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Dementia sufferers teach us to reflect on what's important

I make good pie. Strawberry rhubarb in the spring, blueberry in the summer and apple in the fall, and it's all because I was jealous of my sister in law. As a newlywed I noticed how much attention she was getting for her homemade pies.

I make good pie. Strawberry rhubarb in the spring, blueberry in the summer and apple in the fall, and it's all because I was jealous of my sister in law. As a newlywed I noticed how much attention she was getting for her homemade pies. I also wanted adoring fans fawning over my pies. So I learnt how to make perfect flaky buttery pastry and now my pies are legend.

My sister in law doesn't bake anymore, now I bake for her. She has Alzheimer's. She hid it from us for a while but two years ago at Christmas dinner she couldn't answer a simple question. I saw the fear in her face, and I knew something was seriously wrong.

She is my deceased husband's sister and 15 years older than me, I have known her since I was 14. She was an artist, art teacher, gourmet cook, world traveller and mother to an accomplished architect. I have always been slightly scared of her - a perfectionist, ruthless in her criticisms, hard on herself and on others.

During my husband's two-year battle with pancreatic cancer, she was a huge support. I could not have survived without her.

She lives in Gibsons and I visit her when I can. She is unable to eat with a knife and fork, so when we have our fish and chips at Molly's Reach, she eats with her hands, licking the tartar sauce off her fingers, laughing loudly at my stories, finding pleasure through the darkness.

I sit in my home in Beach Grove and wonder what she is thinking. She has a caregiver now who goes on long walks with her. She can't carry a conversation, but she's a good listener, she doesn't know how old she is, but she can tell me the same story several times over.

When I look in her eyes I see her asking me for something I cannot give. Like my sister in law, we are all looking for something at this time of year, and it's illusive. It's the connection to something or someone, the illusive Christmas feeling, the mystery of the season. Perhaps the answer is within ourselves.

Over half a million people in Canada have some form of dementia and many of you reading this know that firsthand. The profound loss of someone we love to Alzheimer's or dementia is tragic. All we can do is be generous with our time, be patient and tender, especially at this time of year.

This Christmas I hope she can come to our home to enjoy another family dinner, but that will depend on whether she can handle the stimulation. My new husband has been incredibly generous, embracing my deceased husband's relatives who are always included in our blended family.

My sister in law baked the best Christmas paper thin sugar cookies. I've always been envious of those too. I think I'll try to master them this year. She would approve.

Ingrid Abbott is a broadcaster and writer who frequently walks into rooms and forgets what she came for.