Christenberry is four years into a diagnosis of Alzheimer’s. A long time gone since he walked out of his light-filled studio in the adjacent lot and told Sandy that “something’s wrong.” Although his friends know, this is the family’s first public acknowledgment of the disease.
There is a caretaker now, appointments with doctors, and bad days.
“If I seem to be slow on the uptake this morning,” he says, still gracious to a fault, “I’m sorry about that.”
It breaks your heart into, soft shards, like sawdust.