“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.

“I want to go see my parents,” she says, and I grieve a little, because the home she’s seeking just is not there.

For many dozens of weeks, I’ve been forming new habits, taking over new responsibilities, and adding more and more items to my subconscious “don’t forget” list. And today I don’t completely remember what it was like before my current state of constant on-call.