America’s Baby Boomers are transfixed by the rapidly declining health of their parents; embarrassing incontinence one day, excruciating constipation another, all too familiar flash backs of what we did a few years ago for our children. Still the unspoken and dreaded terror, lurking behind all of our faith and dreams, is godforsaken dementia. All around us we witness the epidemic of dementia in our family and friends, and are painfully aware that the medical community offers little in the way of comfort or answers. Dementia is the least silent killer, and this rolling tragedy seems to merit little discussion and less hopeful prayers.
As our American families rush inexorably into our dementia epidemic, the most frequently unspoken question is, “when is the individual gone”? Or put more prosaically, if my mom can no longer recognize her children, is my mother gone and is the husk of her body a simple vestige of only my memory, but not her soul as her spiritual journey has seemingly ended. This is the heart wrenching dilemma of what some mistakenly call the state of the living dead.