In the autumn that Alzheimer’s disease sent my mother wandering at nights, I began to study the medieval poem The Pearl. This came to me by chance. I had traveled to North Carolina to see firsthand how my father and brother were managing. My mother’s sundowning – that period at the end of the day when dementia sufferers become anxious, hallucinate, and wander – had spilled over into the night and early morning hours. This had become every night and every early morning, such that my octogenarian father never slept. Despite the strain, he could not yet let go of being her primary caregiver. We wavered on a decision about next steps. I flew back to New York. On a walk to clear my mind, I stopped into Half Moon Books and bought a used copy of Sister Mary Vincent Hillmann’s translation of that singularly strange, beautiful work.

To study The Pearl is to meditate on grief and love.