Marion, Izzy, catch up. Marion always asks him about the book tour, and tells him she is proud of him. Me too. Because of the book tour, I will be seeing Marion less than usual.

 September 20, 2008 – Almost no one in the Alzheimer’s unit we visit remembers us, exactly, from visit to visit, yet there is the feeling we are known and remembered. Visits are easier, communication quicker, smiles and stories come more quickly each time we meet. Part of this is me. I remember who had a dog, who wants to dance, who has stories to tell me, who likes to smile and laugh and has and things to tell Izzy. There is a comfort level, a sense of being known, even of being loved. Surely, and this is a big surprise to me, we love a lot of the people we visit. I know some of the nurses know, and some are friends.
  Marion, more than anyone in the ward, remembers us and waits for our visits. I always get chewed out if too much time has passed, and scolded a bit for not brushing Izzy a bit more meticulously. Marion loves feeding him, she is a nurturer. Her daughter Betsy was visiting when we came today, and as often happens with families we see, she has bonded with Izzy as well.
  From the first, Marion has struggled to remember my name, and often can’t, and she winces in frustration,  calling me “Izzy’s master,” with some embarrassment. Today, after we visited for awhile, she turned to Izzy, and said, “your master’s name is Jon,” and she beamed, and winked at me. This is a big victory for Marion, and victories are important to her. I asked her if I could give her a kiss as I left, and she said why sure, and I kissed her on the forehead as we left, and said we would try and come back tomorrow.
  She thanked me for the kiss. It is important, sometimes, to touch.
 “That’s what you say,” she said, “but I bet it will be a day or two before you come.” As usual, she is probably right.