I’ve written much about loss and grief. A note from a friend leads me to one more possible label for my experience.

The starkness of the words in black type on a white screen prods us to want more information. Why are we—why am I—surprised by something so certain?

If accommodation is healthy and normal, why does it feel like such a burden to the caregiver?

“We ARE our memory,” a friend said to me. And this adds another layer of sadness—and resolve—as I watch my wife’s memory fade and falter.

52 years . . . and I almost forgot!

Sometimes memories from 20 years ago make us sad. Sometimes they do something more. That’s what happened for us this week.

These are not new thoughts to me. But now I find they’re guiding me in ways I wouldn’t have imagined.

We’re glad she seems generally healthy. But sometimes we grow weary with figuring out the diseases daily damaging her brain.

How is this moment preparing me for the opportunities to come? What will they be, and will I be ready? While dealing with today, I do well to think about tomorrow.

I can tell you exactly what it meant for me to have Covid. Evelyn suffered, too, but we could only guess at how she felt.

“Writing is an act of ego.” I’ll agree. But as readers write in response to these posts, I see how writing can be about so much more than the writer.

Finally! I have quit talking about a task I was dreading. I’m struck by how I never anticipated I would do this.

Rather than deny my advance (or is it slide?) toward 80, I’ve decided to pause and take stock of what I’m learning about life from this crossroads.

The support group leader doesn’t seem too concerned about me. I’m not, either!

Can I chalk up my delay to everyday procrastination? Maybe.

I’ve sometimes been surprised by what we’re experiencing and what I’m learning. But the bottom line is a good report.

Even if your spouse is living in a memory care center, you might consider the opportunity to travel to the other side of the world. I’m glad I did.

A reader asked for advice, and even though this is not an advice-giving blog, his question reminded me of some experiences that may help him.

When we stop to consider “quality of life,” whose life are we thinking about most?

Another Alzheimer’s caregiver I know kept a journal at first, with notes and stories he thought he might share sometime.“But after a while I didn’t have as much to write,” he said. Not that much was changing. Not that much was new. That’s how it is with me now.