Caregiving Pivot #1 – Chapel in the Pines.
This begins a series of stories about the turning points that reshaped my life as a caregiver.
The Chapel in the Pines is one of those places that feels like it belongs to another time. A tiny wooden church tucked into the trees, open only in the summer months. The kind of place where the pews creak when you breathe and the sunlight filters through the old windows in soft, dusty beams. I had sung there before — enough times that it felt familiar, almost comforting. A place where music rises easily.
Getting To The Chapel
Uno, my husband of 35 years at the time, and I had driven out together that morning, the way we always did. He loved these little country churches as much as I did. We’d talk about the songs, the people, the drive, the beauty of the pines. Nothing unusual. Nothing alarming. Just us.
Inside, people were settling in, greeting each other, waiting for the music to begin. I remember settling in at the piano, glancing over at Uno the way I always did — a small, shared moment of “we’re here, we’re doing this together.”
During the last song, we moved toward the outside of the church, where the overflow of the congregation was sitting on benches and lawn chairs. We walked among them and sang, and they sang along to the simple tune of “Here I Am.”
Yet somewhere between the sound check and the last song, something shifted. It wasn’t dramatic. It wasn’t loud. It wasn’t even something anyone else would have noticed.
We finished the service the way we always did — chatting with a few people, packing up the guitar, slipping everything into the truck. Nothing felt unusual. Nothing to hint at what was coming. We were camping for the weekend, so we headed back toward the campground, talking about the songs, the people, the morning.
The question that changed everything
Somewhere along the drive, I said something simple — something I didn’t think twice about.
“Well, I’m glad I had the idea to go outside. I think that worked really well.”
He blew up. “What do you mean, YOU thought of that? It was MY idea,” his voice sharp, louder than the moment called for.
I was taken aback. “No… I thought of it.”
And suddenly we were arguing — really arguing — over something so small it shouldn’t have mattered.
But it did. To him. To me. Our voices rose one after another. He was shouting in the truck as he drove, and I was trying to keep up, trying to understand why this tiny detail had turned into a storm.
Then he turned it into something bigger. “Why do you always have to do that?” he snapped.
“Do what?” I asked, confused.
“Make yourself look better. You always have to turn the story around so you look better than me. Why do you do that?”
His words felt like an attack — sharp, personal, out of nowhere. I felt myself getting defensive, getting hurt. And getting loud too.
At the time, I thought we were having a normal marital argument — one of those ridiculous fights couples sometimes have when they’re tired or stressed. I didn’t know yet that we were arguing with something neither of us could see. I didn’t know that his brain was beginning to protect itself by filling in missing pieces with whatever felt true in the moment. I didn’t know that this was the disease whispering its first warnings.
All I knew was that we were both upset, both convinced we were right, both wondering how a simple comment had turned into a shouting match.
Silence After the Crack
Later, I would learn the word for it: intrusions. Later, I would understand that he wasn’t attacking me — he was trying to make sense of a world that was already slipping. Later, I would see this moment for what it was: the first crack in our shared reality.
That day, driving back to the campground, all I felt was confusion. And something else — something quieter, deeper. A shift.
I didn’t know it then, but this was the season that would eventually give birth to I Still Say Yes to You.
I wasn’t writing it yet — I was living it.
* * *
This is the first in a series about the pivotal moments when the disease began shifting my focus.
If this story resonates with you, you can find the song I Still Say Yes To You on the Music page — links to all streaming platforms are there. And the lyric video is here: You Tube I Still Say Yes To You.
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