Last week, Betsy, my bride of 58 years, spent a night in the hospital. Most of the following day, too.

We suspected trouble when she phoned me twice shortly before noon, expressing frustration at her difficulty in finding boxes in which to pack her things in order to move.

Regular readers know that she has resided in an assisted living home for more than two years. Dementia fogs her memory and sometimes shows itself in irrational statements and acts. Yesterday she revisited an old theme of worrying whether her parents were going to sell their beach house in Maine.

She also reminded me that her parents’ birthdays are coming soon, and she wants us to be prepared to help them celebrate.  Her parents have been dead for years. She sobbed like a baby when gently reminded of this.

The left side of Betsy’s face was drooping, and her speech was slurred and irrational. Could this be another stroke? She suffered one about a year ago, fortunately with mild effects. At the hospital, tests ruled out a stroke or urinary tract infection. Perhaps she had a TIA or so-called mini stroke.

Back in her familiar surroundings at the assisted living home where she has lived for more than two years, Betsy rebounded quickly, feels reasonably well, and seems her old self, to the great relief of those who love her. We speak on the phone, but I can’t visit her, the risk of infection too great during this pandemic.

Yesterday she received her vaccine injection, the first of two. I got mine last week. Will this vaccine eventually defeat this deadly virus? We pray so.

Love takes us on a journey, full of twists and turns, and sustains us through all of them.