On the long road to the Adult Day Care Center, a small herd of cows is out ranging every day. One day it becomes winter, and the cows don't come. The hillside is empty. We console ourselves that the cows will be back in the springtime. They always are. Then one springtime, they are not there. We wait for days and weeks, watching the empty hill. Then the disease progresses, and we can't offer the slightest idea that cows were ever there. The kindness of Alzheimer's; the seemingly infinite capacity of man for sorrow.
