Struggling to support her in these changes and grasping for how to connect, I declared one day that our summer project together was to write her life story. It was a story her granddaughter had requested to piece together our family’s journey to the United States.

“My story isn’t that interesting,” my mother scolded. But the summer we spent facilitating her storytelling, pouring over old photographs, matching moments in her life to what was happening in the Philippines and then in the United States proved otherwise.

We laughed. At times we were quiet. Some things she recounted she said didn’t belong in her life story book, but were things my sister, her granddaughter, and I should know.

The physical result was a hundred page book in short chapters with over three hundred photos. This was how she wanted to present her life. The emotional result was a treasured summer, a reference for her family to understand her, and an anchor to all she is as a person.

My mother’s dementia has progressed. She now lives in memory care. The stories she likes to retell are the ones she remembers from her life story book. I didn’t realize it during the process, but I understand now. Capturing my mother’s memories and documenting her legacy was one of the most important things I could do for her and our family.