During this past January, I admitted my wife of fifty-five years, Nancy Austin, to a memory care facility as she increasingly needed special care with the diagnosis of dementia. Within six weeks, a lockdown occurred during which our family saw her only through a windowpane. Talking with her depended on the availability of staff cell phones, always unpredictable. The grandchildren, children, and friends tried to touch her, a scene repeated often, leading to painful and frustrating moments. I decided to write a series of essays about Nancy for our children and grandchildren, which they never knew, memories that reached out wrapped in love and respect for others during the ensuing weeks and months of the pandemic. Soon other relatives and friends wanting to read them finally led to their publication. The reader may find similar experience, if not the same kind of storylines, as the pandemic is teaching us how to touch our loved ones.