June 10, 1967

Forty-four years ago we were married at Christ the Teacher Chapel (appropriate for two teachers-t0-be) in DeKalb, Illinois. Bob doesn't remember our wedding now, but that's ok. I do. We had a grand time, we celebrated with family and friends, my Dad walked me down the aisle, I saw the smile on Bob's face when he saw me and suspect I looked as happy. It was lovely.
Memories are good and because someone we care about can't recall doesn't mean we should put them away. We must embrace who we have been and who we have become.

In an odd turn of events, my husband's roommate at the care facility (an even younger victim of this terrible disease at barely 50) is the father of two young men, one of whom Bob coached in freshman football and the other Bob taught in creative writing class.

The son who played football wrote me a letter talking about how hearing who his dad's new roommate would be took him through all the stages of grief associated with learning about his own dad. He said "The Denial led me to look Coach up on the internet as I wanted there to be two Bob Ms in St. Louis... But, after reading that he had volunteered, after his initial diagnosis, to help other Alzheimer's patients and families to deal with the disease, I knew it was Coach."

Yup, that's the guy I married all those years ago. It hasn't been pretty all the time, but it's always been filled with love and commitment. Those will remain "until death do us part."