When I got up, Mom was already awake. I could hear her doing something in the kitchen. It's was my birthday, and I was afraid.          What if my husband had neglected  to take Mom shopping for a card? Once Mom found it was my birthday, she would be sad that she had forgotten and had nothing to give me. She even can't remember what we did two hours ago because of dementia . Birthdays are not a big deal to me. I hate growing older. I don't mind if Mom forgets my birthday as long as she still remembers me. That someday she might not recognize me has been my biggest fear ever since Mom got dementia. I can't imagine anything more devastating than being forgotten by my own mother. When Mom was diagnosed with vascular dementia seven years ago, I was told she did not have Alzheimer's disease . I hoped that meant she would never forget her family. But as Mom's dementia progressed, I realized that I had no idea whether vascular dementia could be as bad as Alzheimer's. I really didn't understand the difference.          The sleeping house was quiet except for the sound of Mom washing the bowls left last night in the kitchen. Will Mom live long enough to forget me? Will the day come when she no longer worries about remembering my birthday because she no longer knows that I exist?          In the kitchen, Mom heard me come near. She hurried to the door, face ringing with smiles. "Happy birthday to you," she sang.          We laughed as I hugged her tightly, and both of us were very surprised that she had remembered. Moments later she said, "Oh, there seems to be something here for you." She brought me her card. My husband did, after all, take her shopping. The birthday-for-a-daughter card was filled with expressions of love in pink. When it was time for her birthday, the writer was afraid  _  .
her Mom would forget her her birthday had been forgotten her mother would be sad she would be growing older