He is 85 and insists on taking his wife's hand everywhere they go. When he was asked why his wife kept looking away, he responded, "because she has Alzheimer's." Then he was asked, will

He is 85 and insists on taking his wife's hand everywhere they go. When he was asked why his wife kept looking away, he responded, "because she has Alzheimer's." Then he was asked, "Will...

...you still hold her hand, even when she might not remember who you are?"

The old man, a charming Irishman named Seamus with a twinkle in his eye and a shock of white hair, just squeezed his wife’s frail hand a little tighter. They were sitting on a park bench, the autumn leaves swirling around them, and his wife, Mary, was gazing vaguely at a squirrel attempting to bury an acorn in the concrete.

"Well now," Seamus said, his voice raspy but clear, "that's a grand question, isn't it?" He paused, chuckling softly. "See, the way I look at it, Mary might not always remember my name, or our wedding day, or even that she's had breakfast this morning. But she knows a good hand when she holds it."

He leaned closer, as if sharing a great secret. "Sometimes, she'll squeeze back, a tiny little squeeze, and for a second, it's like the old Mary is right there, clear as a bell. And even if she doesn't, even if her eyes are off in the clouds somewhere, I remember. I remember every dance, every laugh, every fight, and every single moment that led us to this park bench, holding hands."

The person who asked the question, a young reporter who'd been touched by their story, looked a bit teary-eyed. "That's... that's incredibly beautiful, sir."

Seamus chuckled again, a drier, more mischievous sound this time. "Beautiful, aye. And practical! You see, if I let go, she might wander off. Last Tuesday, I let go for just a minute to tie my shoelace, and next thing I know, she's trying to pay for a hot dog with a bus ticket and telling the vendor he reminds her of her Uncle Finnegan!"

He patted Mary's hand gently. "So, no, I won't ever stop holding her hand. Partly for love, mostly for safety, and a little bit because if I let go, I might miss the chance to remind her where the ice cream truck usually parks. She's got a fondness for vanilla, bless her heart, even if she can't recall its name."

Mary, seemingly roused by the mention of ice cream, turned her head slightly towards him, a faint, sweet smile gracing her lips. Seamus winked at the reporter. "See? She hears what's important. Always does."