It wasn't a typical Thanksgiving.

We finished eating a turkey meal, except for Mom.She wasn't eating. Her appetite was fading. I suppose she wasn't feeling well, but I wasn't sure. Communication had become an issue. Mom didn't say much, as always. She'd never tell us if she was sick. Of course, that was the norm. Mom never complained, not once in her life.But this was different. Mom no longer spoke full sentences.She'd look at me and smile. She loved me as much as ever. But she no longer knew my name.Even so, I gave thanks simply to be near her, to still have her at home. She was the center of my life, but I was losing her one hour at a time. Alzheimer's does awful things to those we hold dear. Its impact is heartbreaking, almost evil."It's Thanksgiving, Mom, and I love you more than anything," I said, hugging her and not wanting to let go.She smiled, almost laughing. I absorbed every warm second. That smile was the Mom I knew, the Mom I recognized before the effects of illness had taken over.She was still able to read. I knew I had one final opportunity to let her know what she meant to me. So I wrote a column called "My Marie." That column was the last thing she was able to understand.In a matter of weeks, Mom was gone. She passed away three days before Christmas.For me, the holidays evaporated and my faith transformed. It hasn't been the same since. I developed a whole new understanding of the human condition, and a reawakening.When you have no children, no parents and no soulmate, life totally changes. It begins anew.It's akin to being at the very bottom. You have no choice but to be born again. And the journey back to life is as unique as the individual taking it.Someone once said: "When we walk to the edge of all the light we have, and take that step into the darkness of the unknown, we must believe that one of two things will happen. There will be something solid for us to stand on ... or ... we will learn to fly."And now it's November again. Ironically, November is National Alzheimer's Disease Awareness Month. Alzheimer's is so prevalent it seems almost silly to declare a month of awareness.Truth is, we live in a world where 16 million people have Alzheimer's. Of those, 4.5 million are Americans your friends, neighbors and maybe even a family member.And for each Alzheimer's sufferer, the lives of countless others are affected in big ways. They're family members, caregivers, health care and social workers, nurses, Meals on Wheels volunteers, support workers and more.Alzheimer's has a profound impact on each of them and our society a devastating blow to families forced to deal with it. It's an around-the-clock disease that requires extensive, around-the-clock care. It can strain a family's financial resources and can challenge capabilities of nursing homes.Let me put it another way. I've served as a caregiver three times: Once for a loved one with progressive coronary artery disease, once for a loved one with terminal cancer, and finally, the encounter with Alzheimer's. Alzheimer's is in a class by itself. Those other situations were trying, and ended the same way. But they pale in comparison to the havoc that is Alzheimer's.The level of care and amount of time required to deal with an Alzheimer's patient is demanding to the point of exhaustion.Of course, it's hard to serve as caregiver under any circumstances, for any illness, but caring for an Alzheimer's patient at home requires superhuman commitment. It's a job virtually impossible to do by oneself. It requires tapping into all available support services within the community, county and state.Even then, the support is not enough. Not even close. An Alzheimer's patient needs many helping hands, more than are available at any given point in time.Yet it's nothing new. We've known about Alzheimer's for 100 years. But still no cure.If you give thanks to a deity, please say a prayer for medical science to find a cure.Please utter words of support for all who continue to struggle against the odds, and for those who gave it their best.Alzheimer's must be stopped before any more Thanksgiving tables have an empty chair, a broken heart and a forgotten name.