We used to speak for hours on the phone, debating current affairs, politics, religion - largely agreeing with each other but also challenging each other. Mum was the person I called with my news - Mum, I got a new job! - I won an award! - I can't tell anyone yet but...

Mum had a successful career where her kindness always shone through - she brought people together, supported communities and helped individuals.

Now she struggles to get words out and when she does they only make sense to her. Dementia is a terrible illness and I am running the Royal Parks Half Marathon for my Mum - and for all those other parents, siblings, friends.

I’m taking on the Cotswold Way to raise money for dementia support — a cause that sits close to my heart. I’m walking in honour of both my aunt and two close friends whose life’s have been deeply affected by dementia.Dementia doesn’t just steal memories; it reshapes relationships, routines, and the world around the person living with it.
As I follow the hills and valleys of the Cotswold Way, I’ll be thinking of them — of the strength they’ve shown, the memories we’ve shared, and the thousands of families facing the same journey.
Every step is for them, and for everyone living with dementia today.

My Mum died 5 years ago of Dementia. The strongest woman I've ever known. I'm doing the 3 Peaks National Challenge (3 Mountains in 24 hours) in memory of her and all lost to Alzheimer's. To all families who are caring for your loved ones, stay strong, enter their world and love is ALWAYS the answer.

Next Sunday I’m running the Hackney Half for the Alzheimer Society in memory of my grandmothers. They both passed away from Alzheimer’s-related complications over the past two years.

Brenda Osborne my mum passed away in April recently after rapid onset of impaired Alzheimer's and urine infections. Having been the life and soul of parties and her grand children's upbringing she will be sadly missed at the age of 81 she was still physically fit but her brain deteriorated so fast.

I’m taking part in Memory Walk in London for my dad, who is a profoundly deaf British Sign Language (BSL) user living with dementia.

In 2017, after changes in his memory and behaviour became impossible to ignore, my dad was diagnosed at the specialist cognitive clinic for deaf people at National Hospital for Neurology and Neurosurgery. Receiving a diagnosis was overwhelming, but having access to a service that understood both dementia and the unique communication needs of Deaf people made an enormous difference.

Dementia has changed my dad’s life in ways we never imagined. Communication, identity and connection are so deeply tied to language, and for Deaf people, that language is BSL. Watching dementia affect not only his memory, but also his ability to communicate and connect, has been heartbreaking for our family.

Today, my dad lives in one of only two specialist care homes for Deaf people in the UK, where he is surrounded by people who understand his language and culture. That specialist support is invaluable, but it also highlights how limited these services are.

I’m walking Memory Walk for my dad—for the man he is, and the man dementia is slowly taking from us. I’m walking to raise awareness of the impact dementia has on Deaf communities, and to help ensure more families can access the understanding, support and specialist care they desperately need.

My dad, Ray, passed away on Wednesday 6th May 2026 after a long journey with frontotemporal dementia caused by a familial MAPT gene mutation. He was the kindest, gentlest man I have ever known - a proud Welshman with a hippy soul, a teacher, artist, joker and devoted family man.

My sister and I were his whole world. Even when dementia had taken most of his language, he still told us, over and over, how much he loved us and how proud he was. He taught us kindness not through words, but through who he was: cooking dinners without complaint, taking us to Pride, playing guitar while we danced around him, always showing up early to collect me from work.

Dad loved Rothko and Pollock, Bob Dylan and Dire Straits, Manchester City and long walks through the Welsh countryside. He had the softest blue eyes, the best hugs, and the silliest dad jokes. Becoming a Taid brought him enormous joy.

Dementia is a slow goodbye. My dad had already watched his own father and brother walk this same road. Now, our family is going through genetic counselling, facing difficult questions about our future and our children’s future.

One in three people will develop dementia. Families like mine urgently need more research, more awareness, and hope that one day no one will have to endure this heartbreak again.

Caru ti, Dad.

I am taking part in this walk for my amazing grandad Keith who we sadly lost last September. Growing up he was a huge inspiration and even bigger part of my life. He made everyone laughed wherever he went and never stopped smiling. Throughout his battle with dementia he remained strong, which was a huge inspiration to me to keep going and pushing myself. Growing up I helped look after him and take him places with my mum and dad, and these memories I will cherish forever the rest of my life. He never stopped singing his favourite songs, which caused me to also know all the words and sing along with him.

The day we lost my grandad was the hardest day of my life, it felt like the light had been sucked out of me and all the joy in the world had disappeared. And here I am 8 months later pushing to find any charity run/walk that will help battle Alzheimer’s in honour of him.

I hope by doing this walk I do him proud and that he is smiling down at me knowing that he is still and always in my heart.

I am walking for Alzheimer’s Society in honour of my late mother, who lived with dementia for over a decade. Watching the woman I loved gradually change over the years was one of the most heartbreaking experiences of my life. Dementia slowly took away her memories, independence, and parts of the personality that made her who she was. Seeing her confusion, frustration, and moments when she no longer recognised familiar faces was devastating for our family.

As a nurse, I have cared for many people living with dementia, but experiencing it personally gave me a deeper understanding of the emotional pain and challenges families face every single day. This walk is my way of remembering my mother, honouring her strength, and standing with everyone affected by dementia.

I am taking every step with love, remembrance, and hope — hope for better support, greater awareness, more research, and one day, a world without dementia. No family should have to go through this journey alone.