My Dad and Liz got married in December 2014, when Dad was 82 and Liz was 73. It was a bold statement about love, commitment, and companionship later in life. We lost Liz to Lewy Body Dementia last Friday. 

Both Dad and Liz had previous long, successful, loving marriages which ended up with the premature death of their spouses. Liz had three daughters. Dad had the twelve of us. In those early years of their relationship together, as I got to know Liz, I remember things that impressed me about her. Right from the start, she was determined to know all of our names. That was a hefty task to undertake, but she was like a pro, asking about my kids by name when I would visit. As of right now, the name count, without Dad’s great grandkids, stands at 95, including the great-grandkids. Those numbers would have been a bit lower eight years ago, but not by that much. Liz was sharp as a tack, and knew us all. 

Liz was a fantastic conversationalist. She was knowledgeable and easy to get along with. She was also funny and a touch sarcastic. I felt like I was really just getting to know her sassy side. See, when a parent gets married when the family is grown and dealing with their own kids and grandkids, it takes longer to get to know one another. To add to that, Travis and I moved out of state. Liz was classy, put-together, beautiful, and carried herself with ease and grace. In fact, I was with Dad when he met Liz. Dad had joined Travis and me for a hospital fundraiser. Liz was there with her daughter Diana. Travis and Diana knew each other, so we all ended up talking in a group. Eventually, Travis, Diana, and I wandered away, leaving Liz and Dad talking. And that was the start! 

As the dementia took over a few years ago, Liz started losing the names she had fought so hard to memorize. It was heartbreaking. It was easy to see her frustration. Sometimes, she could get it back with reminders. Other times, she would talk to us, knowing that she knew us, but not sure how. She was great at improvising and holding up her side of the conversation. I loved her gumption and determination. About a year ago, the dementia started tightening its grip. I was sad for both Liz and Dad. Their relationship had been so nice to witness. 

The picture is at Liz and Dad’s wedding, with Dad’s twelve kids. I remember that I showed up that day with the same top that Liz had. She laughed it off, and I put on a black cover that I had in the car. This is how I will remember her. Hopefully, she is reunited with her first husband, to whom she was married 39 loving years. Oh, the time they will have. 

Meanwhile, we all will adjust to life without Liz. I got a chance to visit with two of her daughters just before Liz passed, and it was nice to hear about her life, and the joy her family brought her. It was easy to see the love they shared. The memories from before dementia are coming back easily. That will be her legacy.