My father lived with me and my family during the last two years of his life
while he sank ever deeper into Alzheimer’s disease.
His behavior was frequently bizarre. He might emerge from his bedroom with
three of my son’s baseball caps piled on top of his head but wearing no pants.
When trying to participate in a conversation, he might blurt out passionate
pronouncements that made no sense at all. “Ya see, the individualism is
something that’s not already formed,” he would bellow. “You gotta...