Long before her diagnosis, my reliably cheerful friend turned sour. Even our most mundane conversations became contentious. Pessimism and frustration darkened her world. Eventually, as words eluded her and her thinking grew disorganized, the diagnosis came: early dementia. Terrifying, yes, but naming her condition set her free. Her joy returned in force. Now, when I visit her in her assisted-living apartment, a smile lights her face. Complex sentences are out of her reach. Instead, she pours out pure love — telling me I’m wonderful, beautiful and smart. Her son says her happiness lasts for hours after our visits. — Elise Gibson