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Dear Alzheimer’s, You’re just a dirty sneak thief. You sneak in and steal from people. You don’t even have the courage to announce yourself. Your nasty cousin, cancer, at least starts with a cough or a pain. But not you, oh no. You waltzed in, and started taking things. Little things. Things you didn’t think would be noticed; like where the car keys had gone, or the reading glasses. “Everybody remember where we parked!” became a family joke. You started taking bigger things. Like conversation. Gone were the days when we talked about so many things over coffee. Now there were questions asked, and answered, and asked again. Trains of thought, derailed before they even left the station. But now, everyone notices. Stolen glances behind backs, eyes rolling like teenagers at hearing the question, again. And, occasionally, “Oh wait, I asked that already, didn’t I?” "You know, I'm just not worth a damn some days." She knows now, that something is missing. But you’re sneaky, she’s not quite sure what’s going on. And while this is cruel, what is worse is that the past is now crystal clear. Phone calls and emails to grandchildren to apologize for things that happened 13 years ago. Knowing for certain, with absolute clarity, what she wore to that Halloween party 40 years ago. You’re getting bolder now. Walking, moving, becomes difficult. You’ve stolen our walks. When we would wander the neighborhood, the park, even the mall. The shuffling gait leads to trips, trips to falls, falls to fear, and fear, to inaction. We ask, “What’s next?” There’s a caregiver now. You’ve taken her ability to feed herself, and care for herself. She’s like a small child again needing help with daily activities like brushing her teeth, and even going to the bathroom. Unmarked boxes, full of “incontinence supplies” start showing up with the mail. Like a small child, she lashes out in anger, and frustration. She knows things are missing. If that wasn’t enough, you’ve taken her spirit, the very thing that made her, who she is, or was. She lays on the bed, not knowing anyone, or anything. There isn’t even any fighting. We know she’s gone, only her body doesn’t realize it yet. We mourn, but we can’t fully, as we try to care for what you’ve left behind. You’ve taken so much. Will you ever be satisfied? Sincerely, molly We all have fears. When i was a teen, and into my early twenties i lived in a part of the US that has high rates for MS, Multiple Sclerosis. It was my boogeyman. Now, three people i know, two of which i went to high school with, are battling it. It doesn’t frighten me anymore. The area i grew up in has been labeled a “cancer cluster." Talking with classmates from high school, we’re losing parents and each other to cancer and other chronic illnesses. i deal with this daily, it’s no longer a fear. But Alzheimer’s. That’s fecking scary. My Grandmother had it; her sister had it; my mother has it; my sister's mother in law has it. My aunt lost her husband to it last year. We’d been saying goodbye to him for three or four years Losing ME, that’s scary. So scary that it can make me cry. This month in the US starts a series of "Walk to End Alzheimer's" events. You'll see commercials for it, hear stories on the news programs, they'll say that "the first survivor of Alzheimer's is out there." If you are so inclined, get a team together, volunteer at one of the events, or find a way to sponsor someone who's walking. For more information on the Walks check here As always, my thanks to tim, @Mikiesboy, for helping me find the courage to do this in the first place xoxo And tonight, to AC, @AC Benus, thank you for looking at this for me xoxo