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“Where’s the coffee pot?” my husband, David, asked as he opened and closed the cabinet doors. His morning task
since his mother, Stevie, had moved in with us three years ago was to make her coffee. Stevie’s Alzheimer’s had progressed to the point that the family had decided she shouldn’t live alone.

“I don’t know,” I said. While living with us, Stevie believed she was on vacation and would only be staying with us for “a little visit.” She also believed that everything had a place and if she felt an item was out of place, she found a home for it.

The word “where” began most sentences in our home after Stevie moved in. “Mom, where’s my math book?” “Mom, where are my shoes?” “Where’s the bath mat?” Question after question about misplaced items. I prayed for so many lost things to be found. And if not, I prayed the disappointed one would be able to let it go. Sometimes the disappointed one was me.

We learned how to adjust and adapt as a family. At times that meant making coffee in a large measuring cup. That day, I finally found the coffee pot in the bottom drawer of the refrigerator next to the carrots.