I want to share a story about a 93-year-old woman with Alzheimer’s—one that still moves me deeply. Before she went home to be with the Lord in the fall of 2013, God allowed us to witness something extraordinary. My prayer is that her story encourages others to love, pray, and not forget those who are walking through memory loss.

Her name was Helen—my brother-in-law’s mother. She was a Navy Wave during WWII, a bold and determined woman for her generation, always willing to step out into the deep. She loved the Lord, stewarded her life well, and raised her family with the values of her Lutheran faith. After WWII she encountered the teachings of Billy Graham, and she and her husband began attending as many crusades as they could.

Helen was also a writer—part family historian, part genealogist—keeping journals filled with life events and notes from those crusades. In the 1950s, she and her husband left Colorado and moved to California, where she immediately became involved in service. For over 40 years she taught Sunday School and led small groups at her local Lutheran church. She also volunteered with the Navy Waves and served her community faithfully. Truly, she was a woman who never let the grass grow under her feet.

I share all of that because what happened in the final years of her life revealed to me the grace and goodness of God in a way I had never seen before.

The Onset of Alzheimer’s

In her mid-80s, Helen began showing signs of memory loss and was eventually diagnosed with Alzheimer’s. Even as her health declined, she continued serving others—driving people to doctor appointments, visiting nursing homes, encouraging the hurting, and caring for the sick. She had survived breast cancer twice and endured a mastectomy. She was the backbone of her family.

If her story ended there, it would already be a beautiful testimony. But what happened after she entered a care facility was nothing short of miraculous.

The Move to Assisted Living

In 2009, my brother-in-law and his sister realized she needed 24-hour care. They found a beautiful assisted-living facility with multiple care levels. At first, Helen lived in her own apartment and remained fairly coherent, enjoying outings and family visits. As her condition progressed, she moved into a more secure area.

During one of my visits, God allowed me to witness something I still struggle to put into words.

A Visit Filled With Light

I arrived one morning a couple of hours before lunch—an easier transition time for someone with memory challenges. I knocked on her door, greeted the aide, and told her I wanted to take Helen for a walk.

Helen opened the door. Though I could tell she didn’t fully recognize me, she said something startling:
“I am so glad you are finally here.”

I invited her to take a walk. She excitedly agreed. We walked to the patio, where the sun lit the area beautifully. She told me how the courtyard had just been updated—how they removed plants and shrubs so the light could come in and “the darkness that was here before is now gone.” Later, the staff confirmed the landscaping had in fact just been redone.

Her sentences came in and out—some clear, some hindered—but she could converse far better than I expected.

As we walked, she pointed to large metal “STOP” signs mounted on certain doors. They upset her. She wanted to know what was behind them and why she wasn’t allowed through. After several attempts at explanation, I took her hand and gently said:

“Mom, if you want to go through the door, just ask Jesus.
You know He’s on the other side. If you want to go, He’ll come for you.”

She looked into my eyes, smiled sweetly, and said, “No.”
Then her attention shifted.

On the bench outside her room, she began speaking clearly about a woman passing by. She also explained that she recognized the photo of her family on her doorway but did not know the people in it. Then she returned again to the STOP signs.

I repeated, “You know the Lord. If you’re ready, He will take you through the door.”

This time she answered, “I can’t. Many here are not sealed.”

Shortly after, the aide came to take her to lunch. I kissed her goodbye, stunned by what I had just heard. I rushed to my car, grabbed what I could—white napkins—and wrote everything down before it faded from my mind.

The Humming, the Peace, and the Presence of God

Months later, after Helen fell, she was moved to another facility with higher care. I visited her again several times near mealtimes—the moments when she was most alert.

She rarely spoke now. She mostly hummed—a sound the nurses said she made both awake and asleep. Sometimes she sat with her eyes open, humming and smiling as if she knew something we didn’t. When we prayed with her, she softened even more—eyes closed, peaceful, reverent. Her aides loved her dearly. She was gentle, joyful, never angry.

One evening, I shared with my sister what I felt the humming truly was:
I believed it was her prayer language.
Though her mind had declined, her spirit was alive and active in its assignment. My sister listened, still processing, but open.

“Take the light and water with you.”

On the last day of that trip, my sister, niece, a missionary friend, and I visited Helen together. We each told her who we were. Though she couldn’t focus on my sister, she kept staring past me at my missionary friend—her face glowing, smiling with deep recognition.

Before we left, we joined hands and prayed over her. Helen hummed along in agreement. When I leaned down to kiss her goodnight, she suddenly spoke:

“Take the light and water with you!”

Surprised, I repeated it aloud and asked her, “Mom, don’t you want to keep it?”

With complete seriousness and love, she said,
“No. You must take it with you.”

I agreed—and told her I would see her again.

Driving away, we quietly wondered what she meant. As I prayed, it hit me:

We are the light.
We are the salt.
And with the Holy Spirit—we carry the living water.

A Revelation After Her Passing

After Helen went home to be with the Lord, my niece called me. She asked:

“Auntie, why is it that you could hear Grandma, and we couldn’t?”

I was stunned. I didn’t know I had been the only one able to understand her clearly during those visits. Even now, the question humbles me. God’s love is so deep—and He will speak through anyone yielded to Him, regardless of their natural limitations.

Why I Share This Story

I share Helen’s story to remind us that even when someone appears unreachable—lost to Alzheimer’s, dementia, or cognitive decline—God is not limited. When a person is willing, God will still work through them to accomplish His purpose.

Many in nursing homes, memory care units, and hospitals are not forgotten by God. They are precious. They carry assignments. They carry grace. They carry spiritual authority we may not recognize.

My hope is that this testimony stirs compassion in the hearts of believers.
That we remember the men and women in these facilities.
That we pray for them, love them, and support them in their calling.

Helen was faithful where she was.
And I believe many souls were touched because she remained willing—even when her mind could no longer keep up.