It’s like a long, inspiring novel, the story of my best friend Michele who developed early onset Alzheimer’s at the age of 47.

Her children were in high school at the time, two girls who were poised to go to college, have families and jobs one day, and then starter homes on little lanes, and all the good blessings we expect life to offer.

Their mother’s illness progressed slowly, being of middle age and of good health at the time, but still, life became a zig-zag path of questions and uncertainties for everyone who loves Michele.

A central question was how could we help the girls to grow up and enjoy the promise of young life — college, careers, partners and friendships, then marriage and family life — while still being involved and maybe, at some point, responsible for their mother? How could we expect them to know, as teenagers, the seriousness of what lay in front of them or what to do about it?

Michele wasn’t married, but had a long-term loving partner who took charge of the early years of Michele’s illness. In those years, Michele lived with him while the girls went to college, then lived in big cities, had boyfriends and jobs. This gave them time to freely grow into the women they were meant to be, not missing out on the experiences that would shape their personalities and teach them valuable life lessons.

I hate to make it seem as if it were all easy. Michele’s mother, her last living parent, passed away. And a sister, who was never an easy person to deal with on a good day, sort of faded into the background of their lives until she was out of the picture for good. She was the last relative Michele had from a small extended family.

And there were sometimes disagreements, dashed hopes, or personality clashes. Michele’s oldest had a hard time coming to terms with her mother’s illness for a time, and being very sensitive, sometimes it was easier for her to look away in the beginning.

Michele’s youngest daughter began a family as the years passed, and with all odds against them, she and her partner bought a big house back in her hometown with the express intention of having her mother live there so she could care for her for the rest of her life.

“I will have my mother live with me and I will care for her until the end.”

That’s what she told everyone. And save for me, not one person was in her court about that decision.

Now, please take a minute to understand the magnitude of that promise to her mother. We know that caring for someone with Alzheimer’s can be extremely challenging as time goes on. Especially for a young and busy mother. It would take a certain kind of devotion to care for Michele while juggling the demands of motherhood at the same time. It was hard for people to understand why her daughter was so stubborn and determined to do this when other options were available. And they were very good options, too. Not everyone has what it takes to manage the demands of such a serious disease while managing an entire household.

I think everyone held their breath for the first few years after Michele moved into her daughter’s house. But slowly we exhaled as the days passed and we found that things were going pretty well over there.

But the point of my story today is to tell you about last weekend. This story is really a story about love and not illness.

I was asked to officiate Michele’s oldest daughter’s wedding. Everyone would be there, including Michele, who is still alive after 14 years with this disease, and her lifelong partner Dave.

Through the years, unbeknownst to me, all of these people had formed a village. And it was a village that surrounded Michele in absolute love and support.

Dave had a new girlfriend who was devoted to Michele, too, and spent the wedding helping to care for the youngest daughter’s children. And Dave spent the day helping Michele, lovingly sitting with her through the ceremony and festivities.

He also spent a lot of time wiping tears from his eyes. And playing with the kids.

Michele’s oldest, who got married that day, was tender with her mother now, and spends every single weekend driving 60 miles to help her sister care for Michele.

There was a new part-time nurse to help, and a mother-in-law who spends everyday helping the youngest with her children at home.

It was really one of the most beautiful things I’ve ever witnessed. And what I realized is that my friend’s illness didn’t stop anyone from growing up or from realizing their life’s dreams.

All of these people had become richer, more loving people. They had learned to work together, to serve one another, to make the very best of what the world had thrown at them.

And they were all better people for it — oozing of warmth and depth and sincerity.

Michele did not recognize any of us. But what was clear was that she was loved, and has taught us all what that really means.