One day while vsiting Mom, I got a rare glimpse into the mind of one with Alzheimer’s. “I feel like I am in a tunnel and can’t find my way back,” she said. “Are you afraid?” I asked. “No, just frustrated.” “Where do you go in the tunnel?” I prodded. “I’m with my mother.” “Why do you go to your mother’s?” “Because she knows how to fix things,” she said, tapping her forehead.