I’ve lapsed as a blog writer. Not exactly sure why. Perhaps I burnt myself out as a writer by pushing out so many lengthy works in a short period of time. Then, when I stopped developing full-length books, I entered into frenzy of blog writing, cranking out about one a day for several months.

The explosion of words probably was destined to end. Yet, that creative process was both cathartic and healing. Writing, as I’ve noted, had been a dream since childhood. More to the point, it proved an anesthetic and a diversion during a difficult period. Perhaps a dozen years ago, my spouse entered a period where her early-onset dementia could no longer be hidden. She would slowly decline, was hospitalized in a memory care facility in 2018, and passed away … two years ago on this day.

And so, it is a day of memories.

Above is a picture taken at Blackhawk Country Club, probably at the onset of her disease, but before the decline became debilitating and all too obvious. It would prove to be the last of the good days. Observers are right in that Alzheimers is ‘the long goodbye.’ You lose your loved day by day and piece by piece. You are never quite sure about what has been lost until it is gone.

It all started in 1972. We met in graduate school, had one date, and I moved in with her. Apparently, though I generally was an undeniable doofus, could see a good deal when it whacked me upside the head. For once in my life, I didn’t screw things up.

Above was our wedding day at the local courthouse. We were married by a young judge who had no problem with ceremony that failed to include any of the usual rot. No promises of obedience were made. She did not take my name. Neither of us wore a wedding ring. We were going to do things our own way. Our two witnesses were work colleagues who could walk over to the courthouse with us.

But here’s the thing. If you are compatible, share common values, and can compromise, a long relationship is likely, perhaps even certain. There is no need for big rituals, expensive nuptials, and exotic honeymoons. We simply drove to her parent’s home in the Twin Cities where we informed her family that yes, in fact, we had tied the knot earlier that day. We would remain partners for over 50 years.

I can’t possibly summarize a lifetime in a few sentences. We both had rewarding careers, supported one another, and gave the other space to grow and achieve. That sentiment we did include in our vows, the freedom to grow. We would remain supportive partners through the good times and bad. She was there when I almost destroyed all through an alcohol addiction. And we had many good times like the trip to Yugoslavia and Greece captured in the foto above.

The one thing she loved more than I were her two dogs, Ernie and Rascal. Below, she is seated with Rascal at Brookdale Memory Care, a facility which took good care of her for the last four years of her life. I am comforted by the knowledge that she was well-supported in her final days. She had slipped into that place where a full and harsh consciousness had abated.

This is hard to admit but, when she did pass on June 22, 2022, there was a sense of relief. At the end, she was no longer the Mary I knew … more a shadow of what she had been. I could not shake the sense that she had been released from the grip of an insidious disease that inexorably robs an individual of their cognitive functions, and thus their identity.

Even though we did not live together for the final four years of her life, she remained a living presence to me for a long time. I would wake at night, getting up carefully so as not to wake her … then realizing that she was not there. She would never be there again. Her only failure in our long partnership was a failure to beat the wit out of me, though she tried mightily. I kept telling her … you can’t beat out what God put in.

In September of 2022, I went up to Burntside Lake with members of her family. Her father had built a cabin up there in the 1950s. Mary and I spent much time in that northern paradise. We poured her ashes in the lake in front of where that cabin had stood.

It was a beautiful day. It was a day good for remembering.