My late mother would repeatedly tell me that if she ever became a burden, I should put her out of her misery. A chronic alcoholic, she eventually drank herself senseless and I found myself looking for adult care for her when she was only in her early 50s.
By then, with her liver failing, the toxins had addled her brain to such an extent that she barely made any sense. Addiction had reduced this beautiful, vivacious and highly-intelligent woman to someone with the capabilities of a toddler. It was like a premature finale to Shakespeare’s Seven Ages of Man: “Sans teeth, sans eyes, sans taste, sans everything.”