Gerardo Cardenas

My mom is a chatty gal. I've known this all my life, but it never ceases to amaze me that she doesn't let language barriers get in the way of a good conversation. When I take her to her appointments she loves to chat with the nurses that take care of her before the doctor sees her.

This is the second installment I promised to my friend C. who, along with her siblings, takes care of her mom who is in the early stages of Alzheimer’s .

Today I will not talk about my mom, Sarah. A close friend of mine has shared with me the story of her mom. Both shall remain anonymous. My friend – I will only identify her as C. – is a caregiver along with her siblings for their mom who lives in the St. Louis, MO, area. C’s Mom is in the early stages of Alzheimer’s with sharp short-term memory loss.

For as long as I can remember, my mom Sarah has made lists. Lists of things to do, things to buy, things to eat. She learned to write shorthand and kept neat, precise lists in a language incomprehensible to me. Today she doesn’t use shorthand anymore but she still does lists.

I never noticed who was a caregiver, or what a caregiver looked like, until I became one.

I am a 51-year-old Latino male who, in many respects, is no different from your average Baby Boomer. I have a steady job, a loving family, and a warm and welcoming home waiting for me at the end of the day.