On a nearly cloudless, blue sky day in early May, Carolyn settled in for a leisurely lunch on the patio of a restaurant in Oakhurst. She was joined by her daughter, Emily, now a high school senior, whose small, slender frame and long dark hair could easily win her the role of her mother's younger self in a play or movie. She's a typical teen in some ways - joking about her grandmother smothering her with kisses on weekend mornings when she's still just trying to wake up, and barely containing a sigh when asked what she wants to major in some day.

In other ways, though, she's remarkably grownup. She's clearly thought a lot about the toll dementia takes on the people she loves, and she doesn't seek sympathy or shy away from asking tough questions. But she also knows when to keep quiet and just listen, as when her mother talked about what it had been like working on "Blackberry Winter."

The five workshop shows couldn't have gone better, Carolyn said, sneaking a Tater Tot off Emily's plate. They'd made small tweaks after each performance, and Yockey was putting a final polish on the script, which was selected from 63 entries for The National New Play Network's annual new play showcase in Sarasota, Fla., next month. (For information on the play's progress, check www.outofhandtheater.com).

After months of preparation, finally getting to say Vivienne's lines onstage had proven cathartic. For so long, Carolyn had felt the need to make art from her own emotions and experiences, and she'd gotten to do that; meanwhile, the differences between her and her character had allowed her to stretch as an actress.

Still, she was glad to be done with it for now. Between performing "Blackberry Winter" and taking care of her mother, "Dementia got an awful lot of my time that week," Carolyn said with a chuckle.

After the first night's workshop performance, she'd taken a seat in the front row during the "talk back" session led by Fristoe, the director. When it came time to discuss the character of Vivienne, some audience members addressed Carolyn directly.

It was very real the way you said you and your mother are both changing.

You did a good job talking about how you and your sister got the diagnosis.

You seem really alone sometimes.

Each time Carolyn thanked the person for their feedback, but she also took pains to point out she's not Vivienne. The rest of the week, she sat in the back of the theater and quietly listened to the post-show comments.

"I didn't want it to be about me," she explained. "It was really important that the focus be on the play."

She knows full well the power of drama to heal and to help start conversations about important subjects.

Increasingly, too, she understands it matters what you focus on.

“ "I'm watching her become the type of caregiver I'd want to become."

Emily was in the audience for one of the workshop performances. She likes to see all of her mother's shows. This one, in particular, she couldn't miss.

"I knew a lot of the play had sprung from our experiences, and I wanted to know how it would be treated," she said. "And I knew there would be pieces of her (mother) that I wouldn't know otherwise."

She still wasn't sure if some things Vivienne described had actually happened to Carolyn. But it was OK. She already had a pretty good idea who her mother was.

"I'm getting a rare opportunity of seeing my parents - my mother specifically - grow as a person," Emily said. "Watching her struggling with things and figure them out. And getting to be a better caregiver and person than I could imagine being.

"I'm watching her become the type of caregiver I'd want to become."

They both know it could happen someday. Given dementia's presence in her family, Emily knows there's a strong possibility that history will repeat itself again, and that she'll end up caring for her mother someday.

"At this point, I do not worry that I am going to get dementia," said Carolyn, who seems more concerned about the possible impact of being a caregiver on Emily as an only child. "I can't spend my energy on that. I focus on, 'I'm 53, I have at least 20 good years ahead of me, it's all made up of individual days I can focus on.'"

Just the previous day, in fact, she'd told her husband she was going to write a post for her blog (lifelongmetamorphoses.wordpress.com) titled, "Dementia, the Good Points." She and June had gone to a mall, but what they'd planned on doing involved too much walking. Instead, they'd plopped down next to each other on a porch swing and started slowly rocking.

Not so long ago, Carolyn would have kept pushing herself and her mother forward, straining to fill each moment. Now she realized she was content to be rocking in place with her mother.

"We were sitting there, gently swinging, and she just relaxed," Carolyn said. "Her head was on my shoulder, I had my arm around her and all the tension went away. I felt needed and grateful.

"Grateful, right where I was."