"Brian was diagnosed with Alzheimer’s disease in April 2012. I’ve been a full-time caregiver for him for three years now. He has lost the ability to even get a glass of water for himself so I do that. He can barely manipulate a spoon now. Can you imagine forgetting how to eat?" - written by Amelia Cottle

"Our marriage vows, while non-traditional, did include 'in sickness and in health'. Who really thinks deeply about that vow? Did you consider that sickness includes more than bouts of flu, high blood pressure, or broken bones? Nope, me either." - written by Amelia Cottle

"There are more things that Brian can’t do than things he can do. So I do these things for him and will continue to do so as long as I can. He still recognizes me but sometimes I get the 'thousand yard stare'. He still tells me he loves me. I’ll take what he can give though he can give less each day. That’s what the 'in sickness and in health' part of the vows means to me." - written by Amelia Cottle

"Yesterday Brian could not open a door. I watched him push instead of pull and use the other hand to reach for the hinges. Even when I said “pull” he didn’t get it. As usual, I diffused the situation by telling him that this particular door sticks. As usual, he accepted the lie and finished the task of letting the dog outside.
I quickly went to another room, using my birthing breathing, and managed not to break down." - written by Amelia Cottle

"Sometimes I can’t breathe or move or stop the whirling dervishes in my brain, telling me over and over that I am losing him, that in so many ways I’ve already lost him and that I can’t do a damn thing to change the downward spiral. I want to throw things, break things, and scream at the sky. But still, I hold my frayed edges together, knowing that he is depending on me and that he is holding his frayed edges together as best he can, that he is losing more than I am, that he is losing himself as the Beast becomes less Beast every day." - written by Amelia Cottle

"Each day that passes is Brian’s last best day. That’s a heavy, sad and painful statement but very true." - written by Amelia Cottle

"Emily Dickinson wrote 'I measure every grief I meet' and her poem resonates with many who read it. I remember it when I’m overwhelmed with 'anticipatory' grief – the grief of knowing that Brian will die but he is already dying as a person, long before his body shuts down." - written by Amelia Cottle

"Today I found an eighty page love letter from my husband. I thought the spiral bound notebook was “just” a journal from our honeymoon trip to Alaska. But it was a love letter, read with 32 years of togetherness behind us. It has been an adventure; one that is ending soon – too soon – because Alzheimer’s has taken my beloved wild man away and reduced him to a shuffling, stuttering, shell of the man he was." - written by Amelia Cottle

"Brian is a sweetheart but he was not perfect (nor is he now). But we have loved and lived. I made mistakes (we are led by the circumstances we are in at the time that we make decisions) but when Brian and I got together, the decision was the right one. We are in this journey together. The ups and downs have been tough but Brian has helped me become a much better person in our 29 years together." - written by Amelia Cottle

"Today I took my husband to the dentist because he was complaining about mouth pain. PWDs (people with dementia) have a hard time articulating in general but describing pain and where the pain is located is especially difficult. In this case, the pain was real. The dentist said that he would need to be more careful about flossing. Brian can’t floss; he can barely brush his teeth. At that point, I realized that I would need to do it for him.
I could feel myself starting to break…but what the hell. I already shave him, help him shower and dress, help him eat, change him when he has an accident…so what’s one more thing? It’s one more thing on the way to total care of every part of him. I know what’s coming so why did this hit me so hard?" - written by Amelia Cottle

"There is no tomorrow or next week with this disease. It’s marching on and eating his brain every day. Make some good memories now and then you can treasure those when the going gets really rough. And it’s going to get rough. It’s going to really suck but we are going to get through it. As Chris says, we are the fucking Cottle Team and we are sticking together through this. We are on a long journey, taking it one day at a time and finding joy and humor in each day. Love makes it bearable, even when we feel like we’re in the front pew of hell!" - written by Amelia Cottle

"In the years since actual diagnosis, we have been fighting to stay side by side while Alzheimer’s pulls him [Brian Cottle] away from himself, from me and from reality. We are losing and Alzheimer’s is winning. Alzheimer’s ALWAYS wins." - written by Amelia Cottle

"Sometimes my loneliness just overwhelms me. I miss planned lunches, spontaneous visits, and long phone calls. Most of all, I miss Brian. I miss our conversations, discussions, spats, and chatter. It is ironic to feel so achingly lonely when he is always with me. I’ve never been the light in someone’s world but I am his light in his darkening world. I will continue to be that light until his last breath, whether he knows me or not. And then I will be a different kind of lonely." - written by Amelia Cottle

"I hope his spirit soars through the skies, traveling wherever he wants to go. I hope he goes to Alaska, swims with the bears, runs with the moose and elk, soars through the Valley of 10,000 Smokes and climbs Denali. Maybe he will visit me in my dreams and share adventures with me once again." - written by Amelia Cottle