In addition to my own experience and knowledge of what other men are like, I can offer a few insights that might be helpful.
You, the readers, could have more important stories than my own. That knowledge tells me I should listen to those stories and do what I can to polish them a little. Then use this medium to inform and inspire others to do something similar.
My brain continues to allow me to interact with the world. That’s no longer the case with my wife, the other half of me for over half a century.
There are both men and women who provide excellent care for their spouses without giving evidence of being severely affected emotionally, physically, or spiritually.
How can a husband, or anyone else, view faith as a solace for overcoming unremittent sadness and grief?
I began to define aloneness as a lack of dynamic engagement with someone (or people) with whom I had formed an essential bond.
Aloneness is much different than feeling lonely.
Some can only imagine what my care giving situation is like. Few of them can share the type or level of meaning my wife and I subscribed to.
It may be a cliché, but it seems clear to me that love remains long after most other parts of the brain and personality disappear.
How does that song from the movie Camelot go? “Don’t let it be forgot that once there was a spot, for one brief shining moment, that was known as Camelot.” Camelot died because human passions went haywire. Our Camelot died because of Alzheimer’s.