Diana Barranco, 1936 to 2024
A few things about my mom
Hello everyone,
I am writing to you from my mother’s home in San Diego, California. I am sad to tell you that my mom, Diana, has passed after a long battle with Alzheimer’s. She was just a few days shy of her 88th birthday. We laid her to rest next to my dad, whom we lost 30 years ago to cancer.
A spry 86-year old Franciscan monk presided at the graveside service yesterday. He talked about my mom’s grit and determination as she faced Alzheimer’s, living with it for over 10 years. He talked about how she served as a deacon, bringing communion to parishioners who couldn’t get to church. He talked about how she had raised four children (all a year apart) while supporting my dad, a busy surgeon.
I had prepared something to say about my mom, but when the time came the tears got in the way. Those tears had been simmering beneath the surface for days as I gave talks and taught cooking classes this week at Rancho La Puerta. Then, as she was being lowered next to my dad, the tears finally flowed. I couldn’t talk, all I could do was cry.
I wanted to say how proud I was to be her daughter. My mom had a rough start in life. There were hard times, not a lot of money, and things happened that no one ever talked about. She was cheated out of a big chunk of her childhood. As a young girl, she helped raise three siblings while her mom worked and her dad was in jail. (Yes, that is a whole other story.) At 13, she was separated from her siblings when they were sent to live with various relatives. She endured, but eventually had the spunk to flee her hometown, the first in her family to go to college.
Then, in 1956, she moved to the city—Buffalo, NY—to work and support herself. I like to envision her walking to work, heels clicking the pavement, dressed for success in her twinset and pearls. This was long before Mary Tyler Moore was the epitome of the modern woman. My mom didn’t know how courageous she was.
Alzheimer’s brings so much heartache to a family, but it also brings unexpected moments of joy. In the last few years since she had forgotten who I was, I loved seeing how delighted she was to learn I was her daughter. “I have a daughter?” she would say, grinning from ear to ear. And then I would remind her of her grandsons, Jack and Nick, and she would be beside herself. Seeing my name in print always gave her the biggest kick, too, whether I had brought her a copy of Real Simple or my book, The Brain Health Kitchen. She’d point to my name, incredulous, and say it over and over. Then she’d look at me wide-eyed and say “You’re a doctor?!”
Along with those glimmers of joy there is learning. So much learning. I feel like it’s too early to process all that I have learned through my mother’s battle with Alzheimer’s. But what I do know is this: caring for someone with dementia is like a master class in kindness.
If you have been following my work for awhile, you may already know that my mom’s diagnosis in 2015 inspired me to create Brain Health Kitchen. Back then, I envisioned a community that would empower and support those touched by Alzheimer’s. This is still at the core of all that I do. As BHK grows to include people of all ages who want to be proactive about brain health, one thing stays the same—all of you are an incredible source of inspiration and support to me.
Thank you for being a part of this community. Thank you for all your sweet messages through the years, asking about my mom. Thank you for supporting my work, especially as retreat guests and as paying and Founding members to this newsletter. Most of all, thank you for taking care of your brains. Together we can drastically reduce the number of people and families who have to suffer from Alzheimer’s and other types of dementia.
That’s all for today. I’ll be back soon with some ideas for making your Thanksgiving dinner especially delicious (and brain-healthy) this year.
Love,
Annie
Sending you so much love and kindness. Thank you for sharing and creating this community. My father in law died from ALZ two weeks ago. What I said to my husband and hope brings some comfort to you -> when you feel sad and lonely missing your mother, place your hands over your heart. Feel your heartbeat. Know that the fact that you are your mother’s daughter means that you have a part of her flowing within you within your cells. Hopefully knowing this knowing she is with you ALWAYS (hashtag Science!) will bring some comfort in times of sadness 🤍
Deeply touched, and shedding tears, reading this. I do not know what it is like to lose a loved one to Alzheimer’s. But I do know what it means to lose one’s mother. My heart reaches out to you with support and caring, as you and the family absorb this greatest of losses. Thank you for sharing your and your mom’s stories. 💔🙏🏻