Winner of the 2012 New England Book Award for Non Fiction 
 
Kate Whouley is a smart, single woman who faces life head-on. Her mother, Anne, is a strong-minded accidental feminist with a weakness for unreliable men. Their complicated relationship isn't simplified when Anne exhibits symptoms of organic memory loss. As Kate becomes her mother's advocate and protector, Kate will discover that the demon we call Alzheimer's is also an unlikely teacher--and healer. A contemporary mother-daughter story with universal appeal, Remembering the Music, Forgetting the Words, is written with the same "good humor and thoughtful humanity" that author Anna Quindlen admired in the  Whouley's first memoir, Cottage for Sale, Must Be Moved. Named to the American Library Association's Best of the Best list for 2012, Remembering the Music, in the words of novelist David Payne "concerns the most important issues: family, mortality, our aloneness in the world, our connection in the face of it."

The words are my mother's, scribbled after visiting my grandmother in a Massachusetts hospital. Nana lived well into her eighties, her last several years plagued by confusion beyond forgetfulness. My mother thought her mother was losing her mind, and it broke her heart. She began writing about it, and then she stopped. This, I understand. Twenty years later, my mother began to exhibit the signs of memory loss, and the last thing I wanted to do was to write about it.

To a writer, writing makes it real. Writing down real life renders it unforgettable. And some things, you just want to forget.

Or, deny.

Most of us are scared silly when faced with the prospect of diminishing mental capacity. We?d trade almost anything for the promise we could hold onto our judgment, our memory, our mind.

I used to feel that way myself.

Then, I traveled with my mother into the Land of Dementia. It was a difficult journey--no doubt about it--stressful, challenging, heart wrenching. But it was also a journey that clarified a complicated mother-daughter relationship, a journey that brought us together, a journey that allowed me to see my mother, even as she had trouble, on some days, seeing herself. Ultimately, it was a journey that required me to reach into the deepest part of myself, to discover compassion and patience, and to connect human-to-human with the woman who happened to be my mother.

It absolutely wasn?t easy. But it wasn?t absolutely awful, either. Not the way most of us imagine it will be. That's why I decided--two years after my mother's death--to write Remembering the Music, Forgetting the Words. I hope readers will find light here, and comfort, and humor, too. I haven?t written a book about Alzheimer's, or a book about reluctant daughterhood, or a book about playing community music, or even a book about showing up here and now. I?m not great at writing about just one thing. Like all the writers I admire, I write about everything--hoping to uncover something true.

Recommended to book clubs by 1 of 1 members.