Navigating the Holidays with Younger-Onset Alzheimer’s in our Blended Family

The holidays have always been a big deal in our house. With six kids between us — Brittany and her husband Adam, Anthony III and his wife Crystal, Frankie and his wife Kristan, Nicholas, Marissa, and Anthony, and now two grandchildren, Halo and Gianna — the holidays once meant joyful chaos. 

Our home overflowed with matching pajamas, loud kitchens, nonstop laughter, and the kind of noise only a big, blended family can create. But when my husband, Anthony, was diagnosed with younger-onset Alzheimer’s at just 55, in September 2023, our holidays began to shift. Not suddenly, but in subtle ways that only those closest to us truly notice — changes that eventually reshape everything. 

Anthony’s disease has progressed rapidly, especially after he suffered several seizures this past August, and we now cherish every moment more than ever.

This year, Thanksgiving gave us one of the most beautiful memories for our family. Anthony and I spent the holiday at the Vidanta Resorts in Nuevo Vallarta in Mexico with Anthony’s kids and extended family. My three sons and daughter-in-law were not available to join us, so I definitely missed them and felt the void. For a few days, surrounded by ocean air and warm sunlight, we all felt a sense of togetherness that Alzheimer’s often threatens to complicate. 

In the middle of the trip, something incredibly special happened: Mike asked Anthony for his blessing to marry Marissa, and tears filled Anthony’s eyes as he softly said, “yes.” I will never forget this moment. Anthony’s daughter, Marissa got engaged to Mike with the sun beaming in the sky. Watching her joy, watching him smile, felt like a gift. 

As Anthony’s caregiver, the trip was not easy for me. Travel always brings uncertainty, new routines, and the worry of how Anthony will adjust. But the kids stepped in without hesitation, offering help, support, and love. And the blessing of the week was that Anthony had truly good days. That alone made every challenge worth it.

As we move into the December holidays, I am reminded again that Alzheimer’s changes everything, but it does not take away the meaning. Unlike many people living with the disease, Anthony does well with crowds and activity. He loves being around the kids, grandkids, laughing and joking, soaking in the energy of having everyone together. He is sweet, gentle and his smile will light up any room. That is a gift many caregivers do not get, and I am deeply grateful for it. 

Even so, the holidays require more emotional preparation than ever before. I am constantly navigating the moments where he loses words he used effortlessly last Christmas, or where he sits quietly, trying to follow a conversation that moves just a little too fast. And alongside that, I manage my own emotions — the mix of heartbreak, gratitude, fear, grief, and hope that seem to come in waves this time of year.

What surprises me most, even now, is how grief and joy coexist during the holidays. For a brief moment, I contemplated not decorating this year and realized this is a tradition that always meant a lot to us. One moment, a memory from years ago can bring tears without warning. The next moment, I will see Anthony laugh with one of the kids or smile at our grandbabies, and my heart fills with gratitude. Alzheimer’s has a way of sharpening both the pain and the beauty — making every moment feel more fragile and more precious all at once.

As Anthony’s caregiver, the emotional weight of the holidays is something I am still learning to carry. I often find myself quietly wondering what next year’s Christmas will look like. How many traditions will he still remember? How do I celebrate when my heart feels both full and broken at the same time? These questions stay with me more than I would like to admit. And yet, every time I begin to dwell on them, something shifts. I look at our kids. I look at our grandbabies. I remember that the holidays are not just about me, they are about giving them incredible memories. They are about creating a season of joy they will carry for the rest of their lives. And I know, without question, that Anthony would want that.

I have learned to let go of perfection. Our holidays do not need to look the way they once did; they just need to feel like love. We still hold on to our traditions, decorating the tree, baking cookies, taking our annual holiday photo, but we approach them gently now, without pressure or expectation. 

The support of our family, who has been a constant source of help and compassion through Anthony’s diagnosis, reminds me that I am not carrying this alone. And perhaps the greatest lesson is allowing myself to feel everything. Joy, the sorrow, the hope, the fear — they all have a place. When I stop fighting the emotions and simply allow them to be, the holidays become more meaningful, not less.

This year, my hopes for the season are simple. I hope Anthony feels loved, included, and never alone. I am his person always. I hope our children make memories with their dad and stepdad exactly as he is today. I hope the grandbabies feel the magic in every little moment. And more than anything, I hope I can stay present — not mourning what next year might look like but embracing what we have right now.

Our family photo captures a beautiful moment, but as is the case with every family living with younger-onset Alzheimer’s, the story behind the picture is layered with tenderness, strength, and grief. I share our journey, so other caregivers know they are not alone, especially during the holidays, when emotions run high and expectations run even higher. You can be grateful and grieving. Strong and exhausted. Hopeful and afraid. All at once. And still, you can create something beautiful for the people you love.

Because even when life looks different than we imagined, love finds its way through. Every single time.