Writer Lonna Whiting’s mother Beth Gregory rests comfortably in her room at a Minnesota memory care unit. Gregory has been living with dementia since 2013 and is currently receiving end-of-life hospice cares.

How to Help Your Mother Die

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I feed my mother a plate of spaghetti in meat sauce, served with a side of steamed cauliflower and a little bowl of canned pears. It’s an exercise in patience to feed her, this loved one of mine who has end-stage Alzheimer’s. She loses interest. She falls asleep. She sometimes forgets how to chew and then later it comes back to her. Or she bites down on the fork and lets the food fall off onto her shirt and lap.

It helps to cut the pieces of spaghetti up into bite sizes. The cauliflower, too. But the pears are easy. Sweet and juicy and soft enough to swallow whole if need be, there is no risk of choking. At least not yet, though I know enough about this disease that soon Mom’s ability to swallow will go away to wherever the rest of her went and never came back.

For her hydration, she has one cup of apple juice and one cup of plain water. I mentally estimate how many calories she’s just consumed and guess that it’s somewhere around 500, and I’m pleased she is able to clean her plate today.

“That’s good, Beth,” staff tells her after I let them know she completed 100 percent of her meal and they add it to her chart notes for the day.