By Debra-Lynn Swearingen She died as she had lived. Alone. She had been long forgotten by her church and went largely unnoticed by her neighbors. Her illness had rendered her a social misfit. She didn’t communicate well and when she did speak, everyone could tell she was afflicted. Her medication had made her tongue thick, her hands shake, and her body rock back-and-forth. As involuntary as all of it was, one couldn’t help but wish she would stop. At one point, it was it was thought she would benefit from training in simple life functions; making purchases, counting money, and remembering walking paths through town. But her grasp of all that…