My Wife Forgot My Name... I Took Care of Her for 12 More Years (I'm 76) скачать в хорошем качестве

My Wife Forgot My Name... I Took Care of Her for 12 More Years (I'm 76)

I'm seventy-six years old, and I'm going to tell you something that might make you uncomfortable. When my wife died, after twelve years of Alzheimer's, I felt relieved. Not sad. Not devastated. Relieved. And if you think that makes me a monster, stay with me. Because what I'm about to tell you about love, about marriage, about what it really means to stand by someone—it's nothing like what they told you. Nothing like what I believed for forty-eight years of marriage. Everyone talks about the person with the disease. The tragedy of forgetting. The cruelty of losing your mind piece by piece. Nobody talks about what happens to the one left behind. The one who remembers everything. The one who becomes a ghost in their own life while everyone watches the other person disappear. I was that ghost for twelve years. And I learned more about love in those twelve years than in the thirty-six that came before them.