Unforgettable. Линда Гуднайт

      

      Carrie Martin has a wonderful life—a loving husband, a sweet daughter and a feisty mother. But suddenly her mom can’t remember little things…then big things. Now, it’s as if the mother who was once warm and outrageous has become someone she barely recognizes. Feeling lost and alone, Carrie finds comfort in her friends who surprise her by collecting photos worth remembering and mementos worth cherishing. Slowly, Carrie learns that memories are made one day at a time and that treasuring today rather than dwelling on the pain and despair of her mother’s illness is what truly matters. And that hope and lovingkindness have been there all along…

      During the writing of this book, our family suffered

       the loss of my mother-in-law, Lorene Goodnight.

       Lorene was more than a mother-in-law. She was

       the Mom I didn’t have. I loved her and she loved

       me—as mother and daughter. A Christian since the

       age of twelve (like Frannie), Lorene’s steadfast faith

       and unconditional love taught me a great deal about

       being a woman of God, lessons I’m still learning.

       During the last year of her life, this precious saint

       suffered with a type of dementia. So this book is

       dedicated to her memory because truly, she may

       have forgotten many things, but God had not

       forgotten her. Her name was written in the palms

       of His hands.

      I would also like to acknowledge the many

       Alzheimer’s bloggers, both patients and caregivers,

       who gave me insight into your devastating journey.

       May God be with you the way He was with Frannie.

      Unforgettable

      Linda Goodnight

       www.millsandboon.co.uk

      MILLS & BOON

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      Surely they may forget, yet I will not forget you.

       See, I have inscribed you on the palms of my hands.

      —Isaiah 49:15–16

       CONTENTS

       Cover

       Back Cover Text

       Acknowledgements

       Title Page

       Bible Verse

       CHAPTER ONE

       CHAPTER TWO

       CHAPTER THREE

       CHAPTER FOUR

       CHAPTER FIVE

       CHAPTER SIX

       CHAPTER SEVEN

       CHAPTER EIGHT

       CHAPTER NINE

       CHAPTER TEN

       CHAPTER ELEVEN

       CHAPTER TWELVE

       CHAPTER THIRTEEN

       CHAPTER FOURTEEN

       Dear Reader

       QUESTIONS FOR DISCUSSION

       BPA

       Extract

       Copyright

       CHAPTER ONE

      Funny how everything could be normal one minute and utter chaos the next.

      For the rest of her life, Carrie Martin would remember that bright Saturday as a perfect spring day in a perfectly happy, settled, safe life.

      At ten o’clock in the morning, while on her hands and knees in the front yard transplanting iris bulbs and waiting for her daughter and husband to show up with peat moss from Clifford’s Garden Center, Carrie was jolted by the onk-onk of a car horn. She didn’t need to look up to know who it was, but she did anyway, lifting a dirty gloved hand in greeting as the gold-colored Oldsmobile sailed into the driveway with one final blast of goodwill.

      Her mother, the irrepressible Francis Adler—Frannie to her friends—hopped out of the Olds and crossed the grass, her short, green-clad legs pumping with the energy of a woman half her sixty-one years.

      Frannie’s enormous hat, also green, formed an ever-advancing pool of shade across the sunny lawn. Today was St. Patrick’s Day and this was Mother’s method of announcing to the world that she was Irish. Even if she hadn’t been, she would have worn the hat.

      Frannie never did anything halfway.

      “Good morning, Mother.” Carrie rested back on her heels with a smile.

      From behind a pair of mirrored aviator sunglasses, Frannie looked her daughter up and down before extracting a stick-on shamrock from the pocket of her loose cotton jacket—green, of course. “You aren’t wearing green.”

      Well, Mother certainly was.

      Frannie slapped the shamrock onto the pocket of Carrie’s white camp shirt.

      Carrie glanced down. “I am now.”

      “I saved you from being pinched,” her mother said cheerfully. “How do you like my hat?” A pudgy, beringed hand patted the wide brim.

      “Very Irish.” Like a plump leprechaun. Any minute now Carrie expected her to leap into the air and