June 2025 came with a quiet kind of sorrow that settled into the spaces we didn’t know how to fill.

My mother-in-law had been living with Alzheimer’s for some time, and little by little, we had already begun to lose pieces of her long before she passed. Memories faded like old photographs left too long in the sun. Conversations grew shorter, names slipped away, and the vibrant woman she once was seemed to drift just out of reach. Still, there were moments—small, fleeting ones—where her smile would return, or her eyes would light up with recognition, and we held onto those as tightly as we could.

When she passed in June, it felt both sudden and expected, like the final page of a story we had been reading for years but were never truly ready to finish. There was sadness, of course, but also a quiet sense of peace. The illness that had slowly taken so much from her no longer could.

But just as we were learning how to carry that loss, another chapter began.

In January 2026, my husband, Chris—her son—was diagnosed with Alzheimer’s.

The words felt heavy in a way that’s hard to describe. We had already walked this path once. We knew the turns it could take, the quiet changes, the difficult days, and the strength it demands. And yet, knowing doesn’t make it easier. If anything, it makes the road ahead feel even more real.

This time, though, we walk it together in a different way. As a family, we carry not only the weight of what’s to come, but also the knowledge, love, and resilience we built along the way with his mum. We understand the importance of patience, of kindness, of holding onto the moments that matter.

We also know we are not alone.

There are people—kind, compassionate people—who have supported us, guided us, and stood beside us through the hardest days. Words never quite feel like enough to express what that means to us.

So we say thank you in the way we can.

As a family, we will wear our Alzheimer’s “Forget Me Not” badges—not just as a symbol of the illness, but as a sign of gratitude. A quiet message to those who have helped us, and to those who continue to walk alongside us.

This journey is not one we would have chosen. But it is one we will face together, with love, with courage, and with the memory of all that has come before

My husband Les had vascular dementia he ended up in a care home for about 6 weeks he died in 2015
I helped in a day centre for about three years it was a life saver for me he attended 2 days a week

We sadly lost my Mum to Dementia a few years ago & it was awful to see her go through this horrid disease, which robbed Mum of her dignity & peace in her later years

My dad was officially diagnosed with Alzheimer’s in February 2024. His memory had declined slowly over the previous ten years, and it took a lot of persuasion before he finally agreed to see a doctor. He still won’t acknowledge the diagnosis and insists he’s simply “losing it with age,” which can be frustrating. As a family, we’ve had to adjust - not just to the physical demands of being a carer but to the emotional and communicative changes as well. We’ve learned to modify our tone and the way we speak to him, and we continue to adapt as his memory worsens month by month.

Seeing how my dad’s memory loss and confusion affect him in day to day life has made me realise how important small, practical acts of understanding really are.

This is a photo of dad in his happy place on the sofa next to the dog attempting to do some puzzles.

In loving memory of our mum, whose kindness and quiet strength touched so many.

She gave her time freely to her local Alzheimer’s charity, supporting those facing difficult journeys with compassion, patience, and dignity. She never sought recognition—she simply cared.

We are incredibly proud of the difference she made and grateful to call her our mum.

Her kindness lives on in every life she touched