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Managing Stress

Because Kate and I have lived joyfully while “Living with Alzheimer’s, one might think that stress is not an issue for me. That would be wrong. The only time I have been relatively free of stress was in the first few years after her diagnosis. At that time, the key stressor was juggling my responsibilities between Kate and my dad who was in skilled nursing. Since then, stress has gradually increased.

Since Kate’s diagnosis 12 ½ years ago, I’ve learned a number of things about stress and how to deal with it. One of those is that it is impossible to avoid. It’s a natural part of caring for someone with dementia. The best I can do is to find ways to manage it.

In the early days, that was easy. Shortly after Kate’s diagnosis, we decided that we would enjoy life and each other for as long as possible. That simple decision led to our binging on the things we had enjoyed throughout our marriage – movies, theater, musical events, eating out, and travel. Pleasure was a central part of our lives and helped both of us minimize stress.

As Kate’s Alzheimer’s progressed, I needed to spend more time with her and felt less comfortable leaving her alone. At the same time, stress was increasing. That led to my engaging in-home care three years after her diagnosis. For a little more than three years, we had help four hours a day for three days a week. That gave me time to run errands and get to the YMCA for exercise.

The past two and a half years, she has required total care. That resulted in my increasing our in-home care to eight hours a day seven days a week. Despite that, my responsibilities increased significantly, and that was accompanied by more stress. Fortunately, I’ve been able to manage it pretty well,

I put a high priority on a healthy lifestyle. Except for my days in graduate school and the first few years I taught, my adult life has involved exercise. Since Kate’s diagnosis, I have needed it more. I used to work out at the YMCA three mornings a week. I stopped when I felt I could no longer leave Kate alone in the morning. That is when I took up walking every day. After our move to a life plan retirement community, I replaced walking for workouts in our wellness center downstairs. I get up between 4:30 and 5:00 five days a week and do stretching exercises for 25-30 minutes before going to the wellness center. I ride the seated elliptical for fifty minutes averaging a little over eight miles a day.

I have also taken up deep breathing. I do that periodically each day including the time I am exercising. I’ve made a number of other lifestyle changes that are helpful. One of those is to avoid rushing. I realized that I was rushing to get to the gym as well as going about my daily household chores like fixing breakfast, washing, folding, and putting away laundry. That doesn’t make much sense now that I am retired. I deliberately began to slow down as I go about my daily routine. In addition, I take breaks during the day and have reduced my emailing, activity on social media, and writing blog posts  

I pay attention to my diet. I maintain a high-protein, low-carb diet with an abundance of fish, vegetables, and recently, nuts and fruit. Sleep is also important to me. Fortunately, Kate sleeps through the night. That enables me to get between 7 and 7 ½ hours sleep.

By far the most effective way I have found to deal with stress is to be as socially active as I can. I do this in a variety of ways.

I follow a daily schedule that includes contact with other people than Kate and our caregivers. That is a lot easier now that we are in a retirement community. Three days a week, I eat lunch in a café downstairs. I don’t think I have eaten alone more than once or twice since we moved here. The other four days of the week I eat off the grounds. One of those days is with my Rotary club. The other three days, I eat alone; however, I eat in restaurants where I have eaten for several years and know some of the staff, and I frequently run into friends.

Our afternoon and evening routine includes 30-40 minutes at a café on the grounds where Kate has ice cream. It is also a time to run into other residents, and most of them stop to chat for a few minutes. In addition, we eat dinner in the dining room five nights a week and in a café downstairs the other two nights. These provide additional opportunities for Kate and me to engage in additional contact with residents and staff. That is good for both of us.

Part of my weekly routine is getting together with friends for coffee. Every Friday, I meet a friend who worked for me ten years before using his computer skills to launch out on his own. We have kept up ever since he left. I meet with another group every Saturday. All three were neighbors before our move two and a half years ago. One of them recently moved to our retirement community.

I stay in contact by phone and/or email with longtime friends and family. This includes my undergraduate sociology professor and mentor who turns 101 in September. I also stay in touch with four other college friends as well as three grammar school friends.

I maintain relationships with several organizations with which I have been involved for many years. Those include the United Way, Rotary, our church, our local symphony orchestra, and a local health foundation.

Apart from these social connections, I participate in three different caregiver support groups. One of those is a group for husbands taking care of their wives with dementia. Another is a mixed group of husbands and wives who are caring for a spouse with dementia. The third group is a group of husbands and wives caring for spouses with any illness that requires regular care. The first group meets twice a month. The other two meet once a month.

Of course, the most important stress-relieving relationship I have is with Kate. Some readers may be surprised that I can say that at this late stage of her Alzheimer’s. To be sure, we don’t relate in many of the ways we could before Alzheimer’s entered our lives, but not a day goes by without our having “Happy Moments.” They serve as the best stress reducer I can find. I savor every “Happy Moment” I have with her. I can’t eliminate stress, but I have a lot of things that help me manage it as effectively as possible. I am grateful.

Addendum

I thought I had finished this post yesterday morning, but since then I have had three different experiences I would like to add. Each one involves a “Happy Moment” with Kate. The first occurred yesterday just before leaving for lunch. She was smiling, and I told her what a beautiful smile she has. Then I said, “And you are beautiful. I love you.” The expression on her face changed immediately as she almost broke into tears. I can’t say precisely what that meant, but to me, it was very touching to see her so moved.

The second one occurred after I got home. I walked over to her and kneeled beside her chair. I told her how happy I was to see her and how much I missed her while I was gone. She gave me a smile and whispered, “I love you.” That is a rare event. More typically, she expresses her feelings with her facial expressions as she did before I left.

The third occurred this morning. She was awake early and in a cheerful mood and talking. That doesn’t happen very often. She is usually very subdued and rarely speaks until the afternoon. On days like today, I sit up in bed beside her and enjoy being with her. We had a good conversation even though I couldn’t understand a word she said. The important thing was that we were connecting. It was a very special moment.

Each of these is a good example of the kinds of “Happy Moments” we experience on a daily basis. They don’t happen all day, but they occur often enough that they boost my spirits knowing that our relationship still means a lot to both of us.

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“It’s a Wonderful Life”

I often run into people who ask how Kate is doing. Frequently, that is followed by asking me how I’m doing. I’m on a high right now. As many other caregivers say about their loved ones, “When Kate is happy, I’m happy,” and she’s been happy much more over the past few months. She’s been unusually happy and talkative for at least three of the past five days.

Not every moment in a day is a “Happy Moment.” That doesn’t mean that the rest of the moments are sad. In fact, she never has a sad day. When she is not happy, she seems intimidated or unsure about how she should act or what she should say. Other times, her emotional expressions are quite neutral.

Her Happy Moments are often related to the people around her and what is going on, but it is common for her to sit quietly and just smile as she looks around the room. It makes me wonder what she sees or what she is thinking that makes her so happy. When I ask, I never get an answer, but it’s good to see her happy.

It’s not just her feeling happy that affects me. It’s also what she says or does when she is happy. She has been talking more with her caregiver. I love observing their conversations. This caregiver is the only one she has responded to in this way during the entire five years we have had in-home care. As noted in earlier posts, I believe one reason for this is Kate’s general adaption to our new home in a retirement community as well as recovering from her stroke; however, I give this particular caregiver equal credit. She has made a difference in both of our lives.

The success she has had with Kate is her personality. She is kind and caring. She’s a bit “low-key” but talkative and gets along well with other residents and staff. She is not intimidating, and that makes it easy for Kate to connect with her.

Although Kate is more cheerful and talkative, there is one general pattern that remains. She is quietest in the morning. She still rarely says anything before lunch. It can be as late as 3:30 in the afternoon when we go for ice cream and sometimes as late as dinner before she is ready for any social engagement. Kate occasionally breaks this pattern and is awake and smiling early in the morning and maintains her good spirits the entire day and evening.

My being upbeat relates to the fact that, recently, she has been cheerful almost every afternoon and evening. The only difference is when the cheerfulness begins.

Our evenings continue to be our best time together. I wouldn’t describe them as “cheerful.” They are simply times when each of us is completely at ease. Once in a while, she is quite talkative. Most of the time, she is not. She is just winding down as she gets ready to go to sleep. It’s the same way for me. It is clearly the most relaxing time of our day, and it’s made even better by sharing this quiet time together – always with music. At this time of the year, it seems appropriate to say, “It’s a Wonderful Life.”

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Tender Moments at Stage 7

Yesterday, I worked on a draft of a new post focusing on Kate at this stage of her Alzheimer’s. I haven’t finished, but we had an experience during the afternoon that I decided to tell you about first.

I often think of the fact that our relationship has changed so radically over the course of Kate’s Alzheimer’s. Many things that were a regular part of our lives are now gone, but love remains and makes itself known to each of us every day. One of the changes is that she no longer does things with the deliberate intent of making me feel happy.

When she does express her affection for me, and I don’t believe a day passes without her doing so, it is a simple, often non-verbal, expression of her love. That would not be enough for some people, but it is for me. The impact of simply reaching for my hand has great impact, something that would not have had the same value early in our relationship.

We had one of those experiences yesterday. The caregiver and I started to take her out for a stroll around the hallways and to get a milkshake when she became upset. She refused to put her feet on the footrests of the wheelchair. That not only makes it harder to push her, it runs the risk of twisting her feet and legs as she drags them on the floor. I suggested to the caregiver that we back off, give up the idea of going out, and just focus on calming her. She was sulking as we went out on the balcony.

I put on some music that I thought might calm her. Then I took her hand and spoke to her very gently. I expressed my love for her and talked about our falling in love in college, getting married and having children. I spent at least 30 minutes doing this without her displaying any change in mood. Then I said something she thought was funny. She smiled and laughed. I said, “I guess you think I’m a silly guy.” She responded quickly and firmly with a “No.” That opened the door for me to mention how much I like her smile.

We sat quietly for a few minutes while the music played. Then she looked at me while pulling her hands together and held them close to her chest as though she were trying to tell me something. She followed that by extending her hand to me. I reached out to take it, and she pulled it to her chest and held it tightly. We looked in each other’s eyes, and I said, “I love you. I always have. I always will.” It was a tender, yes, romantic moment, for both of us.

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Feeling Grateful in the New Year

Over the past year, I’ve experienced a number of different emotions, most of the them related directly or indirectly to the progression of Kate’s Alzheimer’s, but some, like COVID, have occurred for other reasons. The feeling I have right now is a sense of gratitude. Kate and I have been on the receiving end of the goodness of people throughout the past year. That has been especially so during our personal experience with the virus and its aftereffects.

It marked the first time I felt a critical and immediate need for help, and everyone responded in ways that exceeded my expectations. Much of that came from family and friends who have given me encouragement via phone calls, cards, and email. I’ve been particularly impressed with our healthcare professionals. They have played an enormous role since the middle of November when we tested positive.

I’ve always felt good about the geriatric practice with which Kate’s physician is associated. I kept her doctor, nurse, and social worker busy responding to my questions. They went out of their way to address the various issues we have faced, and I continue to rely heavily on them.

Although unable to be with Kate in the hospital, I had several phone conversations with her nurses and doctors each day. They were responsive to all my inquiries and gave me a sense that they were giving Kate the very best care. They were also sensitive to my own needs.

It was only after Kate’s return home that I had direct contact with anyone. They include the Home Health personnel (nurses, physical therapists, and a social worker). I’ve had confidence in each one. They are all experienced in their respective areas and possess the sensitivity one expects from someone who has chosen a career caring for others.

My closest contact, however, has been with the caregivers who have been here every day since Kate’s return home. Watching and working with them closely has confirmed what I thought when Kate entered the hospital; I was facing a caregiving task that I couldn’t handle by myself.

I like every person our two agencies have provided. We’ve had seven or eight new caregivers. Only one person was with us before. Their training and experience have enabled them to address all of Kate’s needs. I’ve learned a lot from them. When you add their compassionate care to their clinical strengths, they are an excellent team.

I should make a special point concerning how hard they work, not just for us but for the others they serve when they are not here. I believe all but one of them works at least one other job in addition to their work with the agency that provides them to us. It is not unusual for the Monday and Wednesday caregiver to come to us after working all night and/or leaving us for another all-nighter.

I was especially impressed with someone who was here last week. She has undergone open heart surgery, has MS, and has had a brain tumor. She has four different jobs. In addition, she has two children, one who is in college. Despite the difficulties she has faced, she is very upbeat and grateful. I’m sure she is an inspiration to everyone who knows her.

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Emotional Times

I always assumed that the last stage of Kate’s Alzheimer’s would involve sadness for me. That is happening now although it is only periodic. It is minimized by the many happy moments we continue to experience. In addition, there are times for which neither happy nor sad seems to be the right word. Those are tender moments when each of us feels a deep sense of love for the other as well as (at least on my part) the recognition that time is running out.

Sad moments for me occur when Kate is disturbed by her lack of memory and any sense of where she is or what she is supposed to do. Most of these experiences are in the morning and have become almost routine. I know how to comfort her, and most of them are not as serious as others. For that reason, I don’t usually feel sad.

Several days ago, she had an experience that was very upsetting to her and to me. It was definitely a sad moment and not one that happened in the morning. She had finished resting in the family room. I looked over at her and saw that her eyes were open. The expression on her face was one of concern. I asked if I could help her. She said yes, and I walked over to her. She wanted to go to the bathroom.

On the way, she continued to act as though something was troubling her. What I initially saw as concern wasn’t about getting to the bathroom. While seated on the toilet, she tilted her head down and held it with her hands. I don’t remember exactly what she said, but she was in tears and distraught. She said, “I feel like I am not alive. I don’t know anything.”

This was as sad a moment as I have felt. I focused on comforting her. I said, “I know you’re not yourself right now, but I want you to know I am with you and will always be with you.” When we finished in the bathroom, I took her to the family room where we took a seat on the sofa. I told her I had something I wanted to show her and picked up a three-ring binder of information about her and her family. I reminded her that she frequently asks me to “write that down for the book” she plans to write about her family and told her that the binder contained some of the information she had wanted.

She responded quickly. Offering comfort and diverting her attention are a powerful combination. I don’t know that it will always work, but, so far, it has.

Saturday morning, we shared a tender moment. I put on a Judy Collins album before trying to get her up. It was still playing when we got to the kitchen to take her morning pills before leaving for lunch. As usual, my focus was seeing that she took her medicine and wasn’t thinking about the music. Collins was singing “Amazing Grace.” The music caught Kate’s attention. She stopped taking her pills and commented on how beautiful it was. With tears in her eyes, she grasped my hand and held it tightly. I put my arms around her. She began to cry, and so did I. We stood there, arms wrapped around each other and enjoyed the moment.

As I reflect, I don’t believe either of us was simply responding to the music. Like many people, we love the song, but we have never reacted to it this way. I believe it was a catalyst that heightened our existing emotions. Music can do that. That may be especially true for us because we have devoted so much of our attention to it since Kate’s diagnosis.

This an emotional time for us. She is struggling with the symptoms of her Alzheimer’s. It is frightening not to know anything. It’s also an emotional time for me. I’m happy when she is happy, but the corollary is that I suffer when she suffers. In addition, I experience something she can’t. Although I can’t predict the future, but I am very mindful that our time together is rapidly diminishing. Music can move us anytime, but it is especially powerful when our emotions are on “high alert” as they are now. I am sure it will continue to bring us comfort in the days ahead.

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An Example of Kate’s Insight

Kate and I had an unusually good time at lunch yesterday. I commented on how relaxed she looked. She said she was, and I told her I was as well. Then I said, “I think that’s because we didn’t have to rush to get here.” I went on to say that I like to be punctual and am least relaxed when I am pressed for time. I don’t remember exactly what she said, but here is the meaning. “I like it that when you are in a hurry. You try not to make me think you are.” She knows me pretty well. Alzheimer’s hasn’t taken that away.

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Concerned About Not Doing What She Believes She Should

When Kate got in the shower yesterday morning, she got upset. At first, she was using the soap. I told her to use it. Then she got very teary and said , “Will you still love me?” I told her I loved her from the day the day we met and would always love her. She gradually calmed down .

As I was helping her into the car after lunch, she said she wanted to tell me something. Then she said, “You have told me a lot of things, but I know I won’t remember them. Promise me you won’t be mad at me?” I assured her that I wouldn’t get mad and was happy to tell her as many times as she needs to ask.  She said she knew I wouldn’t but some people would. She said, “I know you must get tired of me asking you all the time.” I found her concern about my reaction strange. I felt almost like she was afraid of me. It was hard for me to imagine that because it is so out of keeping with our relationship.

She went on to say something else but stumbled on the words. My interpretation was that she couldn’t understand why she has so many problems. I don’t know that I am correct though I do know this is an ongoing concern of hers. Earlier at Panera she wondered why she does so many “stupid things” when she is so smart. Periodically she talks about being smart. I think that is because she is aware of so many things she does that seem to contradict that. I don’t usually feel sad, but this is one of the things that does it. I don’t like to see her suffer.

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Feelings of Insecurity and Appreciation

Yesterday was another of those days when I noticed more signs of Kate’s decline. She was especially dependent and cooperative in getting up and dressing. She was so cooperative that she was dressed and ready for the sitter in half the time or less. That turned out to be good because it enabled us to make a quick trip to Applebee’s for a gift card that the sitter uses to pay for Kate’s meal each Monday.

It was also a morning when she didn’t recognize me as her husband. She didn’t act surprised when I told her. She also didn’t remember her family. As we left the bedroom, I gave her the usual tour of the family photos in the hallway. We also looked at a few other pictures in the family room. As we went to the car, she became teary and thanked me for helping her. She tried to say more, but the words wouldn’t come to her. She suggested that I could say them better. I don’t remember exactly what I said, but it was something like, “You want me to know how much you appreciate my help.” She nodded. She started to cry, and we stood a moment in the garage hugging each other. These moments are not unusual. They are times when our hugs communicate our strong feelings for each other, but I always wonder what else they might say. I know that on my part they say, “I know our time is running out. I want you to know that I love you and will care for you all the way.” Is she thinking about the seriousness of her own condition? That she is worried? That she is losing her ability to express her feelings? That she is afraid of the future? I just don’t know.

When Cindy arrived, I told Kate that the two of them would be going to lunch and that I was going to Rotary. She didn’t look uneasy about that, but she did say, “Why can’t we go to lunch together?” Then she gave me a look that suggested she thought I was deserting her. I walked over and gave her a hug and said, “I love you.” She said, “I love you too.”

After getting home, we spent a few minutes looking at one of her photo books. It wasn’t long, however, before she said she was tired and wanted to rest. I left the sofa to her and took a seat in a chair across from her. I put on an album of Barbra Streisand favorites. In a little while, I heard her whimpering. I told her that if I had known the music would make her sad, I would have played something else. She said, “No, I like it.” She wanted me to come back to the sofa and sit with her. We sat there enjoying the music for another fifteen minutes until it was time for dinner.

Today is starting the same way.  While working on this post at 8:00 this morning, I saw that she was sitting up in bed. I went back to her. She seemed to recognize me, but nothing was said to make me sure. I know that she was quite comfortable with me. I said, “I bet you wanted to go to the bathroom.” She said, “Where is it?” I said, “I’ll show you.” I helped her up. She didn’t try to assert her independence. She extended her hands for me to assist her. She continued to hold my hand on the way to the bathroom. She said, “You know, I am sure glad you’re here.” I told her I was glad too.

When she finished washing her hands (arms and face) and brushing her teeth, she looked around for a towel but didn’t see it. I took it from the towel rack beside her and handed it to her. She said, “I’m glad I have you. You always seem to know what to do and what to say.” Then she said, “What do I do now?” I told her it was still early and that she could go back to bed. She asked me to show her where to go and asked me to take her hand.

After she had gotten into bed, I told her I would be in the kitchen and to call me if she needed anything else. She appeared to be uneasy about that and asked where the kitchen was. I asked if she would like me to stay with her. She said she would, so I went to the kitchen and brought my laptop. When I got back, she said, “It means a lot to me that you’re here.” I said, “I think we were meant to be together.” She said, “Me, too.” She followed that with, “What’s your name?” I told her, and then she asked her name. A few minutes later, she asked my name again and where we were.

It could be another day of insecurity, but based on previous experience, she could be quite different when she finally gets up. I am getting a better appreciation of what I have heard from other caregivers about the difficulty predicting what comes next.

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A Successful Evening at Casa Bella with a Emotional Finale

Last night was Opera Thursday at Casa Bella. As I have said before, their music nights have been very important to us both from an entertainment standpoint as well as socially. Recently, however, I have been concerned because we often have six and sometimes eight people at our table. Large groups are difficult for Kate. She does much better when we are with one other couple. That has led me to think about the possibility of our moving to a table by ourselves. I haven’t mentioned that to the owner of the restaurant, and the last time we were there everything was fine. Last night was even better.

Our seating arrangement varies a little from night to night depending on the number of people at the table. The men have followed an unspoken rule that our wives sit on the side of the table facing the singers while we have our backs to them. I started to seat Kate where she sits most often. She asked where I was going to sit. I pointed to the seat across from hers and said, “I’ll be right there across from you.” She said, “I want you to sit beside me.” This is in keeping with her increasing insecurity and desire to be with me and to hold my hand. Not wanting to take the seat of the woman who would be joining us later, I helped her into the seat beside me on the other side of the table. That meant she couldn’t easily see the singers, I felt the priority was being closer together. That turned out to be a good thing for two reasons.

First, the son of the couple we always sit with was there. He took a seat at the end of the table with his mother on his right and Kate on his left. His father took the seat across from me. Although Kate can never remember the couple, she always feels comfortable with them. They are always able to put her at ease. This made for a good social experience for her.

The second reason the seating worked out well related to Kate’s response to the music. As I have noted a number of times, her emotions are exaggerated more than in the past. The music was especially good, and Kate responded accordingly. Most of the evening she didn’t respond audibly the way she sometimes does, but she was visibly moved.

The most dramatic moment came during the last song of the last set when they often sing a few ballads or showtunes. Last night they ended with “For Good” from Wicked. In the musical, this is a duet sung by Glinda and Elphaba who tell each other their lives have been changed for good by the other.

Although Kate has difficulty following conversations, I am often surprised when she responds to specific words or phrases in songs. She picks up far more than I expect. In this case, I believe she was moved by both the music and the lyrics. She began to whimper very soon and held my hand throughout the song. During the last couple of stanzas, she was moved even more. As the song ended, she put her head on my shoulder and her arm around my neck and broke into a cry. She wasn’t loud, but people nearby would have easily noticed. As we hugged, I saw a couple at the table beside us who were looking on. They are aware of Kate’s diagnosis and have been very compassionate in their response to her. When the program ended, they came over and gave her a hug.

For me it was also an emotional moment. I can’t know exactly what she was thinking. I do know that she recognizes she has “a problem” and that she needs me. I know she understands certain words and phrases from songs. Did she understand the words of the song and draw a connection to our relationship? Was she simply moved by the music and not the lyrics? I only know it was an very emotional moment.

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Does she know what lies ahead?

I don’t think I am alone among caregivers when I wonder exactly what Kate knows. By now I realize that she knows very little when it comes to her rational thought/abilities. Many times I have mentioned how often she can’t remember my name or our relationship. I take comfort in the fact that her intuitive thought/abilities are still working well. Through them she almost always recognizes me as someone very familiar and trusting.

For over a year, I have also realized that she no longer remembers that she has Alzheimer’s. At first, I wondered if I should tell her and, on one occasion, I did remind her. She hadn’t remembered, but she quickly forgot, and I haven’t said anything since. I haven’t see anything to be gained by it.

She has always recognized that she has problems and needs my help. It was only a year ago in July that she began to experience anxiety or panic over moments when she didn’t seem to know anything – where she was, who she is, who she was with. Within the past few weeks, I have sensed that she might believe that her problems were of a more serious nature, not just a periodic lapse of memory. Over the past week or two, she has said and done things that lead me to think that she knows she is declining and is afraid of what lies ahead.

Sometime in the past day and again today at lunch I felt strongly that she recognizes that through her intuitive thought. She was awake when I went to get her up for lunch. She didn’t seem frightened, but she was uneasy and insecure. She was especially eager for me to help her with everything. That follows signs of increasing insecurity and appreciation for my helping her during recent weeks.

At lunch, I said something about her mother and father. She wanted to know their names and something about them. When I said that her father was one of eight children, she said, “I know why.” I said, “Why?” She said, “Because in those days, they needed more children.” I was surprised that she came up with this and said, “You know, you are smart.” She beamed and said, “I think so too.” It was as though she was relieved to have me say that. Off and on she has said she is smart, but that has been more frequent recently. I have felt she was trying to convince herself that is true. It would be easy to think she is not given how poor her memory is and how little she is able to do.

During our conversation, she stopped and said, “I want to tell you something.” She looked very serious. I leaned closer to her. She said, “I know that you will always take care of me.” I said, “I will. You can count on that.” Her eyes filled with tears, and she said, “Thank you. I know you will.” I felt we were thinking similar thoughts about the future. There is no way I can be sure, but the look on her face made me think that.

I told her I loved her, and she said the same about me. We began to talk about our marriage, and I mentioned our children. She said, “Who are they?” I told her and she asked if I had a picture. I pulled out my phone and showed her pictures of Jesse and Kevin. She said, “Do you think they love us?” I said, “I know they do?” She choked back her tears.

In a few minutes, we got up to leave. She started whimpering and was loud enough that I saw people at two different tables look up. On the way to the exit she continued to cry softly. We stopped right there in the dining room and hugged for a moment and then went on.

I don’t know precisely what she is thinking, but she seems very concerned and doesn’t see a happy ending. I am glad she still knows that I will be with her all the way.