Thursday, 19 November 2015
As a kid, I spent a lot of time walking down long hallways. My γιαγιά, which is greek for “grandmother,” was once a fabulous woman who famously took a job in our town’s department store but refused to work in any section except furs. But Alzheimer’s Disease had robbed her of practically every trace of who she was before. Most days, she walked down the hallways of the care facility my family spent a fortune to keep her in, as her disease required 24/7 care. Mumbling broken, incoherent Greek that neither I, my siblings nor my first-generation, fully Americanized mother could…
This story continues at The Next Web
