My (step-)mother passed away in early 2024 after more than a decade of battling progressively worsening dementia. By the time she left us, I could no longer remember who she was before the disease. This lingers with me—not just as a personal loss, but as a deep sense that she deserves to be remembered as the vibrant, compassionate, and thoughtful person she was before dementia took hold. And yet, I struggle to bring those memories into focus.
Over those ten years, I watched my father shoulder the immense weight of caregiving, often alone, as he tried to care for her, for himself, and to understand the disease that was reshaping their lives. In contrast, I did little to educate myself about dementia or to support him in ways that, in hindsight, feel like responsibilities I should have fulfilled.
Now that my mother is gone and my father is on his own, I find myself drawn to books like The End of Memory— a way to learn, to understand, even if it feels too late.
When I started reading, I hoped to make sense of what my mother experienced in her later years, to understand that her actions weren’t a matter of willpower but rather the inevitable effects of a disease no one can truly fight. I wanted to grasp how dementia and Alzheimer’s develop over time and what individuals, families, and communities can do to delay its onset—because, for many of us, it’s not a matter of if but when.
I got what I needed from The End of Memory, but not without some struggle. As with most topics rooted in biology and physiology, much of the scientific detail went over my head. I don’t have a background in science, nor do I have much interest in diving into its complexities. That’s not a flaw in the book or in Jay Ingram’s writing, but rather a reflection of my own difficulty in connecting with certain aspects of the material.
That said, I did take away some valuable insights. I found it particularly interesting to learn about the link between sugar intake and the likelihood of developing Alzheimer’s, as well as how staying physically and mentally active during leisure time can help delay cognitive decline. This passage from late in the book encapsulates the dynamic nature of Alzheimer’s and the factors that can help combat it:
“This is a reminder of the fact that late-onset Alzheimer’s is malleable: diet, exercise, education, a mentally challenging occupation, conscientiousness and likely many more as-yet-unidentified influences play a role in creating the brain reserve that is considered to protect against these genetic effects.”
— p. 179
I’d recommend The End of Memory to anyone interested in the history of aging and Alzheimer’s, especially those looking for a comprehensive look at the science behind the disease and the strategies that might help delay its onset. If you’re willing to engage with the more technical aspects, this book provides a well-rounded exploration of what we know—and what we’re still trying to understand— about Alzheimer’s and its impact.
Reality never changes. Only our recollections of it do. Whenever a moment passes, we pass along with it into the realm of memory. And in that realm, geometries change. Contours shift, shades lighten, objectives dissolve. Memory becomes what we need it to be.
I don’t often remember the details of my dreams. When I do, the dreams are so vivid and clear that I sometimes terrify myself with my inability to distinguish between what’s real and what’s conjured up.
Last night, the dream centred on a family member’s memorial that is to be held this weekend. Kind words and gifts a plenty; celebrations will be had. That part felt grounded— real.
But, having the deceased present at their own memorial, in full human form and not dead like in Beetlejuice— I didn’t see that coming.
I was completely unprepared. There weren’t enough chairs. One short. The gifts, instead of being abundant, were lacking. One short. I had no clue whether the eulogy would automatically turn into a roast with the guest of honor sitting right there, or if I’d have to add in some over-the-top sarcasm just to balance things out. One short.
Of course, the dead don’t rise, and conjuring someone through a Sheldon-likeBeetlejuice call is unfortunately not a reality. But the clarity of the dream has left me wondering:
What’s stirring in my mind?
What is to come this weekend that I’m not ready for? That I could never prepare for?
What unresolved conversations still need to happen with the dead that I’m unwilling to be a present participant in?
Run Towards the Danger: Confrontations with a Body of Memory is technically a memoir, though Sarah Polley herself doesn’t seem to see it that way. It’s unconventional compared to most memoirs I've read, focusing on a handful of key moments rather than a broad sweep of her life. Polley delves into periods where her body, mind, and spirit were deeply affected—through pregnancy, sexual assault, childhood trauma as a star, and a serious head injury. Her life appears filled with moments of agony that initially seem like defeat.
This is a book about memory and how we come to understand our own realities. It looks at the distorted realities we experience in the midst of trauma, and the clearer, more truthful versions we piece together later on, with the support of loved ones and trusted confidants. #Memory
I wasn’t too familiar with Polley’s work before this, nor her contributions to Canadian media and pop culture, but reading this made me realize I’ve enjoyed some of her most notable projects, like Take This Waltz (2011), Alias Grace (2017, miniseries), and Go (1999).
Run Towards the Danger (2022) is a deeply personal read that tackles tough topics, ones you need to approach with care. While it’s not a complete history, Run Towards the Danger offers insight into the development of a child star in the Canadian acting scene and the often harsh realities of life in the spotlight.
My earliest recollection of listening to music happens to be one of my fondest memories of childhood, one that can't actually recall any details of without reminders from my parents. This begs the question, "what are memories?" but that is a topic of another day & place.
This memory, so to speak, has me as a six or seven year old in the basement of my parent's home at the time. A rec(reation) room with wood-paneled walls complete with a wet-bar & accompanying bar stools provided the backdrop for my first real interaction with music. It was those bar stools— along with a record player that always had a 33in spinning or an 8-track inserted, where I first realized how music was intended to be consumed and enjoyed.
The album was the Beach Boys Endless Summer, the one with the cover that has the somewhat questionable men peering through the long grass, that would become my gateway into music. From the first time I removed disc-one from the US double album release, I was hooked to the smooth sounds & up-beat tempo which all forty-six minutes and twenty-one seconds of listening time offered up.
I can’t recall if the vibes from that record hit me where I most needed it because I was already a depressed kid and in need of something upbeat in my life, or if the melodies were just that good and made it hard for anyone to resist moving to the beat. I’ll never be certain why I connected with the sounds of the Beach Boys from the moment the needle was dropped onto that piece of vinyl for the first time, but I’m thankful the record was part of our small collection in my early years.
If there is one specific part of this experience that stands out more than any other it is this:
The vivid mental image of me, straddling two bar stools, with a styrofoam barbershop quartet style corn hat on— which was a mainstay of the wet-bar decor, pretending that I’m surfing in the USA— while listening to Surfin' USA.
I wish there were a picture, or better yet video, of this feat so that I could have proof that this memory was in-fact a very real & embarrassing part of my upbringing and a core element of my music experience lineage.
—
Now, more than 30 years since this seminal memory was formed, I find it most interesting that I cannot recall any other affinity for the music of the Beach Boys or any aspect of their careers throughout my life. While I can sing along to their most popular hits when they appear on the radio, as I imagine most North American born individuals are likely able to, there is very little I can tell you about the group or their works.
Perhaps if I panelled the walls in my current basement, and found some leather topped bar stools to hop on top of I could recreate this moment as I enter into my fortieth year and see if a new relationship can be kindled with "The Boys".
Then again, this might be best left as a childhood memory not to be forgotten.
