Posted on

Our 59th Anniversary

Kate and I celebrated our 59th wedding anniversary on May 31 last week. We gave up giving presents to each other many years ago. We concentrate on sharing special experiences together. That has often involved travel. Alzheimer’s ended that, but we always seem to find other ways to celebrate by being together. This anniversary week brought us an abundance of joyful moments.

It was highlighted by several particular events. One of those happened a week ago Saturday afternoon. I had just returned from lunch. Kate was resting in her recliner. I pulled up a chair beside her and started playing some of our favorite songs. For almost an hour, we held hands as we listened to the music. She closed her eyes, smiled, and ran her fingers over my hand. We forgot all that is going on in the world around us and enjoyed the music and being together.

Another happened on the following Tuesday, the day of our anniversary. I’ve looked forward to this for some time and have reminded Kate frequently over the past few weeks. She couldn’t remember, of course, but I hoped that my reminders might ring a bell when I wished her a Happy Anniversary. It was National Smile Day, and she smiled all day long. She was awake early, more alert, and more talkative. The following day was similar, so the day after she needed to rest and did so pretty much all day. She bounced back the next day.

Another thing made the week an especially good one. We had a new caregiver (Regina) Monday through Thursday. She had been with us one other time for just a couple of hours, and I had been impressed with the way she related to Kate. She sang and talked with her. That was most unusual. We’ve had only two or three others that I know have taken the time to connect with her.

Last week, she was here for four 8-hour days. At first, it looked like Kate was a little unsure of her, but on the third day, I got a surprise. I had been working on my computer in another room when I took a break to check on her. Regina had pulled up a chair beside Kate’s recliner, and they were holding hands. She told me that Kate had initiated the contact. It was a beautiful thing to see. Kate seemed perfectly comfortable with her. It reminded me of the way she relates to me.

There were more good times throughout the weekend. Kate had an especially joyful experience with music on Saturday. We had just returned to the apartment after an early dinner. I turned on one of her favorite albums by the Susquehanna Chorale. It includes songs like ”Loch Lomond,” “Danny Boy,” “Shenandoah,” ”Swing Low, Sweet Chariot,” and “Deep River.” She attempted to mouth the words of the songs and moved her head with the rhythm of the music. She was deeply moved by the music. I took pictures of her response along with several videos that I passed along to our family. It’s hard for me to express how wonderful it is for me to see her so happy. Music continues to be a powerful source of pleasure and therapy for both of us.

My expectations for our anniversary celebration were not high, but it was a week punctuated with joyful moments. “Living with Alzheimer’s” is not easy, but moments like those we experienced last week lift our spirits and sustain us during more challenging times. I am very grateful.

Posted on

An Amazing Day

Twelve weeks ago today, Kate suffered a mild stroke. I’m glad to say that she continues to recover although her speech has not returned to its pre-stroke level. She doesn’t speak much at all. When she does, it is not usually intelligible. Most of her speech is in stock phrases or words like “Fine, how are you?” or “Yes, I am.” Sometimes she speaks words in a whisper. That is especially true when we sing together. She really just mouths the words.

Not every day is alike. That has been true during the past three or four years as she moved to the late stages of Alzheimer’s. Throughout this time, I have written about many of our good days. This past Saturday was one of those. It was exciting for me, our caregiver, and the residents and staff who had contact with her.

Let me put that in perspective. Three years ago, I might have said it was a great day. That would probably have related to how cheerful she had been. She can no longer do many of the things she could do then; however, within the context of our lives now, yesterday was truly amazing. It wasn’t that she was just cheerful. She was more alert. Most importantly, she seemed at ease.

It started out much like other mornings. She was awake early but didn’t say a word and went back to sleep. I took my morning walk in the living room. When I finished, I noticed her eyes were open. I thought she might be “up” for the day, but she was tired and rested until the caregiver came shortly afternoon when I left for lunch.

When I returned home, Kate was in her recliner. I walked over and got on my knees beside her. She was alert and gave me a big smile. For the next thirty minutes, I talked to her. I told her how much I liked her smile and that everyone else does as well. I reminded her of our college days, our first date, and some of the experiences we had had during our marriage. She didn’t say much, but it was more than I have heard in months. She made it clear that she understood what I was saying. The caregiver and I were excited.

We went downstairs for our afternoon ice cream and ran into several residents who spoke to her. Each time, she responded with a smile and a word or two. The residents seemed excited as well. She continued to respond to both staff and residents at dinner. Some of them had never heard her speak.

After the caregiver left that night, we had the best evening we’ve had since before her stroke. We have been watching music videos on YouTube for four or five years now, so I’m always looking for new ones. I don’t know what prompted me, but I did a search for TCU’s school song, our alma mater. I found multiple variations sung at football games, a student jazz group, a chorus of music students, and the university band. We lay in bed singing along with them. We had a good time, and Kate laughed a good bit.

When I felt it was time to move on, I brought up a 2012 BBC PROMS concert that was a two-hour performance of Broadway music. We have watched it a number of times before, but Kate was especially attentive that night. For much of that time, my head was on her shoulder, and we held hands. It was a perfect end to an amazing day.

Posted on

Sad Moments Accompany Happy Moments During Kate’s Recovery

Kate’s stroke occurred just over a month ago, and we are beginning to get a better idea of its more enduring effects. Her doctor is encouraged and thinks she may regain 80% of the abilities she had before. I think she has accomplished close to that right now. Almost every day, we see signs of improvement, so I’m not ready to say she has peaked.

After the first four days when she slept, we have gotten her out of bed every day except one or two. We only missed one week taking her to dinner in the dining room. We also added the afternoon visit to the café where she gets ice cream.

On the other hand, she is not like she used to be. That is reflected in several ways. Her energy level is much lower now. She has always been slow to get going in the morning, but she is sometimes like that until close to dinner though it is more typical that she perks up around three or four in the afternoon. Along with that, she seems to have more moments that trouble her on and off during the day.

She doesn’t talk as much. Previously, she would talk periodically during the day and even at night while she was sleeping. Since the stroke, she has had only a couple of moments like that. One of those occurred at dinner the other night. The caregiver and I were excited to see that. When she speaks, she often does so in a whisper that makes it hard to hear her. In addition, much of what she says is unintelligible.

In some ways, these changes are relatively minor. We were seeing signs of them before the stroke; however, the changes are more severe now.  It makes me think of our visits with Ellen, Kate’s best friend, whose stroke left her with aphasia. We made monthly visits with her, and it became very difficult to understand her. Aphasia also requires much more of the person speaking. In Ellen’s case, she could acknowledge hearing what you said and partially convey what she wanted to say. Kate remains silent much of the time. I miss hearing her voice.

For a long time, our evenings have been the best part of the day. Now, she is very tired when we put her in bed and frequently sleeps through until the morning. I continue to play music videos on YouTube with the hope that she might wake up and enjoy them with me. Sometimes that happens, but, more often than not, it doesn’t.

Finally, she has more moments when she doesn’t appear to know me or feel comfortable with me. She just looks perplexed. I interpret these moments as times when she doesn’t know where she is, who she is with, or who she is.

I’ve always known this was coming, but it’s been doing so gradually. The stroke has brought about a more abrupt downturn.

Let me close on a positive note. We still experience Happy Moments. They are just fewer in number and shorter in duration. When they occur, they are very special and lift my spirits tremendously.

Posted on

Kate is Making Progress, But Life is Not the Same.

As I’ve said before, I’m encouraged by the progress Kate has made since her stroke almost three weeks ago. She is awake more. She’s beginning to use her right arm again. Her eyes no longer appear to be frozen to the left. We have taken her to the dining room seven times, and Wednesday we took her for ice cream, (As it turned out, the freezer was down, so there was no ice cream, but she ate a muffin.) I’m amazed at how well she is doing. I also recognize that recovery is a process. She is likely to improve even more in the days or weeks ahead.

Nevertheless, Kate’s stroke is having a significant impact on us. Like her original Alzheimer’s diagnosis and her hospital experience with COVID, it is another challenge in our journey, “Living with Alzheimer’s.”

Several signs suggest the stroke might push her several steps further along this road. One is that she is less emotionally expressive than before. This is most noticeable when we are getting her dressed and in and out of bed. That makes it easier for the caregiver, but Kate has lost a little spark that we respected. In many ways, it seemed appropriate for her to protest.

She is also more neutral in her verbal and facial expressions. She smiles, but her big smiles occur less often. The good news is that she has another smile with her lips closed that I find endearing.

You’ve heard me say many times that she often awakes in the morning without knowing where she is, what she is supposed to do, and even who she is. That experience still occurs, but it seems that she’s more placid in her response rather than being puzzled or afraid.

Along with these things, there are more times when she doesn’t know who I am although she almost always senses she can trust me or does so within a reasonably short time.

I’m particularly concerned about her speech. Although her aphasia made it hard for her to communicate, we were able to converse. It is much harder now, not because I can’t understand what she says. It’s largely because she speaks so little, even when asked a simple question like “Would you like something to drink.” I have a litany of things I say to her about our dating, marriage, children, grandchildren, and travel. They often bring smiles and comments. That isn’t as true now.

I’m very happy to say that we continue to have our Happy Moments. A couple of mornings ago, she was awake early, and I took advantage of that opportunity to spend more time with her. I put on some music I thought she would like, but she didn’t show much interest. I shifted gears to see if I could perk up her spirits.

I put on an album of 100 children’s songs that I had downloaded several years ago when she was disturbed about something after waking from a nap. It saved us that day, and we sang together for at least thirty minutes. She quickly forgot about whatever had disturbed her. I’ve used that album periodically since then, but it had been a long time. I discovered it still works.

It was different this time because she doesn’t speak much. She tried, however, by mouthing the words. She’s good at following the rhythm. It didn’t take her long before I could see expressions of happiness on her face. She got a special kick out of “If You’re Happy and You Know It.” I stood at her bedside singing, clapping, stomping, and saying “Amen” when called for.

That night we had another Happy Moment. We’ve always had great evenings, but the stroke has made those different. Sometimes, she goes to sleep right after the caregiver leaves. Often, she doesn’t wake until the next morning. That particular night she woke up after an hour or so, and I turned to YouTube and selected a series of songs that I know she likes. I caught her at a good time. For over an hour, we held hands and enjoyed the music. Off and on, I talked to her about our marriage and children. She didn’t say much, but she said a lot with her facial expressions.

Yesterday afternoon, I didn’t have any special plans except a brief visit to the grocery store. I spent the extra time with Kate even though the caregiver was here. I pulled up a chair beside her recliner and talked with her. At first, she wasn’t in the mood for conversation. As I spoke, she loosened up a bit. We spent almost two hours together. She dozed off and on, and I did most of the talking, but she was very responsive with her smiles and facial expressions. We both had a great time.

The other day when we were out, the woman in the apartment next to us stopped to visit for a few minutes. She spoke to Kate who didn’t respond. Our neighbor commented that she missed her smile. Me, too, but they haven’t disappeared altogether. And moments like those described above give me an emotional boost and hope that we’ll have more of those to come in the days ahead.

Posted on

Making Progress and Speculating on the Future

It’s been a little over a week since Kate’s stroke. Although it was a mild one, it has made its presence felt. Clearly, she is making progress. The first four days she was asleep. Her doctor had told us to expect that. On Monday, she was awake almost all day with a few short rests in between. Between Friday and Monday, she was more alert and made a little effort to speak.  Tuesday was more of a day of rest.

She has continued to eat and drink well, and she hasn’t lost her smile. Music also retains its appeal. She often moves her body (feet, hands, or head) to the rhythm. and attempts to mouth the words.

I contacted her doctor on Monday and asked when we might get her out of bed. He said to use our best judgment. He also indicated that getting her out of bed would be good for her. The next day we got her into her recliner for the afternoon. That went very well. She rested most of that time, but it was good to see her dressed and out of bed.

Yesterday was an especially good day. Our regular caregiver had a doctor’s appointment, so we had two different people come in, each for two hours. The first was very experienced, and we were able to get Kate up and dressed and in her recliner. The second one was a person who had been with us two times before. She has a special touch with her clients. She immediately pulled up a chair beside Kate’s recliner and started talking to her. I made a trip to the grocery store. When I returned, I was surprised to see she was still sitting by her, and they were actually having a conversation. Most of what Kate said was unintelligible, but the caregiver was able to converse anyway. It reminded me of the way she and I converse.

When our regular caregiver arrived to take her place, we decided it was time to try taking Kate to dinner in the dining room. We agreed that if we encountered any problem along the way, we would come back to the apartment. It turned out that wasn’t necessary. We had brief conversations with other residents as we entered and left the dining room as well as at our table during the meal. Everyone spoke to Kate, and she responded remarkably well.

Despite how well she is doing, I can’t help wondering about the long-term consequences. The stroke affected her right arm and leg. She also has a slight droop on the right side of her mouth that has an effect on her speech. Initially, her right arm was totally limp. She can now move her arm a little although she strongly favors her left. I am hopeful that she will continue to improve.

I am less optimistic about her speech. She was already experiencing aphasia as a result of her Alzheimer’s. The stroke itself has had its own impact. Although she sometimes says a few words very clearly, her speech is more garbled now. She also speaks far less than she did before the stroke.

What is most important to me is that the Kate I’ve always known shines through it all. On Saturday, I was sitting up in bed beside her while we played music videos on YouTube. She was moving her head to the music of an Irish instrumental group. I leaned over and told her I loved her. Then I said, “You’re the greatest. You’re my Kate.” She smiled and said, “Yes, I am.” After five days with little attempt at speaking, those were three beautiful words to me.

About seven o’clock on Valentine’s morning, I noticed her eyes were open. I walked to her bedside and took her hand. She pulled my hand to her lips and kissed it. Yesterday afternoon, I told her I loved her and said, “I’d like to give you a kiss.” She puckered up, and I did.

Regardless of what happens in the days ahead, I think, “Our Love is Here to Stay.”

Posted on

More Special Moments

I don’t want to sound like the proverbial “broken record,” but Kate continues to be happy and to provide me with special moments. Knowing that this may not always be the case in the future, I guess I want to make a point of how well things are going right now.

Yesterday was a very good day. Kate was awake early, just before 8:00, and I spent the morning with her. When I returned from Rotary, she was still cheerful and talkative. She was glad to see me, and we talked a lot between then and our afternoon ice cream break.

It was after dinner when the first special moment occurred. It was the birthday of one of her childhood friends from Texas. I suggested we call her. Kate doesn’t usually express much interest in phone calls, but she thought it was a good idea. With most phone calls, she doesn’t say much. I’m always prepared to do what I can to prompt her and did some of that yesterday. The big surprise was how well she did. Not everything she said was understandable or made sense, but she was able to express her feelings toward her friend and convey how much she enjoyed talking with her.

That had gone so well that I decided to call one of her other childhood friends. She wasn’t home, so we left a message. I began the message by telling her that we were sorry to miss her and would try to call another time. Then I talked to Kate about her friend and gave her several prompts like, “I’m sorry we didn’t get to speak with her. That would have been nice, wouldn’t it?” To which she replied, “Wonderful.” It wasn’t a lengthy message, but once again, Kate rose to the occasion. I feel sure her friend will want to keep that message for a long time.

I couldn’t stop then. I recalled that a cousin of hers had recently asked me to call anytime Kate was up to it. This seemed like a great time, and it was. We talked for 10 minutes, and Kate was an active participant. By this time, what she said was more rooted in delusions, but I know her cousin understood and appreciated every word. It was a great conversation for all three of us.

After that call, we still had time before we needed to get Kate ready for bed, so I put on the album that mesmerized her when I played it a few weeks ago. It had the same effect this time. It was a very touching moment for both of us. She sang along with the music. That involved mostly whispering her own approximations of the lyrics but in sync with the rhythm of each song. We held hands for most of that time and, at one point, she took my hand and held it tightly in both of hers. Although much is lost with Alzheimer’s, both of us enjoy keeping romance alive. I am grateful.

Posted on

The Good Times Continue

I’m far from predicting what the future holds for us in 2022, but I know that 2021 ended well and that the first two weeks of the new year have been filled with good times. I don’t mean every moment is the way I would want, but I am amazed at how comfortable Kate has become. The best way I can approach an understanding of the change is to resort to the most important lesson I’ve learned while “Living with Alzheimer’s.” It’s something I picked up from The Dementia Handbook by Judy Cornish. She maintains that all is not lost with dementia. People living with dementia lose their rational thought processes or abilities, but they retain their intuitive thought or abilities. Rational thought involves our ability to remember names, places, events, and processes (how to do things). Intuitive thought involves our ability to experience the world directly through our senses.

People with dementia can still appreciate what they see, hear, taste, touch, or smell. Our senses open the door to many everyday pleasures. We’re at the end of a year of major changes in our lives (COVID and moving from our home to a retirement community), I believe Kate has grown accustomed to the daily routine of our lives. She senses that the things that frightened her before aren’t so bad at all.

This is apparent in two ways. First, she no longer experiences fright or anger when we bathe her, change her, dress her, or get her out of bed and into her recliner or wheelchair. Increasingly, she accepts the bumps that occur when we push her wheelchair over thresholds or minor changes in levels of the surfaces of floors in the hallways of our buildings.

Second, she is more comfortable with other residents and staff we meet when we leave the apartment. She is more likely to respond to them when they greet her or ask how she is doing. The caregivers and I were stunned at first but are getting used to hearing her say, “Fine, how are you?” One afternoon this week a resident passed by while we were getting ice cream. Kate was facing me with her back to him when I said, “Hi, Richard.” Kate, who doesn’t know him at all, said, “How ya doing, Richard?”

Shortly after that, another resident stopped and talked with us. At one point, she said she was thinking about going somewhere. Kate, who I thought was not listening to our conversation, said, “Let’s go right now.”

Mornings represent the greatest challenge for Kate. The toughest days are those when her mind is blank. She doesn’t know who she is, who I am, where she is, or what she is supposed to do. Fortunately, those don’t occur every morning. More typically, she is simply not fully awake. At these times, she may or may not remember my name or relationship. Most days, she doesn’t want to talk much.

In the same way (via her senses) she has learned over the past year that she doesn’t need to be afraid of everything, each day she also gradually seems to feel more comfortable with her surroundings and the people she is with. She is almost always at ease when it’s time for ice cream around 3:30. She enjoys her dinner and is usually quite comfortable and happy.

The evening is still the best time of the day for us. It’s just the two of us. Kate is often tired after the caregiver leaves around 6:30 and sometimes rests for as long as an hour. That’s my time to watch the news and take my shower. She’s usually awake after that, and we watch YouTube videos until time to turn out the lights. It’s a very special time for us. It’s a moment in the day when each of us expresses our love for the other. It’s not stretching at all to say it’s romantic.

So, I continue to feel good as we begin the new year. Of course, I don’t have any idea of what lies ahead, but I’m satisfied that we have made the most of our time together while “Living with Alzheimer’s.” I expect we’ll continue to do that regardless of what happens.

Posted on

Feeling Thankful

This Thanksgiving I feel grateful for many things, but at the top of the list are all the special moments that Kate and I continue to share. That doesn’t mean everything is the way I would like. Kate’s day of obsessive talking last week was an unwelcomed disruption in a string of three good weeks. As noted in other posts, times like that makes me wonder if we are in for more of the same in the future. I won’t have an answer to that for a while, but I am thankful that each day since has been much better. I am particularly happy that our evenings after the caregiver is gone are almost always special.

What makes them special is that Kate is more relaxed. In fact, we’re both more relaxed. Most people who have had an opportunity to be with her in the last year or so would have difficulty imagining how natural she sounds. Only her delusions and aphasia prevent my understanding everything that she says. Apart from that, our conversations are like those we had before Alzheimer’s entered our lives.

I might even describe our evenings as romantic. It’s not like we were newlyweds, but we’re able to express our love for each other in a way that is just as meaningful. Touch has become much more important to Kate at this stage of her Alzheimer’s. She often reaches for my hand and runs her fingers up and down between my fingers. She also likes to run her fingers over the palm of my hand and along my forearm. Evenings like this are even more special at the end of a day when we have experienced more troublesome moments.

But it’s not just our evenings that are special. During any given day there are bright spots. One of those occurred last night after we returned from dinner. We had almost an hour and a half before the caregiver was to leave. Normally, we might sit out on the balcony for a while, but it was a little too chilly for us. We stayed inside, and we had just put up our Christmas decorations. I decided we needed some Christmas music and played a large portion of Handel’s Messiah. It holds a special place in our lives. Sixty-years ago next month, we went to a performance of it on our first date.

Kate was in a good mood and talkative but not obsessively so. As the music played in the background, Kate and I talked for almost an hour. Although what she said was filled with delusions, she asked me questions and answered my questions. Like some other conversations we have, they involved something that Kate was planning and wanted my help making decisions. We both expressed our opinions. Through it all, she was very calm, never agitated. She just wanted to be careful about what she was planning and wanted my thoughts.

I suspect this doesn’t seem special to most people, but to me it was. The difference, of course, is that I see it in a context that is different from those who are not living with Alzheimer’s. One of the things that those of us caring for spouses miss the most is conversations with our loved ones; therefore, I treasure them whenever they occur. Such moments don’t happen every day, but I am grateful that they are far from rare.

There is no denying that Kate is able to do far less now than at any time since her diagnosis almost eleven years ago. She lives in a world that is much smaller now, but I am grateful that she can still enjoy life and am optimistic that we will continue to enjoy life and each other for some time to come.

Wishing you and yours a Happy Thanksgiving.

Posted on

Music Is Still One of the Best Tools in My “Caregiver’s Toolbox”

Periodically, I’ve talked about my “Caregiver’s Toolbox” and the fact that caring for Kate requires a lot of different tools to meet the variety of problems we encounter. I’ve also noted that some of these tools no longer work as well as they did in the past. In particular, photo albums don’t have the same appeal they did for years. One of those I can still count on much of the time is music. The pleasure of music continues to lift Kate’s spirits and provide many hours of enjoyment for both of us.

Since her diagnosis 10½ years ago, I’ve called on music to address specific problems. The first time occurred in the early days when I rushed her as we were getting ready to attend a concert by our local symphony orchestra. She had a panic attack and hadn’t fully recovered when we left the house. As soon as we were in the car, I turned on the second movement of the Brahms Violin Concerto. It’s a very peaceful adagio that runs just over 10 minutes. Kate was calm before it ended. That experience led me to create a short playlist of the second movements of the Brahms, Tchaikovsky, and Mendelssohn violin concertos for use on other occasions.

Several years ago, Kate was uneasy after awaking from a short nap on the sofa in our family room. I was seated across from her and went over to see what I could do to help. After an unsuccessful attempt to calm her, I started to sing a children’s song, the name of which I no longer remember. That seemed to bring a brief smile to her face, but my memory of songs escaped me. I took my phone out of my pocket and searched for albums of children’s songs on Google. I found one with 100 songs and downloaded them to my phone. For the next 30-40 minutes, we sang songs like “Polly Wolly Doodle,” “Old McDonald Had a Farm,” “The Bear Went Over the Mountain,” “If You’re Happy and You Know It,” and many others. The crisis was over in no time.

As I was about to go to sleep earlier this week, Kate had a delusion like many others she has had in the past. She was worried about someone she believed was coming to see us. She couldn’t stop talking about it. I tried to reassure her by telling her I would help her and that I had everything worked out, but that didn’t do the trick. I leaned upon music to help me. Lying beside her with my head on her shoulder, I began to softly sing “Edelweiss.” Then I hummed it again. I followed that by humming “Nearer My God to Thee.” My next step was to start a search for both of these songs to play on my audio system. Before I could do that, she had stopped talking. She was calm and drifted off to sleep. Music had come to the rescue once more.

There are many other examples of the ways in which music has enriched our lives. I don’t know how long this will last, but I’m optimistic that it will be important to us the rest of our lives.

Posted on

“Happy Moments” Make for “Happy Days”

Almost all of our “Happy Moments” are unplanned. That’s part of what makes them special. One of those occurred the other morning when I was giving Kate her meds in a cup of strawberry and banana yogurt, a favorite of hers. After her last bite, she began to whistle. (She’s hasn’t been a whistler until the past 6-12 months when she began whistling to express her happiness.)

One of my many quirks is that I often hum, whistle, or sing softly without being quite aware of doing so. In this case, I began to whistle “Let Me Call You Sweetheart.” She expressed her pleasure with a smile. It doesn’t take much encouragement for me to break into song, and I sang the song to her. Spurred on by her pleasure, I whistled “Old Man River” and followed by singing it.

She was enjoying the music so much that I put on an album of children’s songs I downloaded 3-4 years ago when she was disturbed about something. Since that time, I have periodically used it for entertainment, not to solve a problem. We spent the next 20-30 minutes listening and sometimes singing songs like the “Alphabet Song,” “If You’re Happy,” and “The Bear Went Over the Mountain.”

When we finished, Kate was ready to rest, but it was another unanticipated “Happy Moment” that didn’t require any planning or great musical talent. Just two people connecting through music that added an extra measure of happiness to our day.

Some might say, “What’s so special about that?” John Zeisel answers that in his book, I’m Still Here: A Breakthrough Approach to Understanding Someone Living with Alzheimer’s. He points out that too often we treat people living with dementia like “patients” rather than as “people.” We need to accept and appreciate their capabilities that last long after the diagnosis. It’s possible to maintain positive relationships with our loved ones with dementia through many things like photos and music that have been very important to Kate and me. This particular “Happy Moment” illustrates how we are able to continue to enjoy life and each other. May it always be so.