When I was first diagnosed with Alzheimer’s, it felt like my whole life ended in that moment. Just like that, I was staring death in the face.
The months that followed were a blur—full of grief, fear, doctor visits, logistics, and endless conversations. It felt like I was swimming in the deep end, just trying to stay afloat.
What I didn’t know then is that there’s a calm that comes later—a big exhale.
Right now, I’m in that space. My routines are in place. My healthcare team is solid. My relationships feel deep and meaningful. The shock has softened into acceptance. I’m still at a point where I can care for myself, have conversations, and enjoy each day.
I don’t know how long this calm will last, but I’m grateful for it. It’s one of the beautiful surprises of this disease: it doesn’t always just get worse. There are seasons of peace and stability, moments when life feels wonderfully normal (even though I’m always wanting to have my words but not always getting them).
Shasta and I went on a beautiful walk in Empire Mine State Park a few weeks ago. It was so wonderful. We walked and talked the whole time. I loved it. We took pictures (two of them are here-I didn’t have Shasta in my iPhone on that walk - she has it though) to always know how this walk was for us. What a gift--a calm in the storm!
One of the advantages of being diagnosed early is that I’ve already walked through much of the grief and preparation before reaching the harder stages. I’ve been able to plan, to talk openly, to share, to love fully while I still can.
If you’re newly diagnosed—or walking beside someone who is—please hear this: it doesn’t just get worse. There are stretches of calm. There’s still joy to be found, laughter to be shared, love to be given, and peace to be felt.
This stage won’t last forever in my journey, but for now, it’s enough. And that “enough” feels like grace.
