Hi everyone,

I’m writing this on behalf of our family to share what’s been happening with my dad, Guy Wilson and why we’re asking for support.

My dad, Guy, Grandpa, or Batman depending on who you are and your relationship, health started to decline rapidly within the last few months. My mom, Corina Wilson and I had been working on a plan for a healthier diet, physical therapy, and an exercise routine because he’s only 63 and we felt this was completely within his capabilities. With his age, our family’s support, and the help of his primary care doctor, we felt confident that we could help him turn things around.

That’s when the enormous red flag appeared.

One day, he went to pick up his grandsons, Brayson (10) and Breckin (7), from school. Since he had been acting off, my mom and I sent him several reminders the day before and the morning of, just in case. We assumed we were being overdramatic, as we sometimes are.

At noon that day, he called me saying he was at the school. I reminded him that pickup wasn’t until 3:00 and told him to go back later. At 1:00, he called again, now the second time at the boy’s school. I reminded him again that the boys didn’t get out until three and invited him to come to my house so he could leave on time. He said he’d just stay and wait because he had “nothing better to do.” Since he had recently retired unexpectedly, that reasoning sounded okay. Something was definitely wrong though. We were able to get a doctor’s appointment scheduled right away for the next day.

Guy has been lucky to have a wonderful primary care physician who has known him for years. When the doctor came into the exam room, his jaw dropped the moment he saw my dad. He immediately sent us to the emergency room because he didn’t even know where to start.

After hours of tests, CAT scans, and MRIs, we learned that my dad had suffered a series of unknown mini-strokes and was also showing severe signs of vascular dementia.

Anyone who knows my dad knows he loves his Pepsi—not the best choice for a diabetic, but as an adult, it wasn’t really our place to manage that. His beverage of choice definitely assisted in the vascular dementia. After four days in the hospital, he was ready to be discharged. We thought we had things under control, but he needed 24-hour care at home.

Between me, my husband Ben, my mom, her husband Glynn, and my brother Mike along with his wife Natalie, we did everything we could to provide him the care and support he needed. Mike and Natalie live in Texas but were still committed to helping from afar. Unfortunately, hiring full-time care costs upwards of $20,000 per month, which is not an option for our family. Despite our best efforts—juggling jobs, three kids, my daycare, Ben teaching full-time at Monarch High School, my mom and Glynn working full-time at King Soopers and Cobblestone Car Wash—there were still gaps in coverage. We worked our butts off trying to fill every hour, but it just wasn’t possible.

Then came another turning point.

One night, Mike and Natalie ordered my dad a pizza through an app so they could track the delivery from Texas. They called to ask how it was, and he said he was hungry and that it hadn’t arrived—even though he was currently chewing said pizza.

After that conversation, Mike flew out immediately and took him back to the ER. More tests confirmed he’d had several additional mini-strokes. Mike has stayed to help but must return to Texas this Friday. We’re back in the same position—needing 24-hour care—but this time the situation is even more dire.

My dad often forgets where he is, where he’s going, or where his little brother Paul is. Paul lived with my dad for 20 years, and my dad was his caretaker until Paul passed away two years ago. Reliving and re-explaining Paul’s death over and over has been heartbreaking on its own.

We’ve explored assisted living options and have started the difficult process of selling my dad’s townhome. This is not a scenario I would wish on anyone. One of our biggest struggles has been finding financial support through government programs or foundations. After what we now believe was an accidental retirement caused by his strokes, he makes too little to live on but too much to qualify for assistance.

I’ve always been proud to be Guy Wilson’s daughter and still am. My dad has always been a light to so many people—even if he never realized it or was too humble to believe it. Whenever anyone asked how he was doing, his answer was always, “Living the dream.”

His “dream” looks quite a bit different now but if you’re able to help in any way—through a donation, a share, spreading the word, or through your prayers—our family and my dad would be grateful beyond words.

With love and gratitude,

The Wilson Family