Bob still volunteers several days a week at the Long Island Alzheimer's Foundation, doing everything from answering phones to helping calm an agitated Alzheimer's patient waiting for his wife. "I benefit more than they do probably," Bob says of his work. "It gives me a strong sense of fulfillment."

But sometimes he sees someone - like the gray-haired woman he spotted a few weeks ago clutching a baby doll to her chest - and his heart just stops. "When I see something like that it just shreds me to pieces," he says. "Maybe she reminds me of Marge, so sweet and gentle."

He still can't sleep in their bedroom. He's only now starting to slowly give away Marge's clothes.

"I try to find out from others how they do it," Bob says. "They're moving on, picking up their lives. I can't do it."

Bob sees a therapist to help him with his grief and he tries to keep himself busy. He has begun writing a book about his life with Marge. He originally titled it "The Progression of a Disease" but then had second thoughts.

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"I said, 'Why am I just writing about the disease?' Let me start from the very beginning, from the first moment we met," Bob says. The new title: "Marge and I."

His grandson Phillip calls to check up on him every night and they visit every other weekend, Bob driving the two and a half hours up to Hartford, Conn.. Phillip's wife is expecting a little girl in February: her middle name will be Marjorie, named after Marge.

"I can't wait to meet her," Bob says, beaming.