When writing about the grinding grief of Alzheimer’s victims and their families, it can be difficult to resist the easy path of self-pitying confessional or diatribe about the many shortcomings of geriatric care, but author Meg Federico does so handily. Her mother Addie’s journey from Chanel and pearls to incontinence and Wheel of Fortune marathons is a difficult period during which Federico finds herself – even as her mother slips away.

Federico is always willing to look for the humour and humanity that exist alongside the humiliation and peculiarity of palliative care. She even manages to find humour during the events of 9/11, when Addie, whose memory rivals that of a goldfish, asks why the TV channels won’t play a different movie. Only an epilogue in which Federico imagines meeting her dead mother for lunch at the Oldhill Golf Club feels forced. 

Caring for Addie nearly cost Federico both her marriage and her sanity, but she has paid her mother a remarkable tribute in this memoir. Her subjects are corrosive: elder abuse, debilitating disease, and deep regret for things left unsaid. But Federico finds redemption through compassion and humour. There is no better remembrance to give someone you love than to think of them, often, and simply smile.