Richard Creighton |

May 21, 2026May 25, 2026

What Kate and I Did After Her Diagnosis: Part 4. Everything Changes

I’m not a Buddhist, but I know that one of the fundamental tenets is the “impermanence” of everything. Nothing stays the same. All of us experience that, but “Living with Alzheimer’s” has given me a greater appreciation of impermanence than I had before.

During the first nine years of our journey, we were able to live happily, but we couldn’t prevent the kind of changes that Alzheimer’s brings with it. Each one has made our world a little smaller than when we began.

In addition to the activities we enjoyed together, Kate had her own activities that were important to her. They included use of her computer, driving her car, tending to her plants around our yard, activities with her P.E.O. chapter, as well as weekly lunches and shopping excursions with her dear friend Arletta Raley. She lost all of these things during the first eight years after her diagnosis.

We also lost several things that had been important to both of us. One of those was movies. With the progression of her Alzheimer’s, she became less able to follow movies. The last two we saw were close together in 2018, seven years after the diagnosis. That same year, we dropped weekly performances of the “Live in HD at the Met” operas in one of our local movie theaters.

Travel also became more difficult. Our last international trip was in 2015. In 2018, we made our last trips to visit our children.

The worst was yet to come; however, I will save that until next time.

May 12, 2026May 25, 2026

What We Did After Kate’s Diagnosis: Part 3, Travel

Travel had been an important part of our lives from the early years of our marriage. When our children were 4 and 2, we took them to Spain and France for six weeks. Three years later, we took them with us to Colombia, South America for the summer. While there, we took trips to Ecuador and Venezuela. When we became empty nesters, we began to travel more, mostly in Europe.

One of the first things we thought we were likely to lose was our ability to travel. In particular, we had wanted to visit Africa, Machu Picchu, the Galápagos Islands, New Zealand, and Switzerland. We were successful in getting to all of them. We engaged in a number of activities we had wanted to experience. We took a safari in Tanzania, took a balloon ride over the Serengeti, paraglided off a mountain slope in Switzerland and somersaulted on the way to the ground.

Travel was becoming more difficult for Sarah, so Switzerland was our last international trip. Two years later, we took our last trip to Chautauqua, NY, our favorite summer getaway.

In 2018, we took our last trips to visit our children and grandchildren. Since then, they have traveled to see us, but we were able to do international travel for four years after her diagnosis and travel in the US for an additional three years.

April 29, 2026May 25, 2026

More Happy Moments at Stage 7 Alzheimer’s

At this late stage of Kate’s Alzheimer’s, I am mindful that our Happy Moments may decline. Thus far, however, we continue to experience them. Yesterday, we had an especially good one.

Our caregiver had a meeting with her agency at the same time we normally go downstairs to the café for ice cream, so Kate and I went by ourselves. Prior to leaving, she wasn’t in one of her cheerful moments and wasn’t talking. I keep a variety of things on the coffee table in our living area that the caregivers and I often read to her.

I picked up a three-ring binder where I have collected a lot of different things about our lives together. I read her something I had written about our dating, falling in love, and getting married. As I read, she began to perk up. By the time we left for the café, she was smiling. While we were at the café, we had an special Happy Moment. We were alone most of the time. She was very relaxed, and we had a conversation that lasted almost an hour.

I didn’t take the attached video yesterday. I took it ten days ago, but it gives you an idea of what our conversations are like at this stage of her Alzheimer’s. The fact that I can’t understand her doesn’t keep me from loving these moments. I treasure them.

April 23, 2026May 25, 2026

Music as Therapy

As I implied in my previous post, at first, music was just a form of entertainment for us, but within the first year, it became therapeutic as well. Kate had a panic attack when I rushed her while we were getting ready for a symphony concert. I tried to calm her, but she was still uneasy when we left home.

After we got in the car, I put on a CD of the Brahms Violin Concerto. I advanced it to the Second Movement which is very soothing and lasts about ten minutes. Before we arrived at the concert, she was just fine. Since then, we have had a number of other occasions like this.

One of those occurred after she woke up from an afternoon nap. She was disturbed about something. As I had done before, I tried to calm her, but that didn’t work. Then I started singing a children’s song, and she joined me. That encouraged me to take my phone out of my pocket and search for children’s songs. I downloaded an album with one hundred of them. We sang for another thirty minutes which left us with a happy ending.

Music has been a very helpful tool in my “Caregivers Toolbox”. Once in a while, she still has similar episodes, usually during the night. I have found that “Edelweiss” from The Sound of Music works well. I start out by humming or singing. Then I pick up my phone and play it on my audio system.

There are also times when she just seems to need a boost. Sometimes I use the album of children’s songs mentioned above. Another one I depend on is an album by the Susquehanna Chorale, a choral group we heard one summer at Chautauqua. It has a number of songs that we both enjoy, “Shenandoah”, “Danny Boy”, “Loch Lomond”, “Swing Low Sweet Chariot”, and “Deep River”. We carry music wherever we go. One never knows when it might be needed.

April 7, 2026April 7, 2026

Kate’s Alzheimer’s Diagnosis and Our Thoughts About the Future

For months, I’ve reported on positive changes in Kate’s behavior. She is better now than she was two or three years ago. This doesn’t mean that we have found a way to cure Alzheimer’s, but even at Stage 7, we have found ways to live joyfully.

Occasionally, people ask me how we’ve been able to live so well. I’ve given that a lot of thought and would like to share those thoughts in several upcoming posts.

Today, I’ll focus on our immediate response to Kate’s diagnosis. It was January 21, 2011, exactly one week after she turned seventy. Although we had seen the first signs of dementia more than five years before, the reality of the diagnosis frightened us. Our marriage had been filled with joy, and we were afraid that Alzheimer’s would make that a thing of the past.

We went directly from the doctor’s office to Villa Tronco, a favorite restaurant of ours. We began a conversation that continued for several weeks, perhaps months. We had been caring for our four parents (and my dad’s girlfriend after my mother died) for twenty-two consecutive years. We were aware of the many challenges we were likely to face. Now, it was time to focus on our own future.

We spent much of our time discussing how each of us felt and the first steps we should take. We talked about when to tell our children and our friends. We considered the practical issues, such as legal and financial decisions.

We reflected on the things we had enjoyed during our marriage and wondered how long we could continue living so well. We had no idea but made a decision that worked then and now. We would just enjoy life and each other for as long as we could. I’ll have more to say about this in following posts.

March 4, 2026March 17, 2026

Six Consecutive Days With Especially “Happy Moments”

Kate has been improving steadily for more than two years. The basic symptoms of Alzheimer’s haven’t disappeared, but she’s more cheerful and talkative. Thus, we have more “Happy Moments” than in the past. She seems less like someone with Alzheimer’s than she did before.

That has been especially true, for the past six days. They have been remarkably good days. On each of these days, she has waked up with a smile and appeared to know me. During the rest of these days, she has smiled and talked a lot. The rest of the day has been similar. She seems less like someone with Alzheimer’s than she did before.

Monday was a good example. After lunch, I read The Velveteen Rabbit to her, something I hadn’t done in a while because she seemed to have lost interest or was less able to follow the story. This time,. That occurred after her bout with COVID. Yesterday she expressed her pleasure with facial and verbal expressions. She clearly understood and enjoyed what I read.

That was followed by an especially good time when we went out for ice cream that afternoon. The people who drop by regularly to see her smile and talk got what they were looking for. That doesn’t happen most of the time, and I’m wondering just how long this will go on. Right now, I’m enjoying every minute and feeling grateful.

February 21, 2026February 22, 2026

My Day is Off to a Good Start

As I’ve said before, the most difficult part of the day for Kate is in the morning. She rarely speaks or smiles until later in the day. She is unable to explain, but it seems like she is unsure of where she is or who I am until later in the day. During the past two years or more, she has improved in several ways. One of those is waking up with a smile and saying a few words. That happened this morning.

I walked into our bedroom (Yes, we still sleep in the same bed.) about thirty minutes ago as she was opening her eyes. I spoke to her and told her how happy I was to see her. She smiled and said, “What are you doing?”

I told her I was coming to see her. Then I told her several things that I tell her every morning when I see that she is awake. “You’re my Kate from Waco, Texas. We met at Baylor where we were students. We fell in love and got married.” I go on to tell her that we’ve been married sixty-two years and that every year has been a happy year. Then I tell her about our children and grandchildren.

On a typical morning, she doesn’t display any recognition or enthusiasm for what I’ve told her. This morning was different. As I talked, she didn’t say a word; however, her smile showed that she understood what I was telling her and was delighted.

This follows another similar experience that happened one afternoon this past week when we went out for her daily ice cream. That, too, was an occasion when I spoke to her about our dating, marriage, and wonderful times we have had. In this case, she spoke as well as smiled to communicate her pleasure. I could not understand what she said, but it was clear that she enjoyed what I told her.

I can’t predict what the rest of the day will be like, but we are off to a great start, and it is quite possible we will share more “Happy Moments” together.

February 16, 2026February 16, 2026

“Little Things Mean A Lot”

In 1954, Kitty Kallen‘s “Little Things Mean a Lot” was number one on the charts, selling over 1 million copies. I was 14 at the time, and I don’t think I really understood the meaning and relevance of the song’s message. Now that I’m closing in on 86, it means much more to me.

Kate and I have lived well throughout our marriage. In fact, I’d say it’s been a joyful adventure. That was true even during the early stages of her Alzheimer’s. Early on, we decided to enjoy life and each other for as long as we were able. We did that by binging on all the things we had enjoyed before Alzheimer’s. That meant going to movies, theatrical and musical events, eating out, and traveling. During the first 10 years, we ate out for lunch and dinner more than 6000 times. We also attended many musical and theatrical events not only in Columbia, our hometown, but also in cities within a two-hour drive.

Travel also played an important role in our lives. We went on a safari in Tanzania, where we got a close look at lions, elephants, zebras, and other wild animals we had only seen in zoos. We swam with iguanas, turtles, and other marine life in the Galapagos Islands, and on our last international trip in 2015, we paraglided off a mountain in Switzerland where we turned a somersault on the way down.

Those days came to an end in 2020 after Kate had a traumatic experience during eight days in the hospital with COVID. She’s been in the last stage of Alzheimer’s ever since. Before that, our world was very large. Today, it is very small. Our biggest daily events are going downstairs for ice cream at 3:30 and having dinner at 4:30.

In addition, we have great times when we are alone. Sometimes that happens in the morning when she wakes up early and is in a talkative mood. More often, it happens at night. We talk while watching music videos on YouTube. Our biggest surprise is that while our world is much smaller now than in the early stages of the disease, we have found ways to live joyfully.

We’ve learned to enjoy the little things. Best of all is simply being together. Every morning when she wakes up, I remind her that our first date was to a performance of Handel’s “Messiah,” and that we enjoyed it, but being together was the highlight of the evening. That is still the case today. I often refer to those times as “Happy Moments”. We’ve had quite a few of those in the past week. One of those days, she woke up at 6:30 in the morning, cheerful and talkative. That continued until she went to sleep that night. The other days were not as spectacular, but they, too, were punctuated with Happy Moments. Kitty Kallen was right. “Little Things Mean A Lot”. My perspective has changed significantly since I first heard that song.