Absolutely not!!!

As difficult as it is for you to see your wife in her diminished state, make no mistake - she is still very much there, and although she doesn't show it the way you might like, she still benefits from your visits. Knowing what to say can be hard for you because you're trying to relate to her the same way you have for 58 years. However, her disease has changed the way she hears and speaks and understands, so the things you used to talk about with her are no longer relevant to her.   Your world is no longer her world. 

In order to connect with her now, you must leave your world and go to hers. This means that simple things, like touch and expression and music, now resonate with her more than words and conversation.   There are lots of ways for you to use these to connect with her again. One of the easiest is simply holding hands, or putting your forehead up to hers for a moment and murmuring her name a few times.   Nearly all memory-impaired patients will respond to music, especially familiar tunes from their childhood.  Often just singing a few lines is all that's needed to make a connection.  Same goes for familiar poetry or verse that she would have learned as a child. Try reading aloud to her from A. A. Milne or Mother Goose, or quoting The Night Before Christmas or The Owl and the Pussycat, and see if she doesn't give you her attention.

Just because your wife doesn't respond to you the same way she always has doesn't mean she's completely gone from you. It's just that she's in a different world now, so it's up to you to visit her there instead.

Marie Marley, author of Come Back Early Today: A Story of Love, Alzheimer's and Joy, struggled with the same concern when visiting Ed, her partner of thirty years. One day, she was inexplicably drawn to purchase a stuffed animal, a little yellow chick that said "peep peep peep" when you pushed its button. She had no idea why she bought it, and assumed that Ed, a scholar, lawyer, and French professor, would have nothing to do with it.   Here is what she writes:

"Mar-r-rie, I can't enough thank you," he said in his usual Romanian accent and flawed syntax, smiling radiantly as he continued petting the chick. "You help me so much and now this wonderful puppy you brought me."  He called all stuffed animals 'puppies.'

Gradually my need and desire for my 'old Ed' began melting away as I realized that I could bring such happiness to my 'new Ed.'

The man who had lost so much was in a state of child-like bliss thanks to my small gift. His fervent gratitude for the many little stuffed animals I later took him and the fun he had playing with them all made me feel joyous, too.

I eventually realized that little by little and without even noticing, I had accepted his illness and I had found new ways to relate to him, ways that were genuinely satisfying for both of us. Just seeing him smile and hearing him laugh had become more than enough to make up for losing our previous relationship. 
 

My heart had changed forever.  Our love had adapted and endured, despite that last and most daunting obstacle it would ever face.