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Bud was my grandpa. He was my hero for so many reasons. Mostly because he was the only positive father figure that I ever had in my life. Also because he spent over half of his life putting out fires and trying to save people. He was a fireman in the military and in the civil service. And he took care of our family. He was always there when we needed him. Sometimes he didn't like or agree with the circumstances, but there was no way he was going to let something bad happen to one of his girls. When we found out Grandpa had Alzheimer's, or more precisely, Pick's disease, I was devastated. I couldn't imagine this giant of a man; this invincible person just disappearing right in front of us. But that's what happened. Slowly but surely, he forgot. And he was so confused. And in the end, he didn't know any of us. But we were there for him still. And in his final hours, he was in a place that took such great care of him and made him as comfortable as could be. He couldn't talk. He couldn't move. All he could do was lay there until he took his last breath. My heart broke that day. And it still does every moment I think about the fact that "Bud" isn't here anymore. It's so different. And it scares me, because my mom could have this later on and so could I or my sister. It's just very scary. I want to do anything and everything I can to help find a cure for this. No one should have to die that way. It's torture. Slow, agonizing torture.