I began dating my husband, Carlos, in 1981 when he was in his last year of law school and I was finishing my degree in Business Administration. As our relationship grew more serious, we introduced one another to our respective families and each found an almost immediate sense of belonging with the other’s family. Carlos formed great friendships with my siblings and I with his, our parents enjoyed each others’ company, and a bond soon developed between us all. My parents and Carlos’ parents grew to be wonderful friends and were soon socializing and traveling together, more often than not, without us! We all celebrated holidays and important occasions together, and before long the two families were almost as one—if we were to have a family gathering, it was very naturally a combination of both families. This was, of course, a blessing for Carlos and me (and it alleviated the notorious in-law battles) but I particularly remember Jean’s delight in the surprised and curious faces of those just learning of how the friendships began. She enjoyed the fact that what was traditionally considered a strained and unhappy relationship (that of the “in-laws”) was a marvelously close friendship, so completely opposite of what anyone expects. She has always taken pleasure in the unexpected, in being just a bit out of the ordinary – wearing exotic clothes, flashy jewelry and bright colors—looking forward to wearing purple, with red hats that don’t suit her, and spending her pension on brandy and summer gloves... when she grew old... (one of her favorite poems, framed and hanging in the living room). Jean and Daddy Carlos (as distinguished from my husband, Son Carlos) moved nearer to our home just before our first child was born. They lived on the lake and had a pontoon boat, and we visited often for dinners and sunset cruises. As a young wife and mother to be, I was venturing into new life experiences and eagerly seeking guidance from my mother and Jean, who treated me as one of her own. I knew we had reached a new plateau when she began referring to me as her daughter rather than her son’s wife—a gesture that truly moved me for it was tangible evidence, to me, of a very special relationship. Family, to the Gibbons, was and still is everything, and Jean welcomed me with open arms. She was ecstatic about having her first grandchild enter the world and relished every opportunity to share her motherly advice with me. We would talk for hours about everything under the sun, and we became very close. We shared our hopes and dreams, struggles and hurts, memories and concerns. It was time together that allowed us to know and love each other on a deeper level, one that would prove to be essential in the coming years. When Jean started her decline into Alzheimer’s Disease, Daddy Carlos was surrounded by love and family, but quite alone in his own home, with his wife of nearly 50 years drifting away from him. As with many men of his generation, it was difficult to convince him that he couldn’t do it alone, that he must allow us to help him. For some time, however, he quietly endured, occasionally letting us in on his feelings, and crying, a lot. He had always filled the role of man of the house and provider, with Jean taking care of his needs, the house and the children, and now his world had turned upside down. As Jean grew more confused, she became a bit hostile toward her husband—her primary caregiver and the love of her life—as Alzheimer’s patients typically do. It was during this time that the weight of the burden became too much to bear and, after much coaxing and convincing, Daddy Carlos began to share with us what was really happening in his day to day life – his comfortable haven had become a nightmare. Jean would get very irrational and angry with Carlos, lashing out with angry words and flailing fists. She would go through periods of refusing to take her medicine, or rest, or bath. This typically happened when he returned home from work (she had a hired caregiver during the day at that time), which was about the same time that I returned to my home from work and called to check in on them. Sometimes when I called, he was desperately trying to comfort her, and when all else failed would ask if she wanted to talk to me. For a time, she was actually receptive to that. There was apparently still some recollection of a “safe haven” with me, some subconscious voice that assured her that I was on her side. She would hear my voice and become engaged, somehow snapping out of the angry darkness, temporarily. There seemed to be a place deep within that I could still touch, if only for brief moments, and allow herself a brief interlude of peacefulness. We could go back to the times when we shared our confidences, and she felt safe. We were comrades. When she would no longer bath, she even let me help her bath, for a while. Even though she doesn’t recognize many of us anymore, I still believe that when she is with someone, a part of her knows if that person is someone who loves her, and who is safe. I had developed a tremendous bond with my husbands’ sisters through the years, and facing this crisis together really closed the bond between us into what is now a true sisterhood. Through the years, there has developed an innate understanding between us that is incredible and amazing. It is a rarity in life to find anyone who grasps those ever-deepening corners of your heart, sometimes even without words, and is just there for you, without judgement and without expectation. As we have shared life’s experiences, and grown and matured, this connection has become so much a part of our souls that I have no doubt that our lives were destined to be shared. My husband, Carlos (also known as “Son Carlos”, as opposed to “Daddy Carlos”), is an attorney in South Carolina and we have two daughters. Taylor is 15 and Kelly is 12, and both are, of course, very beautiful and talented! I work in a financial institution, on community projects and fundraisers, at our church, at the schools, and, at home. My youngest daughter’s best friend was diagnosed with cancer when she was four years old, and it was then that I truly began to have first hand experience with chronic diseases and caregiving, for the patient and the famiIy. When my oldest daughter was diagnosed with Juvenile Diabetes the following year at age 7, I became a researcher and advocate for a cure for the disease. I started out desperately trying to figure out how I could save my daughter and make life better for her, and over time realized that God had an even bigger plan for us. I became aware that there were large numbers of people faced with chronic illnesses who had no idea of how or where to look for guidance. Many had poor medical care and no one to talk to who would understand. The community in general was ignorant to the reality of life with diabetes and, I have learned since, to many other diseases. And there was a significant lack of information available to the average person, who more often than not didn’t even realize that it was important to have the information. My family and I have worked to help change these situations, to offer understanding and support, education and guidance, in much the same way as Leeza has done for Alzheimer’s Disease. She has always been there for us, and we will always be there for her, and for you. You are not alone. There are people who care, there is support and education, there is science on the brink of a new discovery every day. And there is Leeza’s Place, to help guide you through it all.