I’m writing my memories. I’m not famous or important. I’m simply exploring the course of my life and how I got where I am now. That recently led me to a journal from1974, when I was in Africa with my first husband, trying to find a location to build a research facility as part of study trying to create a serum that would cure Hepatitis B. That writing has not only proved invaluable in showing me the importance of journaling, it’s taken me back in time—more vividly than I could ever have imagined. The intense impressions that I’d jot down at the end of the day, every day, have had me go from laughing out loud to crying crocodile tears.

I wrote in my journal, religiously, during my time as a caregiver. I’ve gone back to read it from time to time, little by little. It isn’t easy reading, but I’ve decided that it’s time to write regularly again, journal-wise, as a result of reading it. I feel my life after caregiving, as a widow, as the founder of The Caregiver Space and as a woman who’s gotten back into the social scene is worth writing about. I hope it will be both entertaining and relatable.

So, consider this my first entry. August 1, 2016.

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