The Horse She Always Wanted

An Alzheimers’ Gift

In many ways, this story about Alzheimer’s begins with a horse.

I first noticed concerning changes in my mother-in-law, Bev, back in 2019. She had become quieter and more withdrawn. Many of the changes, including memory lapses, were easy to chalk up to her hearing loss—and for a while, that explanation held. Understandably, my husband didn’t want to believe it might be Alzheimer’s. I’m sure Bev didn’t either. But by the spring of 2024, the truth could no longer be explained away. Bev agreed, somewhat reluctantly, to see a neurologist. After a CAT scan and cognitive evaluation, the diagnosis was clear — moderate to severe Alzheimer’s disease.

That same summer, my husband and I left California and moved in with my in-laws in New Hampshire to care for her full-time. And, in an unexpected change to our plan we brought my horse with us.

Cosmo, a big-hearted gelding and my personal dream come true, had once been my competition horse. I had high hopes of earning a Dressage Federation Medal with him. But his body, prone to lameness, and our life had other plans. Instead, Cosmo became something even better than I had imagined: my heart horse, my teacher, and now, an unexpected bridge between my mother-in-law and the world.

When we first began this caregiving journey, we had no idea how profoundly important it would be to have an emotional anchor for Bev—something real and personal that she could connect with again and again. We’ve been incredibly lucky that in Bev’s case, that anchor was horses.

As a child, Bev had longed to ride, but her mother believed horses were dangerous and wouldn’t allow it. As an adult, Bev took a few lessons and spent some time around barns, but it didn’t quite fit with her lifestyle. Still, the longing never went away.

So, when we told her in 2024 that we were coming to care for her—and that Cosmo would be coming too—tears streamed down her face and she cried; “My mother would never let me have a horse.”

“Well,” I told her, “your daughter-in-law says you can have one.”

That moment of connection was real and lasting. It gave her something joyful—something that landed and stuck deep. Now, Bev visits Cosmo at the barn regularly, where she loves to spoil him with carrots. When she can’t see him in person, we show her photos and short videos—daily, when we can. She lights up each time. It brings her comfort and sparks recognition, even on hard days. As I look back over the past year, I’ve learned so much. And I hope what we’re learning and practicing continues to help as her disease progresses. Four lessons have stood out most clearly:

1. Identify an emotional anchor

Look for a passion or interest your loved one had earlier in life. Was it gardening? Dogs? Painting? Try to bring that into their daily environment in a consistent, sensory way—through touch, photos, music, scent, or activity.

2. Make it tangible

Bev doesn’t just listen to stories about Cosmo—she touches him, sees him, hears him snort and crunch carrots. These tangible interactions seem to matter more than abstract memories. But if your loved one can’t physically engage, photos and videos can still have a powerful emotional effect.

3. Repeat the joy

Alzheimer’s is a disease of repetition, and that can be heartbreaking. But repetition also offers an opportunity: you can repeat joy. Even if we watch the same video of Cosmo together daily, Bev responds as though it’s the first viewing. There is real beauty in that.

4. Lean into positive truths

Our favorite phrase right now is: the details don’t matter. No matter where I’m going when I leave the house, Bev always thinks I’m going to the barn—and that’s okay. I always promise to give Cosmo a kiss for her. What matters in that moment is that her heart feels connected—to me, to Cosmo, to our shared life. And it lights her smile.

Caregiving is full of hard decisions, but it’s also full of opportunities to honor the person you love—who they were and who they still are, even as the disease progresses. I’m grateful for Cosmo’s role in Bev’s journey. He may never set hoof in a competition ring again, but in this unexpected season of life, he’s doing something far more meaningful.

He’s helping a woman with Alzheimer’s feel like she finally got the horse she always wanted.