For all that it takes to teach a child, nobody in history was wired better for the job than my mom, Terri Pytlik.

She shared lessons of rock 'n' roll and taught from the book of Springsteen. She taught my brother and me how to dance. And why we dance. Why we go to concerts. How to have fun—how to BE fun. How sometimes it’s better to ask for forgiveness, instead of permission. 

How to choose happiness. How to pick optimism over the alternative—you can choose either, it costs the same. How to cheer for your team. How to sing the fight song.

How to love and be there for a friend. How to be a friend. How to write a thank-you note. How to wrap a gift. How to plan a party and how to pull it off. And why we celebrate.

How to face a fear and how to tackle it. How to turn it into a mission and how to never quit. How to have faith and how to live with purpose. How to give. And how to give a shit. How to make a difference. How to show up. How to lead. How to light a spark. How to shed a little light.

Mom had the biggest heart. So big, it had its own gravitational pull. And on January 20 of this year, it pulled us all in. Through the snowiest, worst travel weather of the year—she’d brought us all together, sitting bedside, listening to Springsteen, laughing and crying as we passed around her library of photo albums, marveling at the inescapable truth that of all the hairstyles humans have worn over the past 60 years, only like three of them stand the test of time. And she died—peacefully, comfortably—doing what she did best: bringing people together.

She made everything beautiful. Every scrapbook and cutout cookie, every hand-made birthday party invitation and every holiday dinner table place setting. Every room and every heart that she entered. Living with Alzheimer’s isn’t beautiful. The last ten years have been hard. Watching the person in your life who shined the brightest gradually dim… and then dramatically dim… has been an exercise of resilience through constant heartbreak. But she was beautiful, every second. And with snow falling outside, her time on earth ended on a quiet day wrapped up in a white blanket... and it was beautiful.

She refused to allow her diagnosis to define her and control her life. And now that she’s set down that burden and is free from its complications and struggles, we—her family and friends—are free to reclaim and share our best memories of Terri. Memories of summertime garage sales, excursions with her students to Camp White Wood, an unbeatable streak of 35 perfect Christmases, accented each year with breathtaking Christmas trees… These memories are our lives. These memories are her life. They’re not the end of her life. This is how she shines her light, now.

The Alzheimer's Association is the largest nonprofit investor into Alzheimer's research in the world, and it is the third leading investor, generally, behind only the governments of the United States and China. In 2024, the Alzheimer's Association was able to invest over $100 million into the research and treatment of the disease. This progress and every breakthrough that comes with it is only possible because communities across this country come together each Fall—full of hope and with love—to make a difference. Thank you for your support of the Walk to End Alzheimer's.