When my grandma was near the end of life with Alzheimer’s Disease, my younger sister would visit her and simply introduce herself as a new friend. Earlier in her life, our grandma made the best pies. She always had three or four cooling on the stove; it didn’t even need to be Thanksgiving. My sister once brought up that fact with her “new friend,” announcing, “ I hear you like to bake pies. You know, my grandma used to make the best pies ever. ” To that, my grandma—the very lady of whom my sister spoke, said as if insulted, “ I doubt it! ” “Memory Recall” is a high value, and it is what seems to get marred or destroyed altogether when dementia sets in. In tears, we leave a nursing home saying, “ Why can’t mom remember me? ” We use phrases like, “ She isn’t who she used to be—she’s only a shell. ” I’m not sure we realize just how dehumanizing those words can be, and probably how wrong we are for assuming only one form of “memory recall” is all that matters. For my grandma, th...