Books were written about women artists, aviators and many other women, but not about stay-at-home moms. They were out of fashion, dumped at the door of a consignment shop. I didn't like the world to undervalue my mother, even if I had.

This is going to sound really odd coming from someone with a book about aging at home, but sometimes, aging at home is not the answer.

Dad turned 85 last March. I'd been trying to get back to Colorado to see him, but I didn't make the time until summer, after his heart had landed him briefly in the hospital. He'd gotten out okay, but my sister said he was 15 pounds underweight; she was worried about him.

SPECIAL FROM Next Avenue By Jane Gottlieb In the end, our concern for Dad's care was a higher priority than our worries about his money Two h...

SPECIAL FROM Next Avenue By Peter Gerstenzang Everyone thought I was handling it well, staying strong. Everyone was wrong. It was hardly an h...

As I see it, most of us are at best neglecting, and at worst hastening, our beloved mother's death by our own guilt-fueled paralysis.

Whether or not we're well-equipped or prepared, the reality remains that many of us will be tasked with making impactful decisions associated with caring for an elderly loved one.

Working on a book about aging has meant figuring out how to make this subject appealing... or at least not dismayingly off-putting. I mean, who wants to learn about tub transfer benches? Who cares about tile slip resistance? Did I really have to choose such an un-sexy topic for my first book?

"She's dead," my grandmother tells me with a clear look of disdain -- like someone should have seen to it that she was disposed of long ago. "Just no one has told her so."

I told her what a pleasure it has been to be her granddaughter, and that our relationship is not over, it's just on pause.

523-0765. Until last month, the phone number was in my family for almost half a century. But call the number today and you'll hear a terse message that it has been disconnected. It took 15 years for 523-0765 to become a non-working number.

When my dad sees me, he gives me a big smile through chocolate-stained dentures. He's just finishing a cookie. There are crumbs on his lap and on the floor surrounding his wheelchair. His fingers are speckled with chocolate. He is thoroughly enjoying that cookie, and the mess doesn't bother him.

Where are you going to live during the final years of your life? Will it be with your children and grandchildren or will you be living in a senior development wondering if your children can find time for you this weekend?

SPECIAL FROM Next Avenue By Jeff Brown Here’s how to make sure every family member accepts responsibility when it’s time to step up Jeff ...

Last August when I went to Upstate New York to see my mother, I believed it would be the last time she would recognize me. I hadn't seen her since February of 2010, when the man I had known as 'Dad' my entire life passed. Mom's disease had noticeably progressed.

This week, our family will be celebrating a remarkable event; my parent's sixtieth wedding anniversary. Only an extraordinary mixture of love, trust, faith, hard work and -- yes -- luck could have made this event possible.

Think about the positive memories you can create with your family, while making the holidays easier on yourself and your parents. Although it is difficult, acknowledge that you may need to change your traditions in order to do so.

I lost my mother about eight months ago, but she will be 99 in early February. This is the result of dementia. The woman she was is gone. The mother I knew can be reached neither by her conscious awareness nor by all my wishing that I could penetrate her darkening mind.

Every year when the holidays roll around, it's inevitable that this question pops up: What gift should I get for the special people in my life? Whi...

Within days, we started to see the toll of uprooting an almost 92-year-old woman with moderate dementia from familiar routine into uncharted waters. She could barely stay afloat.

Mushroom-barley soup, a staple of my childhood, lovingly prepared by Grandma Mollie, was the most delicious soup I'd ever tasted. Grandma Mollie always got it just right, but this time, something was awry.