I didn't recognize clues that pointed to my husband's slide into ALZ, but in retrospect, there were many. One was that he stopped making a to-do list for himself. I never had to ask twice to have something fixed, but I found that he procrastinated doing the simplest things like regluing a veneer strip on a bathroom cabinet. He set up the garage with an extended tabletop to make a Victorian dollhouse for our granddaughter. The kit was opened; pieces sorted; all looked like the usual organized craftsman, he was. Then he wouldn't go in to work on it; avoided it; ignored it. I finally realized that it was too complicated for him to attempt. When I suggested that he, an architect who built real buildings, pack up the dollhouse and give the kit to Good Will, he leaped on the chance to absolve himself of this overwhelming task. I visit him daily at a Memory Care facility now; I bring him treats like sliced strawberries to brighten his day. He doesn't know me as his wife, but I think he likes my treats and knows I'm a good person in his corner. For me, there is no communication; my beloved husband isn't really there, but I feel like I am doing the right thing to still nurture him. Food is my love language. We had a very good marriage and a long run of good times before ALZ took him down this sad path. My blessings outweigh my challenges and for that, I'm grateful.