Lace ‘Em Up: It’s Time Again For The Walk To End Alzheimer’s

The annual Walk To End Alzheimer’s is coming up Saturday, October 1st on the south steps of the state capital. If you or your family has been affected, or you’d just like to show your support, it is a great event, with lots of on-site services and resources to answer any questions you might have. To find out more, just click here.

I became involved in the walk following my mom’s dementia diagnosis in 2010, and have been honored to MC it several times, including again this year. My broadcast partner Pat Still will also join me this year to share his experience of a loved one also facing this disease.

Below is a piece I wrote about my mom and her experience three years ago for the local publication Style magazine, to which (full disclosure) I am a regular contributor. I wrote it just a few months after my mom had passed. I was still processing what she, our family, and I had been through. Two years later, I still am.

My mom would have turned 90 this year. When she was born, Calvin Coolidge was president, and cars came with hand cranks. She saw a lot: the depression, a world war, the rise of Justin Bieber. In 2010, she was diagnosed with Alzheimer’s and in 2013, she passed away. But even as she struggled to remember what year it was or forgot to take her medication, some things remained constant, like her sharp sense of humor. I called her one Saturday morning shortly before she passed:

“Hi mom!” I said

“Who is this?” She asked.

I wasn’t surprised by her question–she’d get my brother and me mixed up on the phone long before Alzheimer’s. I clarified: “It’s Tom!”

“Oh,” she said, pausing for one perfect moment. “You still think I’m your mother, don’t you?” and then she burst into laughter.

It’s a strange thing, Alzheimer’s. Imagine the brain like a string of lights that suddenly begin flickering. Some bulbs go out for good. Others keep burning. Some seem to burn out, but then come back on, only to dim again. There’s no pattern and little predictability. Some of my mom’s lights burned bright as ever, like that sense of humor and her long-term memory. But others—short-term memory, simple reasoning—were either out completely or flickered randomly. As time went on, more lights blinked out and never came back on.

My dad died in 2006 and she lived alone. She was well looked after by my sister and niece, who lived near her. Another sister, my brother and I visited as often as we could. But still, we were concerned. We wanted to move her to an assisted care facility, but she was still fiercely independent. “I’m a tough old bird,” she reminded us frequently. The one time she actually agreed, she lasted one night. My sister got a call the next morning from the facility supervisor: Mom had called a moving company. We realized that for as long as possible, her home was the best place. It was familiar. She was alone, but she was happy.

After the funeral, we cleaned out her room. Much of the stuff we’d seen before, but we were surprised to discover something else. My mom had a lifelong love of writing, but we thought she gave it up when macular degeneration made it too difficult for her to see. However, in a relatively new spiral notebook, we found poems. Not many, but enough to tell us that in her solitude, one light still burned brightly.

She scrubbed
She cooked
She laundered
She raised four children…
She laundered everything

She went to church, and so did her family

She loved good music
She loved good comedy
She loved to swim

She was lucky
And unlucky
She was happy
She knew sadness

She would’ve liked to attend college

So many years
So many smiles
—And a few non-friendships
(Hey, isn’t that what life is all about?)

And hoping
Most of all
That whoever reads this

Will remember that I tried in so many ways to care for my family

Caring for a loved one with Alzheimer’s is not easy, but in the coming decades, it looms. One out of eight baby boomers can expect to experience some type of Alzheimer’s. The World Health Organization calls it a “public health priority,” with U.S. cost projections as high as $215 billion annually—more than heart disease or cancer, combined.

In one way or another, it will affect all of us. And if you have a loved one facing it, you’re facing it too. But resources are available. Find out more at

In the meantime, stay focused on those lights that still burn brightly. They cast warmth that can help to see you through.