Dears,

Tomorrow I am speaking FOR THE FIRST TIME EVER on the processs of writing Brain in a Jar.

I’ve spoken about my dad and I’ve spoken about Alzheimer’s and I’ve read from the BIAJ manuscript. But I have yet to tell people how my grandfather’s atrophied brain in a jar sparked a story, then a blog, then a book, then diaper project, then a foundation, then a future.

Putting the presentation together left me apoplectic. Not really. I just like all those “p”s there together. Apoplectic means “showing symptoms of a stroke,” and although writing this book hurt my brain, I didn’t have a cerebral infarction. You could say I developed a cerebral imagination.

Beau’s brain had me on a wild ride ever since I was born on Dec. 27, 1965. He’d been on that ride since May 30, 1937 courtesy of his dad. Beau and I were born–28 years apart–in the Philippine Islands and into the family of Alzheimer’s disease.

My dad trained himself to do battle with AD by becoming a neurologist. Then he trained me, via swimming and reading, to be prepared for the future in another way.

Dad, tomorrow I’m going to tell my audience that we triumphed in our own ways together. You endured Alzheimer’s long and hard enough so that I could tell one hell of a story abut you.

I love you, Dr. Beauregard Lee Bercaw. You’re the ole buzzard tail.

Love,
Gal