At the end of August 2015, everything changed for my husband, Tony, and me.

There was the 20 years of marriage we had already shared, and then there was what was to come.

On that fateful day, Tony was diagnosed with early-onset Alzheimer’s disease, and I became “a widow in progress.”

Of course, Tony’s incurable neurological disease probably started much earlier than that, based on the many things that led him to finally see a doctor. In fact, those things had become so noticeable that he was in danger of losing his job. It was only then that I convinced him that he needed to be tested to see what was going on.

How we hoped that his memory issues were just a vitamin deficiency or lack of sleep or any number of explainable and fixable things. But it was not to be.

Neither one of us took

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