A Brighter, Musical Place

I am currently in the UK, visiting family—time that feels both deeply precious and quietly transformative.

My brother has early-onset dementia, PCA. And yet, even in the midst of this reality, his spirit—his bright, beautiful personality—cannot be dimmed.

Last night, We watched Hairspray with my niece, together.

We sang every song—off key, full-throated, and with all the wrong words.

And it was perfect.

It was freeing. It was magical. It was alive.

This morning held a different kind of tenderness. I tried to help him wake and get to the bathroom, but he wanted to wait for his son to help dress him. And that was more than okay.

There is such dignity in choice. Such love in allowing.

His children and his wife have surrounded him with a field of care that is almost tangible—woven with laughter, joy, and yes… a few quiet, private tears.

He is 57.

And it has probably been 55 years since I last helped him in this way.

There is something profoundly humbling in that.

To witness life come full circle. To step into roles we never expected to revisit. To meet each other again in a new way.

What moves me most is the love.

The way his family holds him. The way friends gather around. The way this circle has widened—and somehow, beautifully, become mine too.

My world feels different here.

Brighter. Softer. More honest. More musical.

Even in the complexity… there is grace.

Thank you, dear Michael. For reminding me what love looks like in its purest form.