Sue Miller Quotes

As well as writing novels and doing short-order journalism, I am also the full-time carer of my husband, who has Alzheimer's. Each day feels like a race that must be run.

I don't know why Alzheimer's was allowed to steal so much of my father before releasing him into the arms of death. But I know that at his last moment, when he opened his eyes, eyes that had not opened for many, many days, and looked at my mother, he showed us that neither disease nor death can conquer love.

My mother passed away of complications of dementia. As you get older, it really makes you realize how many people are touched by this disease.

My father passed away due to Alzheimer's disease, and many things I do are nods to him.

It's very shocking, I think, for people caring for the dying to realise how unsaintly they feel, how much anger is mixed up with their grief. In fact, often I think the anger that they feel is a form of grief; it's a kind of raging against what's happening.

I lost my mother, who suffered from Alzheimer's disease, and we had to relocate my dad after 58 years in the family home. That was tough.

Dementia is quite unlike cancer or heart disease or any of those other conditions where you bargain with God for a cure or even just a bit more time.

I loved my husband very much, and it was heartbreaking to have him develop Alzheimer's disease, and to stand by and watch him decline in his ability to take care of himself.

I am committed to helping Alzheimer's Society in any way I can. My family and I rely on the help of organisations like Alzheimer's Society to help us understand the disease and guide us in the care of my grandmother. It's been a privilege to meet so many people with dementia.

My mother had early-onset Alzheimer's, and it took her four years to die. She was only 44; I was 14.

This is why Alzheimer's is such a terrible disease: the body of the person you love is there, but they've gone - your husband is gone - and they become your child, and you have to look after them as you would a child.

I'm part of the tribe who have said goodbye to one parent and are feeling a sense of responsibility for the one who remains - in my case, my mother. How do I make her time smoother, happier? How do I try to ease her, a widow, away from the dark well of grief without dishonoring the necessity of that grief?

I know it was harder for me taking care of my dad during his cancer than it was going through my own. You feel more helpless as a caregiver.

Alzheimer's caregivers are heroes.

I've never minded solitude. For a writer, it's a natural condition. But caring for a dementia sufferer leads to a peculiar kind of loneliness.

I'm in awe of people out there who deal with Alzheimer's, because they have to deal with death 10 times over, year after year.

Dementia is such a terrifying thing for all of us, and we are particularly bad at coping with old people in this country.

My dad died when I was young; my mom remarried with more haste than sense to a fellow... he wasn't evil or anything, but he was worthless.

My grandmother has dementia, and my mother is looking after her as her primary caregiver. Seeing their relationship has had a profound impact, seeing how tough it is for both of them and seeing how the roles change and how my mother has gone from being a daughter to being the mother.

I would not have had the same personal commitment to Alzheimer's disease if it had not been for my mother and my upbringing.

I'm human, we all are - all doctors are - and grieving is a natural part of medicine. As a doctor, grieving is a natural part of medicine. If you deny that, again, you'd get into this trap of curing and victory. I think grief is very important.

I wrote 'A Boy and His Soul' that talks about how my mother had lupus and my dad dying of a heart condition.

That was the toughest thing I ever had to do: tell my son that his mum was gone. I was a bachelor living on the beach, but I had to pull it together very quick for my boy.

My mother left behind three daughters when she went to America and started a new life. I certainly felt abandoned when my father died of a brain tumour; I felt he had abandoned me to this terrible, volatile mother and I had no protection.

Growing up without my parents by my side is a weight I still carry today.