The slogan  created at the beginning of World War II— Keep Calm and Carry On — was intended to bolster the stoicism and tenacity of the British people. However, the posters were never used. But in 2001 a cache was unearthed and subsequently featured on BBC television’s “Antiques Roadshow.” Since then the phrase has been adapted for use in multiple ways around the world: Keep Calm and Read a Book! Keep Calm I’m The Doctor! Keep Calm and Blog On! to name a few.

Now I’ve adapted the slogan for my use. My newest blog is a continuation to my “Dementia isn’t funny” (2014-21). That one chronicled my stoic English husband’s 16-year goodbye that ended August 15, 2021.  I discontinued  that  one after his passing.

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The year following Peter’s death lagged as if the calendar’s pages were glued together, yet at the same time they whirled by so quickly I felt as if I were a dervish.

Peter’s death was not unexpected of course. A dementia diagnosis has only one outcome whether Vascular, Alzheimer’s, Frontotemporal, Huntington’s, Lewy-Body or other forms. There are no cures and the few available drugs work only for the short term, if at all. To be sure, Peter careered downward rapidly during what turned out to be his final months. The Covid crisis played a huge part for many reasons — no visitors were allowed, staff was overworked and underpaid and many quit. With no frequent  family oversight many residents didn’t get the care they needed. I know Peter didn’t.

On July 20, 2021, not long after visitors were permitted again, Peter experienced his best day in a long, long time. We watched the final stage of the Tour de France together. He was totally present, completely engaged! Within days, however, he lost ground dramatically. The weeks immediately following his passing were blurred. Fortunately, daughters Carolynn and Leslie kept me anchored.

Once the immediate shock wore off I dug in. That’s how I deal. There were a confounding number of details to be attended to, but with Leslie’s help they were ticked off efficiently. Carolynn helped me plan a celebration of Peter’s life, an event that gave all of us a boost to, well, to carry on.

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As 2021 blended into 2022 I had a bit of an edge navigating the dreaded “firsts” that layer on after a loved one’s death — Thanksgiving, Christmas, anniversaries, birthdays, weddings. For one thing, Peter had lived in a memory care facility his final three years. Plus, during our 40-year marriage, his demanding job kept him away from home for days, weeks, sometimes months! I joke that I had a lot of “practice” being on my own. Then too, I’ve always been a bit of a hermit, a loner, so I managed well enough. That tendency helped me through the first year — not something I would advise necessarily, but it worked for me.

Over the summer months, as August 15, 2022 loomed, little things subdued any inclination to mope. It helped enormously that I had a five-week summer vacation with my daughters, sons-in-law, Bill and Martin, and granddaughter Samantha and her wife Lydia. Then too, grandson Miah and his partner Caitlyn had a baby in May — our first great-grandchild! Great-granddad would’ve been in his element. His gift for enchanting little ones with his silly faces and nonsense antics was family legend.

Throughout, friends and neighbors have been supportive in little ways without getting too “mushy.” They know I don’t do mushy. Every time our landline rings, I smile when I hear the message Peter recorded years ago. One friend calls just to hear his voice, then she hangs up and calls me on my cellphone.

The display of photos I used at the celebration of Peter’s life in September leans against our bedroom wall. I look at them often…he was so photogenic…that smile! 

In August, when I called to make a minor change to our homeowner’s insurance, I mentioned that my husband had passed away in 2021 and perhaps his name should be removed from the policy. “Oh, I’ll put that in our records…when did he die?” she asked. When I told her she said, “That’s coming up soon, isn’t it? I’m so sorry.” Her voice was so kind, even a bit teary. A brief few minutes made a difference that day.

So although I made it through the first 12 months rather easily, all things considered, there are “first year” tasks I still haven’t dealt with — donating his clothes, giving away the Cutty Sark model he wasn’t able to finish, his collection of 78 rpm jazz records or his custom bikes. That will happen when the time is right. In the meantime, I carry on.

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Life has to end, love doesn’t.
Mitch Albom, The five people you meet in Heaven.