My grandmother’s death could more accurately be described as a series of small deaths that mercifully came to an end one night while she slept. Dementia took her away from our family over the course of more than a decade.
The grief started with small things. My grandma didn’t quit smoking; she forgot that she had smoked as her dementia progressed. When she could no longer cook, it was only upsetting because my grandfather was far less...
