I’m trying to focus on work, but my mind keeps drifting back to Doug and our life together. Sometimes, it’s like that—a thousand little memories and feelings swirling around, impossible to ignore. Today, instead of fighting it, I’ve decided to lean into it.

Last week, I experienced one of the hardest moments on this journey with Doug. We were driving, and in that quiet space, he said something that broke my heart. I managed to stay composed in the moment, holding back the tears that wanted to come. If I’d let myself fall apart, he wouldn’t have understood why.

It wasn’t directed at me, so no worries there—Doug has always been kind, supportive, and loving. But what he said caught me off guard and stayed with me. It was one of those subtle yet monumental shifts that come with being both his wife and his care partner.

He probably doesn’t even remember saying it, but I’ll never forget. For a fleeting moment, I saw a rare glimpse into his feelings about his disease. Doug is a deeply stoic man—a “man’s man,” as I’ve always said. If you know him, you know.

Doug grew up in a small, quiet family of four with English and Swedish roots—reserved, proper, and composed. By contrast, I’m the youngest of five in a lively Irish Catholic family of seven. Those two sentences should explain it all! Somehow, even with our differences we built a life that fit together.

Doug has always been reserved in “talking about feelings” and now, with cognitive decline affecting his ability to communicate, patience has become more important than ever. 

For a woman who wants to “talk about feelings” this is one more of those character-building moments on this journey, I’m constantly adapting how I interact with him to match where he is on this path.  This was one of those moments where I had to suck it up, put a smile on my face, and go on. Believe me, that’s easier said than done most times. This time, it’s what I had to do. 

This journey isn’t easy, but it’s grounded in love. With each passing day, I’m reminded that grace, patience, and acceptance are the greatest gifts I can give him. And in return, even as words slip away and moments grow quieter, I still feel the love we’ve built—and that’s more than enough. The cruelty and blessing of the disease