Last week, when I stood in the card aisle at the drug store picking out an appropriate Valentine’s Day card for my husband, I acknowledged a new reality in my life. My husband has dementia, and the routines of daily life are now a bit different from when we first came together. This year, I also picked out a Valentine—for myself—from him. Now that he can no longer drive, or shop and handle money safely on his own, I bought my own romantic card—for him to give to me.

When someone you love has dementia, adjustments have to be made in how you give and accept love. Buying my own gifts and cards is just one of the little things I can do to include him in the little rituals of our life without him feeling left out or hurting his feelings. Fortunately, I have good taste in cards and gifts, so I’m always thrilled with my selections, which makes us both happy.

The accommodations we make to adjust to the changes is another way of showing love. I modify my own behaviour to make his life as happy, as uncomplicated, and as comfortable as I can. He shows his love by reminding me to wear a coat when I go out in the cold, or asking if the gas tank is full when I head off on a day of errands. He has his own little ways of showing he cares.

Dementia comes with personality changes. The husband I have now is not the same one I married twenty-four years ago. Life is cyclical, and while the best years of my life have been with him, adjustments must now be made to love the changing person he is becoming. I am not always successful. I am not always good at it, and I am not always as patient as I would like to be. Those movies depicting dementia caregivers as endlessly loving and understanding are not real life.

Even when he’s “sundowning” and I’m at the end of my tether, he tells me he loves me, and I reciprocate. It’s at that time of day (after 4:00 p.m.) when neither of us is at our best, comes a reminder that buried deep inside, and despite that damage inflicted by dementia, he still “gets me” and knows when I’m fed up or angry. That’s when my own behaviour requires modification.

Within the constraints of this terrible disease, there is always room to show your love in little ways. I still have the Valentine’s Day card that says “I really, really, really like you!”, framed in a shadow box with a dried rose from the bouquet he gave me on our first Valentine’s Day twenty-five years ago. It hangs above my desk to remind me that he’s still my Valentine. So many boomers have lost loved ones in recent years for various reasons. I would like you all to be my Valentine—there’s always room for more love in our lives. We probably need it now more than ever.