When Anne McCall's father, Carol Belton, retired in the late 1980s after a long career as a chemical engineer, he filled his days with family, travel, church, and even a new real estate license. He was active, engaged, and full of life. So when he was diagnosed with mild cognitive impairment in 2007 at age 79, the word "mild" felt like a cruel misnomer to the family that had no history of the disease and no idea what was coming. 

"This was shocking and new to our family," Anne recalls. There was no roadmap, no precedent. It was simply a family learning, in real time, what it meant to lose someone slowly. 

A Family Stretched Thin 

Anne's parents moved from Arizona back to New Braunfels, Texas, in 2009, hoping to be closer to family and friends who could help. But in 2012, a second crisis hit: Anne's mother was diagnosed with kidney cancer. Her parents were moved into a personal care home in Houston about three hours away from her mom’s hometown. Her mother passed away in 2013, and her father moved into memory care. 

Anne describes the years that followed as some of the hardest of her life. As a Senior Financial Analyst for a defense contractor in Tucson, she juggled a demanding career with the emotional and logistical weight of caregiving, traveling back to Texas every four weeks to spend long weekends with her parents. 

"I did not receive support from my employer. No one spoke to me about FMLA," she says. The strain didn't stop at work. Disagreements among her three siblings over her parents' care, some of which she describes as "legally questionable", put lasting stress on her family, eventually requiring her to retain an attorney. 

Through it all, her father never lost the qualities that made him who he was. "He never lost his sense of humor and likability," Anne says. He passed away on April 7, 2017. Anne saw him just three weeks before he died, and he still knew who she was. 

Finding Community and Purpose 

In the middle of the hardest years of her life, Anne found something that changed her path: connection. She completed her first Walk to End Alzheimer's in 2007, the same year as her father's diagnosis, and began volunteering at her local Alzheimer's Association office on her days off. 

"The more I talked about my situation, the more I learned I wasn't alone," she says. Reading available resources and talking with Association staff gave her not just information, but a sense of community that helped ease years of isolation.

Twenty years after her first Walk, Anne is still walking for her dad and volunteering with the Association. Her more than $13,600 raised for this year's Tucson Walk puts her among the top fundraisers in Arizona.

What She Wants Others to Know 

Anne's message to families navigating a similar diagnosis is one of hope, paired with hard-won practical advice: "There is help out there. Advances are being made." She urges families to get their legal documents in order early and make sure loved ones know where to find them, a step she believes could have spared her family some of the conflict and confusion they faced. 

She also sees a gap that the Association could help fill: accessible legal guidance for families in crisis, before disputes tear them apart the way they nearly did hers. 

A Story Worth Sharing 

Anne's journey, from a devastating diagnosis to becoming a longtime Association volunteer and advocate, reflects why every voice and every story matters. Her experience is a reminder that no family should navigate this disease alone, and that the resources, community, and advocacy the Association provides can make all the difference. 

If you or someone you love is affected by Alzheimer's or dementia, the Alzheimer's Association Helpline (800.272.3900) and online resources at alz.org are available around the clock. 

Ready to take action? Find a Walk to End Alzheimer's near you at alz.org/walk.