Still Here With Me: A Love Letter Through Time

 

As I sit here and put these words on paper, I can’t help but feel overwhelmed by the magnitude of my feelings for you. My love for you is limitless, and you will always be the most valuable person in my life.

We’ve shared twenty years of laughter of shared glances across quiet rooms, of whispered dreams in the darkness. You have been my anchor and my wings, my refuge and my spark. And though time has gently altered the nature of how we live and love, you are still here with me—not always in the same way, but always with the same soul.

When the fog of dementia began to settle around you, I felt something inside me falter. The man who could read me with a single look, who knew the rhythm of my day without a word spoken, now sometimes asks me my name. I lost the daily you, the partner who shared every mundane thought and burst of laughter—but I never lost the essence of you. It's still in the way your hand finds mine without thought, in the smile that returns when an old love song plays.

Writing has become my lifeline—the place where I can collect the fragments of our shared story. The holidays you made magical. The quiet strength you offered when the world was too loud. The way you danced with our children in the kitchen, bare feet and belly laughs. Through words, I weave you whole again.

And on the days when memory slips from your grasp like sand through fingers, I offer mine in return. I become our historian, our storyteller, the keeper of “Remember when…” I have learned not to chase what is lost but to embrace what is still here—a gentle touch, a spark of recognition, a moment of stillness shared.

Where do we go from here? We carry on. One loving step at a time. I will love you not in spite of what’s changed, but with deep reverence because of it. And I will write—so that the world knows what a beautiful life we built, and so that you, wherever your mind may wander, will always have a place to come home to.

Forever yours, 

The one who remembers for us both