life was not untouched by this event.

The summer of her life, being a mother of five. Not exactly sure how it came to be that she would marry two Americans. Her first husband, and the father of my half-brother, was killed in the war when a kamikaze pilot crashed his airplane into a ship. He was the only one killed, but others were severely burned in the crash. My brother was born in 1944 and was never seen by his father. She met my father in 1946, a widow traveling back to Brazil with a stopover in Aruba. It was love at first sight for both of them and there she was, a young widow with a son younger than two. They married in April that year.

Four children followed and their family was complete by 1953, not even seven years. Dad was a pilot for Pan Am, so Mom stayed at home and raised us pretty much by herself. Dad's trips were long ones, flying mostly out of Miami to destinations in South America and eventually on "round the world" flights out of New York. They were well suited to each other, both fulfilling the roles that were the expectations of the day. Dad the provider and Mom the nurturer. They made a home, we were not spoiled, but we lacked for nothing. Home was Miami.

In 1971 they entered the autumn of their lives. All of us were out of the house, the last one leaving for college the previous September. It was time for a change and with an empty nest they could do it. This time was for them, a time to travel and enjoy the empty nest they so greatly deserved. Sold the house and moved to Berlin. Pan Am had a base there, and his flight schedule allowed him to be home practically every night during their time there. Quite a change for Mom to have him home so much, but they used that time to travel and enjoy each other. They spent five years in Europe and I believe those were truly the years for them.

1976 and Dad had to make a decision to either stay in Berlin or set up his retirement and take the opportunity to fly 747's out of San Francisco. Pilots are paid according to the aircraft they fly and his retirement would be based on the last six years of his earnings. Goodbye Berlin, hello San Francisco and back to the long trips. They bought some property in Willits, about a three hour drive from the airport, not all that untypical for airline personnel. A different route for Dad, flying to Asia he would be gone again, but he was looking forward to the retirement required by government regulations at age 60.

In the fall of 1988 they made another move, this time to Albuquerque. Mom thrived there becoming active in the community and volunteering at the nursing home nearby. Many Alzheimer's and dementia patients there and she thought most of them were so sweet. Ironic when you look at her today. They stayed there for 15 years, well into the start of the winter of her life.

Our first indication that something had changed with Mom was when they came to Virginia for my niece's wedding. She had already begun repeating her stories and a close observation of the family photo taken at the reception showed a somewhat glazed look in her eyes. The stories were much more obvious, but I really never noticed that look until the time when Dad set her up in assisted living.

During their last move, almost five years now and after they had packed up the house and headed toward Florida, Mom realized that she had forgotten her purse in the house. Too late to turn back, but they were able to contact the realtor who found the purse, with $600 cash still in it, and shipped it to where they would be staying in Florida. Second clue, but still not all that noticeable.

After moving to Florida the signs became much more obvious. I think Dad did his best to try to protect us from what was happening. My once long phone conversations became shorter and there were more times than I can count where Dad made some kind of excuse that she was unavailable to come to the phone. Everything from "she's in the sandbox" (if you have cats, you know) to "she's taking a nap". I visited them in January 2005 and Mom looked worse than she ever did. It was difficult carrying on a lengthy conversation with her and again, that glazed look. She was already taking Aricept. When they took me to the airport Dad reminded me to kiss her goodbye. She didn't even get out of the car.

In June of 2006, Dad realized he could no longer take care of her and my older brother agreed that it was time to put her in assisted living. It was my brother who told us, Dad couldn't. On the plus side, I got into a routine of calling her. It was always in the morning, just after she had her shower and a time she was still concerned enough about her appearance that she was still taking the time to put on makeup.

By October last year, and the last time I visited, she had progressed to stage 4 dementia. She had stopped eating and we were concerned that we would lose her. She was over-medicated and having hallucinations. Nothing she said made any sense and very little since does either. My sister had a baby, I had a baby, and in February, she had a baby. In August she was going to China, and this summer I was traveling from Rome to Brazil.

It is difficult and at the same time I feel that when she is gone it will be a blessing and relief. She is no longer the woman I knew and I miss her already. She has had a wonderful long life, one that has been full of love for her children and her husband of 62 years, and for that I am grateful.