On Sunday 14th June 2026, I will be walking 20 miles for Alzheimer’s Society — a charity that supports people and families living with Alzheimer’s and dementia when their world begins to unravel in ways no one can ever truly prepare for.

This walk is not about distance.
It is not about endurance.

It is about love, memory, grief — and the quiet devastation of watching someone you love slowly disappear while they are still here.

Those who know me well will know this isn’t my first charity walk. When I put my mind — and my feet — into something, I give it everything. I will push myself every single inch of the target mile, no matter how much it hurts physically or emotionally. Walking is something I will never take for granted. After life-changing surgery that saved my ability to run and live as close to a normal life as possible, every step I take is a privilege. And because I was given that chance, I will use those steps to speak for those who no longer can.

I am walking for my two beautiful grandmas: Josephine Lena Peel Mary Caunce

Two women who helped raise me.
Two women who loved me without conditions.
Two women whose lives — and whose families’ lives — were changed forever by the same cruel disease.

We lost Grandma Lena in January 2025 after her battle with Alzheimer’s and dementia. Losing her felt like losing parts of my childhood, my safety, and my history all at once. Then, just months later, in May 2025, our hearts broke again when my Grandma Mary was suddenly diagnosed.

With Grandma Mary, dementia arrived in the most brutal way imaginable.
We said goodnight laughing and smiling together. Everything felt normal. Everything felt safe.

And just a few hours later, we were strangers.

That is the reality of this disease. Dementia does not knock. It does not warn you.
It can creep in slowly over years — or it can strike in the blink of an eye, changing everything between one moment and the next.

My grandmas were my biggest supporters from the very beginning of my life. From my first steps, to my first steps after surgery, they were there — clapping, encouraging, loving me through every stage. They gave the warmest hugs, the wisest advice, and a sense of comfort that made the world feel manageable. With them, I always felt safe. With them, I always felt loved.

I was lucky enough to grow up on the farm right by Grandma Mary’s side, often her little shadow, following her everywhere. With both of my grandmas, I had the most special memories — long days and endless hours just playing and laughing, trips to the park, little adventures, surprises and gifts piled up to the ceiling, making me feel like the luckiest granddaughter in the world. I never questioned their love. I never imagined a world where those memories might disappear from their minds — even though they will live inside mine forever.

And then one day… everything changed.

Dementia does not look the same for everyone.

Grandma Lena’s journey was slow and gentle. Over time she became more forgetful, more sleepy, more distant — quietly fading piece by piece.

Grandma Mary’s journey has been sudden and devastating. One moment she was herself. The next, confusion took over. Faces blurred. Time stopped making sense. Some days she knows us. Some days she doesn’t. Some days she is there — and some days she is already gone.

Dementia can turn on and off like a light, without warning, without reason, and without mercy.

“The hardest goodbye is the one that happens slowly, while the person is still here.”

Dementia is not just memory loss.
It is fear. Anxiety. Frustration.
It is watching someone lose confidence, independence and identity.
It is loving someone who no longer understands why they feel lost.

“Dementia doesn’t just steal memories — it steals relationships, futures and parts of who we are.”

There are over 55 million people worldwide living with dementia, with nearly one million people in the UK alone. Alzheimer’s disease accounts for 60–70% of cases. It is not a normal part of ageing, yet one in three people born today will develop dementia in their lifetime. Dementia is now the leading cause of death in the UK.

And behind every statistic is a family like mine — confused, heartbroken, exhausted, trying to understand what is happening, what to do next, what to feel, and sometimes even what to say.

This walk will take place on Grandma Mary’s birthday. A day that now carries a weight I never expected it to hold. It will be a day entirely about her — whether she is with us in person, or only in her mind. Whether she recognises me or not, I will recognise her. Always.

The 20 miles mean more than words can explain.
They represent the 20 years Grandma Mary knew exactly who I was.
And almost 20 years with Grandma Lena — just two weeks short.

And still, there will never be enough steps in this walk to match the number of memories I have of my grandmas, or the amount of pain the past year has carried. But I will walk anyway — because love doesn’t disappear just because memory does.

“They may forget your name, but they will always feel your love.”

A Walk Built on Memories

This walk is not just about miles — it is about meaning.

The route will pass through places deeply woven into my family’s life, beginning at the family farm in Holmeswood, past the school and chapel where generations of my family were christened and worshipped — places my Grandma Mary attended for many years. I will walk through Tarleton, where Grandma Lena spent the final years of her life, and into Rufford, full of memories for Grandma Mary, stopping to say hello to my grandad, Mary’s late husband, before continuing through the Lancashire countryside.

Along the route, I will also pass local pubs and cafés, giving people the chance to step outside, say hello, walk a short section with me, share a story, and then depart. This walk is open, shared and welcoming — because dementia touches more lives than we realise.

Dementia and Alzheimer’s can and will affect anyone reading this. Both of my grandmas were active, healthy women — good diets, busy lives, close friendships, sharp minds. This disease does not discriminate.

“Dementia does not take love away — it takes the ability to remember it.”

By donating, you are doing more than

giving money.
You are changing lives.
You are helping fund research that could lead to earlier diagnoses, better care and hope for the future.

You are supporting families like mine — families who feel lost, overwhelmed and broken, with no guidebook for what comes next.

Even £1 can make a difference.
It can help someone feel less alone.
It can help a family understand what is happening.

It can help ensure that one day, a dementia diagnosis is less devastating, less frightening, and less tragic — giving families more time to create memories and more chance to be remembered.

Change has to start somewhere.
And it can start here.

This walk will hurt.
It will be emotional.
There will be moments I want to stop.

But I won’t.

I will walk for my grandmas.
I will walk for every family living with dementia.
And I will walk so that love, memory and hope continue — even when memories begin to fade

So please, if you can donate today, find those pennies down the back of the sofa and help me change lives 1p and 1 mile at a time

Let’s hope I have some comfy trainers!