I will perpetuate your memory through all generations; therefore the nations will praise you for ever and ever.—Psalm 45:17 (NIV)

Alzheimer’s turned me into a New York Yankees baseball fan. Don’t boo. Hear me out. 

My mom was a fan of the Detroit Tigers, and I grew up rooting with her. She watched every game, yelling at the players through the TV screen, and not the least bit shy about praying. Her beloved Tigers needed all the help they could get. 

As I moved around the country, Mom sent me the Detroit sports pages so I could keep up. One of the first signs of her Alzheimer’s was that she would send me the wrong pages, the business section instead of sports. 

Meanwhile, I was living in New York and becoming interested in an exciting young Yankees team. As my mother declined, I couldn’t bear to follow the Tigers. Besides, New York was my hometown now. 

Not long before Mom could no longer live on her own, I took her to a Tigers game. We sat in the hulking green ballpark on Trumbull Avenue. I don’t know who the Tigers played or if they won that day. We left early because Mom was cold and having trouble following the game. So was I. I was thinking of the finality of life and the passion of a true fan and how it lives in the heart, nursed by unending hope. 

As I helped Mom up the stairs to the concourse, she stopped and turned for one last look at the sun and the shadows and the impossibly green grass. I prayed it was a memory she would never lose.