The Grief That Waited Until I Was Safe Enough to Feel It

A Note From the Writer

I actually started writing this over a week ago, during a particularly difficult stretch of grief. I was feeling pretty down, and a lot of what I had been holding back finally started coming out.

I’m still going through much of what I wrote here. Some days are better than others, and grief continues to come in waves. But I decided to finish this and share it because this is where I was—and, in many ways, where I still am.

This isn’t a case of feeling sorry for myself. I’m grieving. There is no timeline for grief, and I don’t need to medicate it away. I need to feel it, work through it, and allow myself to heal.

I think that’s what I’m doing now—grieving and healing at the same time.

This isn’t a polished account of grief. It’s simply an honest look at what it has felt like for me lately.

The Wall Finally Came Down

Gosh, where do I start? The wall finally came tumbling down. Grief after losing my husband has finally hit me in a way I wasn’t prepared for.

I’d been doing so well the weeks and months after my Dave’s passing. Everything I’d suppressed came flowing out like a broken dam. Now I realize the mourning hadn’t even truly started until now.

My brain has been protecting me.

There were so many decisions. I couldn’t break down completely. I went through the motions of a grieving widow. Posting photos on Facebook. Sharing on his page. Wanting to keep him alive in everyone’s minds.

But his soul is gone elsewhere. His earthly body is dead. Buried in a beautiful coffin, lying in a cold hole.

I feel so alone.

I go by the cemetery almost weekly to change his flowers and hope he sees what I am doing. It is my way of saying, “I love you. I don’t want you to think I’ve forgotten you.”

We do our nightly prayers together when I’m there.

I’ve lived with Alzheimer’s for over 11 years. It was terrifying and confusing, frustrating, and all that time I grieved for the man he once was, but not to this extent.

My subconscious protected me. It kept me functioning because of all the decisions I had to make.

I’ve been in survival mode for a long, long time. Grief after losing my husband is different from the grief I experienced during those 11 years of Alzheimer’s.

Now my body and brain are saying:

“Now that we are safe enough, here is everything we could not process before. I loved someone. I lost someone. This hurts terribly. I don’t know how to carry this alone.”

I can’t.

So I talk to God.

I know He is there. Only He will carry me through this. That much I know.

Right Now, I Just Don’t Care

At the moment, I either want to sleep or I can’t sleep.

Right now, I don’t want to cook anything. I’ve been eating handfuls of protein cereal, slices of turkey and chicken, protein shakes, fruit. My favorite is hazelnut spread on a carb-free tortilla rolled up—well, almost my favorite. I’ve been gobbing handfuls of dark chocolate almonds, and my butt is showing it too, lol, even with the exercise. Quick and easy.

My Brain Finally Told Me Why

I’ve quit checking my email, and it takes me days to check my snail mail. I don’t care. All my bills are on autopay, and that’s what matters the most, right?

Upon reflection, while writing this paragraph, I realize why I quit checking my snail mail. Dave had received three jury notices even though he had been permanently excused because of his multiple medical conditions. I sent each one back, writing “deceased” on the envelope.

Those jury notices were the triggers that stopped me from checking my mailbox.

I just feel like writing in my blog and watching British series.

I’m So Sick of Death

I really need to mow, but right now I don’t care.

My dogs are slowly dying. Their bodies are disintegrating along with their brains. Both are the same age. Both will probably die close to the same time.

What a downer.

Top it off, these new veterinarians want you to do everything to keep them alive, regardless of the pain and suffering the dog has to go through. I won’t have them go through that. Death is a release.

But the vets are really good at guilt-tripping.

One more thing to look forward to.

Oh joy.

Their guilt-tripping and my dogs dying. Their dying is in my face daily.

I’m so sick of death.

Can I please stop losing everyone I love?

I dress up for Mass, and that makes me feel good. Being in His presence makes me feel good. I know He’s with me all the time, but being in His physical presence is like a dopamine hit.

I also still work out. I don’t want to become crippled and dependent on anyone. I’m fiercely independent. I learned a long time ago I couldn’t rely on anyone completely.

My kids have their own lives and life complications. They do what they can, and I love and appreciate them so much. But bottom line, I have to be able to function independently until the day I die myself or end up warehoused.

Finding Little Things That Feel Good

I’ve tried to lose myself in hobbies: photography and writing. Both are helpful. I’m not good at either, but I enjoy them, and that is what counts.

I also love to go hiking and look at wildflowers, rocks, and taking pictures of the phenomenal landscapes Alaska provides.

I forgot my houseplants. I love to putter with them and enjoy their beautiful flowers.

I recently bought two rose bushes in pink and lavender. They were $7.95 each at Fred Meyer. If I had known how cheap they were, I would have bought the entire color selection.

Flowering plants are another dopamine hit for me.

My brain is desperately searching for moments of comfort and aliveness after years of stress and loss.

I’ve spent too much money already this fiscal cycle.

So be it.

Not like I’m going to be traveling as planned.

I also replaced my makeup, threw out the old, and started painting my nails. I love color, and it always makes me smile.

Dave loved it when I painted my nails.

I bought myself a cheap smart TV for my back bedroom, where I primarily live now. I bought some devices to improve my Wi-Fi. They cost more than the TV!

Then a wave of guilt hits.

Joy after death feels like betrayal

Here I am trying to enjoy life and Dave’s body is cold in the ground.

I don’t want Dave forgotten

And I don’t want my Dave forgotten by anyone.

What an amazing man.

Such brilliance, even though he didn’t see it. He was humble, but could outwit anyone. He was so talented, and he could do anything. I mean absolutely anything.

If it was broken, he could fix it.

He was an artist, a carpenter, a builder, a charmer, a mechanic, a jokester, a bow hunter, and full of love and empathy for others.

He loved animals and didn’t hunt except for food.

He had quite the sense of humor and was so full of love for me.

He accepted my ADHD. We meshed just fine. He didn’t care. All he wanted was what I wanted: someone to simply exist beside me, accept me, and hold me.

Safe and trustworthy.

That’s not a lot to ask for, is it?

Yet I realize I’m lucky to have experienced it once in my lifetime.

When I look back, even before meeting Dave, that is all I ever wanted.

Most of my life has been alone, even with people around me, except for my children. They are amazing people. God sure blessed me abundantly through them.

I Still Want to Feel Like a Woman

Through all of this, I also discovered I still long for companionship, touch, laughter, and closeness.

I miss feeling like a woman instead of only a caregiver.

I’ve been so touch-deprived for over 11 years.

But it wasn’t and isn’t meant to be, I suspect.

That’s okay.

I will survive this. I’m not going to go looking for it. Even in sadness, I will keep marching forward.

I just have to get through this glitch in my life that has suddenly appeared.

Grief comes in waves as it is.

This time it is a tsunami.

Ultimately, over time, I want to be able to laugh, feel attractive, feel desired, and feel alive without the guilt.

Right now, I can’t imagine that happening.

It feels like time has run out for me.

I can’t even really recall my 50s other than my job and keeping up with Dave. I realize I’ve never existed for myself. It’s always been someone else.

My Children Were the Greatest Gift

I loved existing for my children, though. They were the greatest gift ever. I miss the time I had with them as children. I loved being their mom. I would never trade that time for anything else in the world.

And then my hubby, Dave.

You can read more about our Alzheimer journery here:

Letting Go of My Husband’s Belongings After Death: When It Feels Like Losing Him Again

Letting Go of My Husband’s Belongings After Death: When It Feels Like Losing Him Again

Aug11

Six months after losing my husband to Alzheimer’s, I am facing the delayed grief of clearing out his clothes and belongings.

When Letting Go of His Things Feels Like Losing Him Again

I saw a post from a woman who was despairing over disposing of her late husband’s possessions. I can empathize with her. I am going through the same thing.

When I Was Numb, I Could Let Go of His Clothes

Initially, when I was numb, I was able to clear out bags of his clothing. I felt nothing at the time. I was simply anesthetized against the reality of it all. Hollow inside. Empty. Going through the motions on autopilot.

At that point, I think my mind was protecting me from the unbearable truth: he was never going to wear those clothes again. His hands would never reach for that shirt. His body would never fill those familiar spaces.

Instead, someone else could use these clothes. Most had never been worn.

I could make decisions because I was still in survival mode. But grief has a strange way of waiting until you are strong enough to feel it.

Why Letting Go of My Husband’s Belongings Is So Painful

Letting go of my husband’s belongings after death has become one of the hardest parts of my grief journey. Now whenever I look at his things, I experience a heaviness on my chest. I have problems breathing. The idea of disposing of his possessions has become unbearable.

It feels like he is being wiped away as if he never existed.

But he did exist.

My Husband’s Belongings Are More Than Just Things

How can I dispose of his things? They aren’t mine. They are his.

And then I struggle with the question: where did he go?

Grief After Losing a Husband Brings Unanswered Questions

I saw him die. I watched Alzheimer’s slowly take him away from me. What was left at the end was his body. An empty shell.

I saw that empty shell buried.

But my Dave is gone.

His essence. His being. His soul.

Where is he?

Six Months Later, Grief Returned

Six months later, I find myself crying daily. Sometimes it comes out of nowhere. I thought I was doing better. I thought I had moved further along in this journey.

But grief doesn’t seem to work that way.

I am still trying to understand how someone who was such a huge part of my life can suddenly no longer be here.

Faith, Prayer, and Living With Questions

As a Catholic, I feel like this shouldn’t be such a struggle for me. I’m praying he is in purgatory or Heaven. But at the same time, this emptiness comes on me that I can’t explain because there are no answers.

All I can do now is pray and ask God to have mercy on him.

I know God is with me, but right now, I feel so alone.

You can read more about our Alzheimer Journey and the years we spent fighting this disease together:

Navigating the Unpredictable: Caregiving through Sickness, Dementia, and Chocolate Mishaps

https://kjpeissner.com/2025/01/17/471/

When Everything Becomes Loss

Aug7

Loss is a dark shadow that follows everyone. Unfortunately, some people experience it more often than others. Dealing with loss can be especially difficult when one loss seems to lead to another. Most loss comes with grief that never fully lets up. It stays every single day, reminding us of what we lost. Sometimes it is death, divorce, a lover, a friend, financial loss, or even the loss of passion. The list can go on.

I’ve experienced the loss of everything I listed. These losses domino into more losses — future plans, dreams, and the life you thought you would have. Unfortunately, it is part of life. Life equals death. Death equals loss. It all equates to life — a never-ending process of grieving that becomes part of living itself.

Dealing With Loss

Today I slept. Sleep makes loss more bearable. I don’t have to think. And when I do have to think, at least I can write. Writing seems to help. It’s a release for me.

Life seems surreal, especially since the death of my husband and now the loss of a recent friendship too. My brain is spinning. It analyzes everything. Even when I think I’m not thinking, my subconscious is. Several days later my brain will suddenly spit something out I hadn’t consciously been thinking about, and out it comes. It can be maddening.

My companions, Starfire and Kaya, are aging rapidly. Both are 13 years old. Deep in my heart, I know they too will be gone soon enough. I dread the day they leave me. I think perhaps I’ll get another dog and a kitty for companionship, but then I’m just setting myself up for more loss. I’m beginning to feel like it might be safer not to open myself up so freely again. I’d rather build a wall around myself — minus the drawbridge and moat — than let myself love too deeply again, because when I love, I give my heart 100%. And when they are gone, it feels like a piece of it goes with them.

I thought about hopping on a plane today and just leaving for a while. Going somewhere no one knows me. A different environment. Thanks to the cost of fuel right now, that’s out of the question. I guess that can equate to another loss.

For now, I’m learning that dealing with loss means accepting that I cannot control what I will lose, only how I choose to live with it.

So I’ve come to the conclusion, at least for now, that life is death — the death of family, lovers, friendships, happy futures, and dreams, and how we deal with them.

It feels like everything meaningful eventually becomes something I have to let go of, and I have to learn to live with it. Loss never ends, and neither does learning.

I find myself in a place where I feel more guarded with my heart, afraid to love as freely as I once did because I now understand the price of loving deeply: eventually, something or someone will be taken from me.

And yet, I don’t think I know how to love any other way.

The Man I Fell in Love With

Aug3

The Man I Fell in Love With

Today, while vacuuming and mopping, I found myself remembering my husband after Alzheimer’s—not the man Alzheimer’s left behind, but the man I fell in love with.

Dave was so handsome. His beard was always neatly trimmed and styled. He was sexy too. He was sexy when he pulled his hair back before sliding under a vehicle, when he directed someone while they backed up, when he lifted something heavy, or when that look came over his face while he was focused on a job.

Hell, he was sexy even smoking (thankfully, a habit we helped him break). It was the way he held that cigarette and then took a hit off of it. The way he carried his water bottle.

Dave was a very romantic man. He would softly croon to me while we slow danced in the living room. He would surprise me with a reservation at a nice restaurant. We held hands everywhere at his insistence, and we held hands at night while watching television.

When we watched a movie in the living room, he’d sit in his recliner, and I’d recline back between his legs so we could sit comfortably together. If I dozed off, he made sure no one woke me.

Until Alzheimer’s changed him, Dave made sure I knew I was loved. He made me feel important to him. He cherished me and he cherished our relationship. He was always sneaking up on me and planting a kiss on the back of my neck and taking off. I miss that.

When I sat next to him, he would lovingly caress my back, which could suddenly turn into tickling my ribs.

My Playful, Loving Husband

My Dave was so playful and witty. He matched my playfulness because I am very playful myself. He and I teased one another so often, and we never got offended because we never put one another down. We respected one another. If he got smart with me, I’d reach over, pinch his laughing cheeks, and say, “You’re so cute,” all while giving those cheeks a good squeeze.

Even at the end of his life, being bed bound did not stop him from being a lovable stinker. He grabbed my face and gave me a beard rub. I was laughing so hard. Then he grabbed my glasses and started waving them around just out of my reach.

If I made a big oops, he would say, “Having problems there, darlin’?”

When we did get into a big argument, we didn’t stay angry for long. We couldn’t bear being separated by anger. It made us physically ill. So we made up quickly.

We would take popular songs and change the words to fit whatever situation we were in at the moment, then sing them together.

I miss those times with him. I miss his companionship. We were like a pair of squirrels, I think, playing and enjoying life together. I spoiled him, and he spoiled me. I loved nothing more than getting him a drink and popping the cap for him. He rarely told me, “No,” but then again, I rarely said no to him. We wanted one another to be happy.

The Man Who Made Me Feel Safe

Dave was perfect for me. He accepted me as I was. He didn’t care that my body was imperfect after having babies and C-sections. He loved squeezing my belly at night. He treasured it, actually. He told me that was because it carried our babies.

Dave made me feel safe—a safety I had never felt elsewhere or with any other person. Period.

Remembering Dave After Alzheimer’s

Dave was such a big exaggerator. His storytelling could become so absurd. He’d crack me up. Either someone had seriously abused him, or that moose brushed right up against him when it passed by.

So while I’m smiling while writing about my Dave, I have tears brimming in my eyes as well. I’m always going to mourn him. At the moment, I doubt it will ever get easier. But that’s okay. It reminds me that I still love him and long for him. I cherish the moments we had and can always reach into my memories and find a moment that makes me smile.

The years I spent caring for Dave through Alzheimer’s changed me in ways I never expected. You can read more about our Alzheimer’s journey here:

Lord, Give Me the Grace to Forgive

Lord, Give Me the Grace to Forgive

Jul26

Before and after my husband’s death, I experienced a lot of cruelty from so-called friends and acquaintances. Some of it was intentional, while some probably came from awkwardness or naïveté. Regardless, it hurt, and I realized how incredibly difficult forgiving after loss can be. As a result, I’ve been asking God for the grace to forgive.

Many years ago, a priest gave me some simple advice. He said, “Every time the hurt resurfaces, say a Hail Mary for that person. Eventually the pain will lessen, and the sting will ebb away.”

He was right.

I’ve used this method for past hurts, and it worked. The memories never disappeared, but the sting did. I eventually got to the point where I felt nothing.

So now, every time one of these recent hurts finds its way into my thoughts, I pray a Hail Mary.

I’m still stunned by people’s callousness before and after Dave’s death.

A doctor throwing a tantrum in our bedroom.

A woman who knew I hadn’t had any real respite in what felt like forever, yet still had a tantrum because I told her “no.”

Another woman who showed up while Dave was dying on hospice to tell me I was feeding him the wrong foods. Never mind that he was only able to take liquids by syringe. She even informed me there was a so-called cure for Alzheimer’s and that she was going to bring me some. I told her that if a cure truly existed, Dave would have already had it. Then she went back to her comfortable little world. Just a few days after Dave’s funeral, she called to ask if I was going back to work. Wow!

The friends who never called or stopped by to sit with Dave so I could run to the grocery store or simply get out of the house for an hour.

The people who knew we’d received a huge snowfall but never checked to see if we were okay, if we could get in and out of our driveway, or whether our roof was safe under the snow load.

One of Dave’s good friends who decided he “really, really liked me” just a week after Dave’s funeral.

Another who called before Dave died insisting I should warehouse him because, in his words, Dave was already gone even if his body wasn’t.

And there were so many other painful moments.

Every one of those memories still surfaces from time to time.

And every time it does, I say a Hail Mary, trusting that this is my path toward forgiving after loss.

Not because what happened was acceptable.

Not because I’ve forgotten.

But because I want God’s grace to accomplish what I cannot do by myself.

Perhaps the hardest part was the head games after Dave passed. I won’t even go into those. I was exhausted, vulnerable, and by nature, a people pleaser. Those mind games really threw me for a loop.

Finding the Grace for Forgiving after Loss

So, if someone you love is caring for a dying spouse or anyone for that matter, be kind. Even if it feels awkward, reach out. Offer to sit with their loved one for an hour so they can rest, take a shower, run to the grocery store, or simply get out of the house for a little while. Send a text. Make a phone call. They don’t need to hear all the right words. They just need to know they haven’t been forgotten.

And by God’s grace, in time, I will experience the peace of forgiving after loss.

Before I close, I also want to thank the people who were there.

Thank you to the person who faithfully came to spend time with Dave. Thank you to the friends who came to his funeral. And thank you to the friends in the Lower 48 who called, texted, prayed, and encouraged me through the end days when I couldn’t get a decent CNA caregiver for Dave in this community.

You may never fully know what your kindness meant to me.

From the bottom of my heart…

Thank you.

I love you all.

____________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________

Hail Mary

Hail Mary, full of grace, the Lord is with thee.

Blessed art thou amongst women, and blessed is the fruit of thy womb, Jesus.

Holy Mary, Mother of God, pray for us sinners, now and at the hour of our death.

Amen.

Catholic Faith After Loss: Finding Peace One Day at a Time

Acceptance in the Face of Chronic Illness: Learning to Let Go and Live in the Moment

Dec5

We are currently watching “For All Mankind” on the Apple TV Channel. Living with and providing caregiving for someone with dementia can be unpredictable, and my morning was a perfect example. While the show is based partly on actual events and includes historical figures like astronauts Buzz Aldrin, Neil Armstrong, and Deke Slayton, it is actually a work of fiction. I did a lot of googling. I was so disappointed. There was never a lunar base on the moon like the one shown in the series. I figured the government hadn’t been transparent with all of its NASA activity. I mean, how surprising would that be, right?

Caregiving for Someone With Dementia

This morning started off differently than usual. Usually, although chaotic, things go pretty smoothly. At the same time, I realize that you never know what you are going to get day by day when you are providing caregiving for someone with dementia. My hubby was looking forlornly at several pairs of shoes and informed me that none of them fit properly. I pointed out the pair he’d been wearing, but he said they still didn’t fit. So I walked away and let him try to work it out. A bit later, he came in with a sock. He was flustered because he couldn’t bend over to get his sock on. Luckily, it was a different sock from the one he had on the other foot. I ran to the bedroom and grabbed a matching sock and the shoes he’d been wearing. I slipped on his sock and then his shoes, and not one word came out of him. He did smile, however, and had zero complaints that the shoes were not fitting properly. He then ate his breakfast and surfed the internet.

Alzheimer’s is so weird. One day, my hubby is fine, with all his synapses firing as they should, and the next day, it can be the complete opposite.. His delusions and hallucinations (something I will get into later) have thankfully cut back. I’ve noticed that when his brain is changing, he gets hypersexual. I then know that something new will pop up. For example, the shoe episode this morning, sleeping in his day clothes, not making his sandwiches or tea any longer, and not drinking water.These are all recent developments.

Hubby has argued about bathing and changing his clothes for a good year. I now tell him, “It’s shower day and I’m putting a heater in your bathroom to make it warm for you.” A heater is a great enticement. It didn’t work last week, though. He was still resistant. So yesterday, while trimming his toenails, I emphasized how badly his feet smell and how dirty it was between his toes. I told him he would be lucky not to get a fungal infection. He looked a bit alarmed hehehe. My plot worked. He got in the shower, and I stole his dirty clothes. 🙂 I laid out clean everything. A bit later he came out in pj bottoms. Hubby: “I can’t figure out what to put on.”
Me: “I have everything laid out for you. Let me go through it with you.”
He just needed some guidance.

As I mentioned in another blog entry, before my hubby was put on Gabapentin, he was angry and paranoid. He was having severe delusions. Granted, the delusions are still there, but they are more subtle.TThis summer, he not only ran off, but he was also spying. He was convinced that he had sold the property to the new neighbors and that they had parked a plane on our property without his permission or without paying him for the parking space. He was constantly cutting through the woods and spying on them. That stressed me out so much. I was concerned he would get rude and that there would be a conflict. My imagination was going overboard. Stress does that to me. The house the new neighbors moved into had once belonged to him. He lost it in a divorce. His ex-wife sold it years ago. The next owner lived there for a couple of decades and then decided to sell. I know. It is complicated, and especially complicated for someone with dementia. Regardless, hubby thinks there were three houses on that property and that they bulldozed all three of them down. He also thinks they dug a hole and dropped a sewer tank on our property. He’s always been a bit territorial, but with dementia, it has gotten much worse.

Thankfully, God gives me the grace to show my hubby love and most of the time patience. Providing caregiving for someone with dementia has taught me that both are necessary. Of course, I drop the ball from time to time, but blogging is helping me see that I’m doing far better than I thought I was.

To read more about our Alzheimer’s Journey:

Choosing Mercy: An Advent Reflection

Dec4

Choosing Mercy: An Advent Reflection

Author’s Note (2026): I wrote this reflection in December 2024, not knowing Dave and I would share one more Christmas together before he passed away. Reading it now brings back memories of that season and the ordinary moments that, in hindsight, became precious. An Advent podcast led me to reflect on mercy, justice, and how I was caring for Dave through Alzheimer’s.

A Quiet Advent Morning

I’m going to have to remind my hubby to drink more water throughout the day. He had charley horses off and on through the night. He eats bananas, but that isn’t enough.

Anyhow, I woke at 10:00 a.m. That’s late for me. The fire was out, but the house stayed surprisingly warm. I had gotten up at 7:00 a.m. to give Starfire her medication, then went back to bed for a little me time. It was so peaceful and quiet for a change. I didn’t expect to fall back asleep.

Reflecting on Justice and Mercy

It’s Advent, and I’m listening to the daily podcast, “Face to Face: Advent with Fr. Mike Schmitz” from Ascension. There are 25 episodes. Today’s episode was about justice.

So often we compare what we receive to what someone else receives and think life is unfair. We all want things to be fair. We want justice when we feel we have been wronged.

But then I had to ask myself, Do I really want what I deserve from God?

Honestly, no! I’m begging for mercy because I’m human. I make mistakes. I lose my temper. But I also try to be a good person. Because I am human, I slip up.

Thank you, Lord Jesus. I don’t deserve mercy, but I’m choosing you. You are the source of all mercy.

I truly believe my salvation is connected to how I care for Dave through his Alzheimer’s disease: how I treat him, how I love him, and how I respond when caregiving is hard.

Caring for Dave through Alzheimer’s

I think many of us will one day be judged by how we cared for those who were vulnerable or in need. And there are days I definitely fail in this area.

This Advent, I am reflecting on mercy and recognizing my own need for God’s mercy, too.

If you’re looking for something meaningful during Advent, I recommend “Face to Face: Advent with Fr. Mike Schmitz” from Ascension. It has certainly given me a lot to think about.

Preparing for Christmas in Alaska

I’m also organizing Christmas dinner. I hope to purchase what is needed this Friday when I go to Fairbanks.

I have a dental appointment that day, and I like getting as much taken care of as possible whenever I go to town. It burns a lot of gas, and fuel is costly.

As a child, I remember watching gas station attendants run outside and change the prices on the signs, undercutting one another. I was perplexed and asked my Granny, “Why are those guys running back and forth changing the signs?”

“Gas war,” she exclaimed.

Wars were supposed to involve guns and explosives, right? I was a very literal child, and honestly, I still am.

Gas was cheap then. Not anymore, sadly.

An Ordinary Day of Caregiving

Today is garbage day. I am going to warm up the van, pick up my kids’ garbage at their homes, make a trip to the dump, and stop by the post office.

Of course, I am taking my Dave with me.

By this stage of Alzheimer’s, he no longer gets out of the van. I can reliably leave him there by himself while I run my errands.

Later, if I have the energy, I’ll write about one of Dave’s Alzheimer’s delusions.

Cheers!!

You can find the Ascension App here if you’d like to listen to the podcast: https://ascensionpress.com/

Where I write more about faith and trusting God:

Hard Truth – Learning to Take Refuge in the Lord