Rosemary Navarro was living in Mexico when her brother called from California. Something wasn't right with their mom, then in her early 40s. She was having trouble paying bills and keeping jobs as a food preparer in convalescent homes.
Navarro, then 22, sold her furniture to pay for a trip back to the U.S. for herself and her two young children. Almost as soon as she arrived, she knew her mother wasn't the same person. "She was there but sometimes she wasn't there," she said. "I thought, 'Oh man, this isn't going to be good.'"
Before long, Navarro was feeding her mom, then changing her diapers. She put a special lock on the door to keep her from straying out. Unable to continue caring for her, Navarro eventually moved her to a nursing home, where she spent eight years.
Near the end, her mom, a quiet woman who had immigrated to the U.S. as a teenager and loved telenovelas, could communicate only by laughing or crying. Navarro was there when she took her last breath in 2009, at age 53. "What I went through with my mom I wouldn't wish on anyone," she said.
It has happened again and again in her family _ relatives struck by the same terrible disease, most without any clue what it was. An aunt, an uncle, a cousin, a grandfather, a great-grandfather. "Too many have died," Navarro said. All in their early 50s.
Now the family knows the reason for their curse: It's a rare type of early-onset Alzheimer's disease, caused by what's come to be known as the "Jalisco" genetic mutation. Doctors today can tell someone they have it but they can't stop its destructive march.
For Navarro, watching her relatives succumb is like looking into a crystal ball, one she wants to hurl across the room.
She, too, has the mutation.
It's getting harder to stifle her fear. In April, she turned 40 _ the same age her mother was when she started wandering off and forgetting simple things.
"I don't look forward to birthdays," she said. "I didn't want to celebrate 40, much less 41."
