Thrive Boldly: The 100 Deaths of Alzheimer’s and the Neurobiology of Grief
- Carrie Rodarte
- 2 days ago
- 8 min read
Grief doesn’t come all at once. It comes in fragments—like a mirror shattering, piece by piece.
When someone you love has Alzheimer’s, you don’t lose them in one sweeping moment. You lose them over and over again.Alzheimer’s is a relentless grief marathon, not a sprint There are hundreds of tiny deaths before the final one. And each one guts you in a different way.
The first death is small. They can no longer travel, because their brain can’t map new places. They get lost on familiar streets, can’t track landmarks. They loop past the same turn three times and never notice. You start to realize the world is shrinking—and they know it too.
The next death comes when they can’t find their way home. A route they’ve taken thousands of times becomes an impossible maze. Home is right around the corner, but not for their mind.
Then come the accusations. Friends become enemies. They believe someone has stolen from them—because the idea that they’ve hidden it, forgotten it, misplaced it—that’s too painful. So they lash out. Their world gets smaller again. Trust evaporates. You see fear where there used to be ease. The spark, the quirks, the edge—those fade too with the loss of desire for relationship.
T
hen they forget to eat. Or they think they already did. Food grows cold and untouched. Weight slips away. Strength vanishes. They look thinner. Smaller. You want to feed them, but you can’t feed memory.
Then comes the death that people try not to look at. They are no longer safe in their home. They might wander. They might leave the stove on. They might not dress for the cold or the heat because they forget how weather works, or how coats work. Their freedom—gone.
Then comes the move. A facility. A “home.” They don’t understand why they’re there. They feel the walls closing in. Their agency is gone—but they’re still aware enough to know something’s been taken. And you have to be the one to explain it. Over and over.
Then they forget who you are. Not always. Sometimes it flickers. “Give me a second,” they say. “I’ll remember.” And sometimes they do. Until they don’t. Until they stop trying. That’s another death. A cruel one. You lose your place in their story. You lose shared jokes. Shared memories. Shared traditions. They don’t remember, so you carry the memory alone. Another death, another grief.
Each death comes with its own private grief. And you grieve alone. You grieve beside them. You grieve in public, in traffic, in the grocery store. You swear. You cry. You feel too slow, too scattered, too tender for the pace of the world.
And others? They don’t always get it.
“This is what happens with Alzheimer’s.”
“Here’s a book.”
“There’s nothing more to do.”
“They need to be in care.”
“You have to sell the house.”
Logical. Efficient. Detached.
But grief isn’t logical. It’s not a checklist. This is a three-brain heartbreak—mind, heart, and gut all torn open. This is watching someone die 100 different ways—and being asked to move on after each one.
And just when you think you’ve mastered it—this brutal art of grieving the living—another death arrives. And that one feels entirely different. It shatters a new part of you. And you start the grief again. The cycle. The ache. The remembering. The forgetting.
If you’re here: watching someone fade, piece by piece—I see you. You’re not weak for being wrecked by this. This isn’t just sadness. This is sacred witnessing. This is life in its fiercest, most resilient form.
The Neurobiology of Grief
What happens in your body when your heart breaks again and again.
Grief isn’t just an emotion. It’s an experience that echoes through every part of your nervous system. When you love someone through Alzheimer’s—or any long, slow loss—you’re not just mourning once. You're processing death in waves, and every wave leaves a trace.
Grief lives in your three brains:
The Neurobiology of Grief: When All Three Brains Break
Grief isn’t just sadness. It’s a neurological event—a full-body collapse and reconfiguration.
When someone you love begins to disappear—especially in slow motion, as with Alzheimer’s—it doesn’t just tug at your heart. It rewires your brain. It collapses your gut. It alters every signal and rhythm that makes you you.
This is grief through the lens of the Three Brains: Your Head Brain (cephalic), Heart Brain (cardiac), and Gut Brain (enteric). Each one breaks. Each one grieves. Each one tries to heal.
1. The Head Brain: Executive Collapse & Memory Fog
The head brain, our most culturally exalted brain, is the first to short-circuit under prolonged grief.
The Prefrontal Cortex—responsible for planning, attention, logic—goes offline. This is why grief feels like walking through fog. You forget names, keys, bills, what you came into the room for. You second-guess every decision.
The Hippocampus (the memory center) becomes inflamed and begins to shrink under the weight of cortisol. Ironically, just as your loved one forgets you, you begin forgetting yourself.
The Amygdala, your threat detector, becomes hyperactive. It begins to scan for loss everywhere. Paranoia, intrusive thoughts, and flashbacks aren’t weakness—they’re symptoms of neurological alarm.
You are not “being dramatic.” You are a brain in mourning.
2. The Heart Brain: Emotional Intelligence in Distress
The heart is more than a pump. It contains over 40,000 intrinsic neurons, making it an intelligent, sensing organ—a “heart brain.”
Heart Rate Variability (HRV) plummets in grief. This is a sign of nervous system dysregulation. You may feel panicky one moment and numb the next. Your ability to self-soothe is diminished.
Oxytocin and Dopamine levels drop—two key chemicals for bonding and pleasure. Grief makes you feel isolated, disconnected, unloved… even when you’re surrounded by people.
The Heart-Brain Axis sends distress signals up the vagus nerve, telling the head brain, “I am not safe. I am not whole.” That’s why no affirmation or logic can soothe this kind of grief.
You are not “too emotional.” You are heartbreak made biological.
3. The Gut Brain: Loss in the Belly of the Body
The gut, with over 500 million neurons, is your emotional underworld. It knows long before your lips say, “Something is wrong.”
The Vagus Nerve, which connects all three brains, gets tight, choked, sluggish. You feel nausea, indigestion, or bloating for no reason. This is grief, winding through your belly.
Serotonin production drops—and since 95% of serotonin is made in the gut, your emotional baseline plummets. You feel joyless, flavorless, apathetic. The world loses its taste.
Microbiome disruption occurs: grief changes your gut flora. This can lead to inflammation, immune suppression, and even autoimmune responses.
You are not “lazy” or “failing.” You are gut-deep in sorrow.
The Three-Brain Integration: Grief as Systemic Dismembering
Grief isn’t a singular feeling. It’s a dismembering—a tearing apart of the neural network that held your inner world together.
You lose the map (head brain), the music (heart brain), and the meal (gut brain) of your life.
But grief is also, eventually, a re-membering.
The Grief Reset: Tending the Three Brains
When Grief Dissolves the Map—Let Ritual Rewrite the Way
When grief takes hold, the nervous system loses its rhythm.This is not a time for performance. This is a time for presence.
You don’t need to push through.You need to tend the triad—head, heart, and gut.Three brains. One grieving system. All in need of your gentlest care.
Head Brain — Orient & Ground
“I’m here. This moment is real. I don’t have to think it all through.”
Grief pulls you into mental fog. The prefrontal cortex, your compass, collapses under the weight of cortisol.You don’t need to “understand” anything right now. You need anchors.
Practice: Cognitive Re-Orientation
Say aloud:
“It’s [Day]. I am in [Place]. I am safe in this moment.”
(This grounds the hippocampus in present-time awareness.)
Sensory Inventory (5-4-3-2-1)
5 things you can see
4 things you can touch
3 sounds you hear
2 scents you smell
1 taste you notice
(This reduces amygdala activation and brings the executive brain back online.)
Permission mantra:
“I don’t have to figure it out. I get to just be.”
Regulate first. Reflect later.
Heart Brain — Soften & Soothe
“It’s okay to feel this. My heart is allowed to hurt.”
The heart’s nervous system responds to loss like physical trauma. It contracts. It weeps. It aches.
Practice: Emotional Coherence
Hand to Heart Breathing:
Place your hand gently over your heart.
Inhale for 4 counts. Exhale slowly for 6.
(This activates the parasympathetic nervous system via the vagus nerve.)
Whisper to your wound:
“This is grief. I am grieving because I care.”
(Labeling emotion reduces limbic overload and increases heart-brain coherence.)
Beauty as Balm:
Look at something beautiful—sky, trees, a painting, or photo.
Let it touch your chest. Let it move you.
(Beauty activates oxytocin, a powerful grief healer.)
The heart doesn’t heal by logic. It heals through loving attention.
Gut Brain — Anchor & Reclaim
“I am not lost. I am in myself. I am still here.”
Grief lives in the belly.The gut tightens. Digestion slows. The vagus nerve clenches like a fist.
Practice: Somatic Reconnection
Belly Breath:
Sit or lie down. Place one hand on your belly. Inhale slowly, let your belly rise.
Exhale with a sigh. Repeat.
(This soothes vagal tension and stimulates serotonin production.)
Feet to Earth:
Stand barefoot if possible.
Feel your weight. Press into the floor.
(Grounding through the soles of the feet recalibrates the enteric nervous system.)
Inhale Courage, Exhale Tension:
Breathe in with the mantra: “I inhale strength.”
Exhale with: “I release what I cannot carry.”
(Simple phrases rewire the gut-brain axis and reclaim agency.)
Your gut doesn’t need to be brave. It needs to feel safe again.
Final Blessing:
You are not broken.You are rewiring. Grief is not weakness. It is evidence of your care. Let each of your brains receive this care. Let the body begin to belong to itself again.
Grief Honoring Recipe: Warm Ashwagandha Oats with Dates & Cardamom
Comforting, grounding, and restorative for the gut and heart.
Ingredients:
1/2 cup rolled oats
1 cup milk of choice (oat, almond, whole)
1 tsp ashwagandha powder (adaptogenic, calming)
2–3 soft dates, chopped
1/4 tsp ground cardamom
Pinch of cinnamon
Tiny pinch of salt
Drizzle of honey or maple syrup
Optional: spoonful of almond butter, chopped walnuts
Instructions:
In a saucepan, warm oats and milk over low heat.
Add cardamom, cinnamon, dates, and ashwagandha. Stir gently.
Simmer until creamy (5–8 mins). Add a little water if too thick.
Top with almond butter, walnuts, and honey.
Eat slow. Let the warmth hold you.
Drink Pairing: Chamomile-Rooibos Vanilla Steamer
Soothing for the nervous system, caffeine-free, heart-softening.
Ingredients:
1 chamomile tea bag
1 rooibos tea bag
1 cup oat milk or milk of choice
1/2 tsp vanilla extract
1 tsp maple syrup or raw honey
Pinch of sea salt
Instructions:
Steep teas together in 1/2 cup hot water for 5 minutes.
Warm milk with vanilla, sweetener, and salt until steamy.
Combine. Sip in silence. Let the tension melt.
Mantra:
“I can’t fix this. I can only feel it, care through it, and keep choosing myself.”
Music for a Grief Bath
Let these songs hold space. Let them move the emotion through.
“Holocene” – Bon Iver
For the moments when life feels both impossibly big and impossibly small.
“Love in the Dark” – Adele
Because grief is love with nowhere to go.
“River” – Leon Bridges
Wash the pain. Let it flow. Let it go.
“Motion Picture Soundtrack” – Radiohead
For letting go of what will never come back.
“I Am Light” – India.Arie
A reminder. You are not the grief. You are the light that holds it.
Grief isn't just a wound—it's a ritual. It calls on all of you: your mind, your heart, your instincts. And you answer, not with perfection, but with presence. You live through it. You soften into it. And slowly, one cell at a time, you begin to heal.
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