It has been five long years since diagnosis and six since I knew for certain there was something wrong with him. I have often thought of writing about this journey but have found various reasons not to do it. I was too busy, or too devastated, or just wanted a moment's peace from it. But somehow the time seems right now. So I begin.
Perhaps my son, now a teenager, will someday be able to read these and learn from them what his mother was really dealing with. I want him to know that my love for him is what carried me through these years. He amazes me with his courage and the strength with which he has survived these difficult years.
People I meet suggest I write a book and then look at me with some hesitation and say, "Well, maybe later, when it's all over, you'll want to do that." And I think, no, when this is over, I hope not to remember how horrible this was. Somehow, I know that if I don't write some of it down now, I never will.
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My husband was diagnosed with frontotemporal dementia, forever shaping my family and my view of the world in a way I could never have expected. This is the story of the gradual loss of my husband since then.
Dick on May 23, 2009
Kevin and Dick May 2008
