Taking Care Of Your Soon-to-be-alzheimers Victim

I just moved back to New Jersey after a 25+ year stint in Los Angeles to take care of my mom. I'm not sure what's going to happen in the ensuing months, but one thing is for sure--it's a lot colder in New Jersey during the winter than it ever is in Southern California. Gosh I miss the heat. I almost long for a small forest fire, a mud slide, or that an annoying location shoot would suddenly emerge when I turned the corner to make me feel a little more at home. It is both common place and a little irritating when you’re stuck in traffic only to eventually realize, “Damn they’re making a movie, a commercial or something. Now I’m gonna be late for my appointment.”
One of the most ironic facets of this entire dance with the moribund decay of mom’s mind is that she was so crazed when I was a kid. But I guess now it’s more clinical and acceptable. As a kid, she was so scary that my high school friends would jump out the window when her car slithered in the driveway. Today, kids aren’t remotely as reverent to adults as we were. So, when my mom told us a few years ago that some neighborhood kids talked back to her when she admonished them for swinging on a tree outside her house, we all wondered where their bodies were buried?
Presently, I’m wondering what does one do with another that is only sporadically forgetful? I'm forced to lie and put up a false front. I’m lucky that I’ve created this amiable persona for the past 35 years. Besides, being a caretaker seems to be my forte.