One of the things the world expects is for writers to explain the unexplainable and to put words to the unimaginable. After all, that's our job - find descriptions for the unbelievable.

Sometimes, though, situations go beyond words.

Usually, these are moments of either great triumph or great tragedy, like the Boston Red Sox winning the World Series or the events of 9-11.

There simply aren't words available to adequately convey the magnitude of the events as they unfold.

So it is with heavy heart that I attempt to adequately convey to you the pain and suffering that comes along with watching a loved one battle Alzheimer's disease, which is what some of my family members have been doing for the past few years.

I'd like to say that the sadness is for the person suffering from the horrible affliction, but in fact, the sadness is for the family members of the debilitating disease.

How can you not feel for the husband of 60-plus years while he sits idly by watching his wife lay and wait for God to take her home?

This same woman used to bowl with him each Friday night and helped him raise a loving, productive family. She supported him through world wars, Vietnam, the loss of brothers, sisters and countless others. How can she not remember who he is and how much he truly loves her now?

And how about her children and grandchildren, whose hearts and minds are filled with memories of cooking old family recipes, shooting basketballs in the backyard or picking blueberries for a pie later in the evening? Surely their mother or grandmother can remember those times, right?

Sadly, the answer is a resounding "no."

That is why my heart aches. It is for the families of these wonderful people who are left with the memories of the past. The good, the bad and the ugly are left to haunt them for the remainder of their lives.

Yet their final memory of their loved one is that of an inescapable disease that wraps its horrific arms around the brain and squeezes out the only thing we are supposed to have when we get older - fond memories of a wonderful life and a chance to say our good-byes to loved ones, a chance to thank them for making our life more than it might have been, a chance to smile one last time and hold the hand of a spouse.

But that doesn't happen when someone suffers from Alzheimer's disease. In fact, the exact opposite occurs, and for good reason. Imagine looking around and not recognizing any of the smiling faces staring at you, even though they are busy readying your plate with food or taking your coat. What would you do? I'd run and hide if I could.

And that's the true blackness of the disease - the pure, unadulterated removal of the people who are supposed to be able to take care of you. They are the ones that are supposed to take care of things when we get older, yet with this disease, it can't happen that way; it won't happen that way.

There are currently about 4.5 million Americans afflicted with the disease, which is twice as many as 1980. At the current rate, it is estimated that more than 11 million people will have the disease by 2050, and most victims are over 65 years old when diagnosed.

Sadly, my extended family is living the horror of this disease. One of my jobs is to inform and communicate the need for more research on this tragic diagnosis. Actually, it is all that any of us can really do since there is currently no known cure.

You will be missed, Great-Grammy Squeaky, not just by me, but by my children who will always remember you.