I’m running the 2026 TCS London Marathon for Alzheimer’s Research UK — in memory of my grandmother, Jejan.

She never asked for much.

Not when she raised seven children through war.

Not when she stayed behind in Kabul while each of them fled the country, one by one, to survive.

Not even when chronic back pain became her new normal, or when a surgery gone wrong left her disabled.

She kept smiling.

She kept giving.

She kept showing up.

Jejan was the kind of woman who made a meal stretch to feed whoever showed up at her door — even if she didn’t have enough for herself. She was the kind of woman who could lose everything and still say Alhamdulillah (all praise is due to the most high).

When she finally made it to the U.S. after years of separation, she was overjoyed. For the first time in decades, she was surrounded by her children, grandchildren, and great-grandchildren. Her house was loud, messy, full of life, and she was at the center of it all, grounding us in a country that never slows down.

And then Alzheimer’s came.

At first, it was little things. A name. A date. A story that trailed off halfway through.

Then it took more, faces, places, memories. Us.

We watched her slip away while still sitting right next to us.

In the end, the only thing she remembered was her faith. Her prayer. Her Lord. Even that began to fade.

She met my daughter just after she was born. I remember her frail hands holding this tiny new soul, whispering Bismillah, translated to "In the name of God" as a blessing, a protection, a way of saying: may this child walk a path full of light. It felt like something holy had just passed between them — like legacy meeting future.

Within a year, she was gone.

It has been nearly a decade since we buried her, and I still feel her absence in ways I can’t put into words. Some days I would give anything just to sit on her floor, drink her chai, and hear one more story. But Alzheimer’s stole those stories. It stole her before it took her.

So I’m running.

Not because I’m a runner.

But because this is the only way I know how to fight back.

26.2 miles. Every single step, in pain, for her.

For all the grandmothers we’ve lost.

For all the families sitting in silence, watching someone they love disappear.

For a future where no one forgets the name of the person holding their hand.

Alzheimer’s Research UK is working toward that future.

And with your support, we’re getting closer to a cure.

If Jejan’s story moved you, if you’ve loved someone like her, please donate.