At the end of August 2015, everything changed for my husband, Tony, and me.

There was the 20 years of marriage we had already shared, and then there was what was to come.

On that fateful day, Tony was diagnosed with early-onset Alzheimer’s disease, and I became “a widow in progress.”

Of course, Tony’s incurable neurological disease probably started much earlier than that, based on the many things that led him to finally see a doctor. In fact, those things had become so noticeable that he was in danger of losing his job. It was only then that I convinced him that he needed to be tested to see what was going on.

How we hoped that his memory issues were just a vitamin deficiency or lack of sleep or any number of explainable and fixable things. But it was not to be.

Neither one of us took the news particularly well. How could we?

Tony was about 10 days shy of his 58th birthday. I turned 47 that June. We were supposed to have decades together. We planned to be that little old couple who held hands in the park.

This illness, this terribly challenging journey we were embarking on, was not part of our plans.

Our plans had to change. The first of many was to get our affairs in order. Although it sounds like something out of a movie, that’s exactly what we had to do. Wills had to be drawn up, power of attorney had to be assigned, and Tony’s wishes had to be ascertained. We just didn’t know how much time we would have.

The average length of life after a Alzheimer’s disease diagnosis is eight years. Of course, most people don’t get it until they are already much older. Then again, some people can live with Alzheimer’s disease for 20 years. This, too, brings uncertainty.

During those first few years, I was also taking care of my elderly mother, who had come to live with us in 2014. She also had a form of dementia, and I learned a lot that would serve me well with Tony.

Happily, in those first few years, Tony was still mostly the man I fell in love with. He still was able to drive, crack jokes and take care of tasks around the house.

Of course, he had to retire from his job, and I know that saddened him greatly. But Tony has always been a realist and not one to be overly emotional, so he seemed to take it all in stride.

That’s not to say that there weren’t issues. He’d often call himself stupid whenever he’d forget something or mess something up. It was heartbreaking for me to hear that, and that’s when we decided to give the disease a name in order to blame it. None of this was Tony’s fault; it clearly was the disease.

That’s when “Fred” entered our lives. Although I’m not completely sure Tony still recognizes who Fred is, I do, and I’m grateful that I can still place the blame on Fred whenever I get frustrated.

These days, a decade into this journey, I get frustrated more often than I’d like. The Tony that I live with now bears little resemblance to the man I married.

I’ve often said that it feels like I’m living in the movie “Invasion of the Body Snatchers.”

My Tony was kind and considerate. This version is unable to be either.

My Tony was helpful and loving. This version is stubborn and unable to express love and gratitude.

It saddens me that I don’t even remember when Tony stopped talking. These days he babbles incessantly throughout the day. If he does form a recognizable word, it’s not done in a way meant to convey meaning. Unless it’s a swear word and he’s expressing his anger at having to be bathed or the like.

Despite that, this version of Tony still wants to hold my hand from time to time. Somewhere in the tangle of his brain, he knows that I’m his person, that I’m his safe place. I just wish it was more often. My Tony used to hold my hand every day, and he’d tell me he loved me every day, too. How I miss the man who was my biggest cheerleader and best friend.

After 10 years of Alzheimer’s disease, it’s impossible to say how much longer my dear Tony has. That thought brings me so much sadness.

So I’m going to do everything I can to make the time he has left as good as I can. I owe that to the love of my life, and I owe that to us.

• Joan Oliver is the former Northwest Herald assistant news editor. She has been associated with the Northwest Herald since 1990. She can be reached at jolivercolumn@gmail.com.