July 23, 2026
Today was Dad’s 84th birthday. Although we celebrated his birthday and Mom and Dad’s 60th wedding anniversary a few days early, it was a gift to watch them both wake up and reach this remarkable milestone together by God’s grace.
I arrived early and was welcomed by the aroma of fresh banana muffins that had come out of the oven only minutes before. There are few places more comforting than sitting in my parents’ kitchen, sharing something warm, and simply enjoying another ordinary day that God has given us.
Dad has often joked that marrying on his birthday meant his birthday would always ride in the tailwind behind their anniversary celebration. He never complained. Being married to Mom was always the greater gift.
Dad was especially excited because his property was being surveyed. He happily headed outside with the Surveyor to “kick rocks,” enjoying the simple pleasure of man-to-man conversation, measurements, and a few contented grunts. It was exactly the kind of activity that made him smile.
Later, Gentle Shepherd Hospice arrived. Dad welcomed them inside, and they immediately began singing “Happy Birthday.”
Then came one of those moments that dementia has a way of uncovering.
Mom could not remember Dad’s name.
Yet she sang with unmistakable joy, replacing his name with “the man.” She took his hand, and smiled with the affection of a wife who knew exactly who belonged to her, even though the name had slipped away.
In other words, Dan is still her man.
A few weeks ago, I also discovered a treasure tucked away in my parent’s keepsakes — a birthday and anniversary card that had been carefully preserved.
It read:
“As time goes by, we appreciate more and more all the things you’ve done for us. We recognize kind acts and realize sacrifices. We understand your viewpoints and appreciate your wisdom. Not only do we love you for these things, but we love all that you are—and we love that you’re our parents.”
Beneath those printed words was a handwritten note:
“We are eternally grateful for your love to God and to each other. Your example and devotion to Jesus shine through in your love for us and others. Thank you for your commitment and integrity. We are so blessed to have you in our lives. We LOVE you!”
Love Always,
Marianne, Joe, Holly, Ashley, Joey, Finn, and Louis (the dogs).
The card was dated July 23, 2020.
361 days later, their beloved Marianne Grace suffered a brain aneurysm.
On August 7, 2021, Jesus carried her Home.
This was the last birthday and anniversary card Mom and Dad would ever receive from her.
During those heartbreaking weeks, our lives revolved around long drives between Virginia and New Jersey, gathering with family and friends on the sidewalks outside the hospital to pray, learning to trust God in the midst of the fiercest storm we had ever faced, and ultimately entrusting Marianne into the loving arms of Jesus. In the weight of those days, July 23, 2021 quietly came and went. Without anyone realizing it, Mom and Dad’s anniversary and Dad’s birthday passed by uncelebrated, overshadowed by our grief and our desperate hope.
Today, calendars and dates mean very little to Mom. The names and numbers attached to each day have faded with dementia.
But something stronger remains.
Every morning over breakfast, Mom and Dad hold hands and pray.
At lunch, they hold hands again.
At dinner, they do the same.
That is exactly how God designed the covenant of love.
“Many waters cannot quench love, neither can floods drown it.”
— Song of Solomon 8:7
This evening, Dad was reading the many birthday and anniversary messages that friends and family had shared on social media. When he finished, he switched over to YouTube to listen to old gospel songs from the 1980s.
Then something happened that none of us could have planned.
As he scrolled, a video of Marianne appeared.
It was her singing “O America.”
Marianne’s voice was as smooth as velvet. When she sang, hearts melted.
Dad’s phone was placed in the middle of the dinner table and before they prayed, Marianne sang to them once again.
The room grew quiet, and Heaven gently leaned close.
After a day celebrating Dad’s 84 years of life, honoring a marriage that has weathered decades together, living with dementia’s daily losses, and remembering the daughter they miss every day, Marianne Grace, and her beautiful voice filled the room.
No, she wasn’t physically there.
But her love still echoes.
Her testimony still points to Jesus.
Not because YouTube’s algorithm happened to recommend a video while watching 80’s Gospel.
But because God, in His tender mercy, often reminds us that love rooted in Christ is never truly lost.
It one of those gentle gifts from our Heavenly Father that cannot be explained, only received with gratitude.
Either way, it became the perfect closing hymn to Dad’s birthday.
As I watched Mom and Dad holding hands once again, I realized that dementia has stolen many things—but it has not stolen the covenant God forged between them over six decades ago.
Their love is quieter now.
Slower.
Simpler.
Yet, more profound.
Their story reminds me that one day every broken mind will be restored, every tear will be wiped away, and every child of God will remember perfectly.
Until then, we keep holding hands.
We keep praying.
We keep singing.
We keep loving.
Because “love never ends.”
— 1 Corinthians 13:8
