It is difficult to describe this book. I read it because my sister insisted and had handed it to me. I learned so, so much. By the time I had finished it I had ordered my own copy. It explained so much to me about what was happening with my own mother when my sister and I were trying to see to her care. We were so inadequate with our understanding of what she was experiencing. Although I bought my own copy, I hope never to need to hand it to my sons to read so that they can understand what is happening to me.
“… the self is the central certainty, the magnet to which all facts adhere. It is the underlying premise on which all our separate realities are built. Without a self, there’s no means of either perceiving or interpreting facts. Descartes got it backward; he should have said, ‘I am, therefore I think.’ My mother could sense that core within beginning to fracture, and she was terrified.”
My own mother was disappointed in me. When I tried to talk with her about seeing things that weren’t there, she simply said, ‘You were the one I thought I could count on to believe me.’ I was too hard with her. I would reply, ‘You always told me to tell you when you could no longer count on your own senses, and I’m telling you, Mother, there was nothing there.” I felt the cold facts were the most important thing. But she had to be afraid. She was afraid and that is why she insisted what she saw was real. It was too frightening to admit that she was wrong.