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86 HANGING ON May 25 During bad times—these last few weeks, for example, when James’s dementia is noticeably worse and his hallucinatory nightmares ever more disruptive—I continue to be surprised by how a small gesture or unexpected comment can comfort me. A few days ago, I did snag an overnight stay alone at our retreat in the Wisconsin woods. On the way home, I stopped at the Smiling Pelican bakery. Sandra and David open this small-town, tiny, and wildly successful bakery only during the summer season. Sandra is a worldclass bakerwho trained abroad. David, an artist, tends the counter. He is a man of very few words, polite but crisp. He does not invite personal conversation. But for years, as James and I stood in line for our chance at chocolate-bourbon truffles or pecan-pumpkin pie, I have asked a few questions. Unasked, I have volunteered information. So we have learned a little about each other. This time I was alone. I had not seen David and Sandra since last fall. David said hello and waited for my order. I gave it to him. As he reached for a paper sack, he then asked, “How is James doing ?” He had noticed James’s absence. I did not know whether David actually cared or not. But I was hanging on 87 too tired for a lie. “Not very well,” I said. I waited a moment. “I’m sorry I can’t be more cheerful than that. But we are hanging on.” David put my sack on the counter. He looked directly at me. A moment passed.“Sometimes,” he said slowly,“that’s all we can do.” “Yes,” I said. In the car, I took a large bite from my chocolate-covered macaroon and continued driving home. ...

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