In spite of all the time and love my family has put into my grandmother’s care, I have sometimes wondered, Well, what’s the point? So what if we decorate her room for the holidays, or take her for walks when it’s nice out, or even put money into her nursing-home care? There’s no known cure for Alzheimer’s, and there’s no way I can stop it. This is when, to cope, I find small ways I can help. I’m not an amazing genius doctor who can cure illness at the flick of a wrist. But I’ve realized that while the tiny things I can do for another person may seem trivial, they are not. Just because holding my grandmother’s hand isn’t going to fix the problem, it’s sure as hell going to help. No matter how far gone she seems, she is still there, even in the faintest glimmers. If someone had a broken leg, I wouldn’t give up and ignore them because I knew kindness wouldn’t fix the bone. Little bits of love matter.

Humor is essential, too. “Better laugh than cry,” my mom reminds me before every trip we make to my grandmother’s nursing home. My family says this all the time, and yeah, it’s a cliché, but a necessary one. I don’t mean that we make insensitive or offensive jokes about mental/physical illness; “being in pain” shouldn’t be an excuse for being an asshole. But it can help to make light of difficult situations, or poke fun a little bit, as a means of coping. When my grandmother started crushing on my uncle (she didn’t know who he was—she giggled around him and kept telling us how cute she thought he was) I had to laugh! Being constantly serious is brutally taxing; laughter is necessary for survival. It is heartbreaking to watch someone you love suffer, but a moment of laughter doesn’t make you callous. It’s a healthy coping mechanism that makes a difficult situation a little more bearable.

Over the summer, my family made memory quilts for my grandma. Memory quilts are patchwork quilts with things like bells, pockets, and zippers sewn in them to keep a person with Alzheimer’s or memory loss engaged or entertained, which can help lift their spirits. While making them, I did have a little twinge of cynicism: How exactly would this help? But when we gave them to my grandma, my mother recounted the happiness on her face, the excitement she had when she got something new that we had handmade her with care. While little acts of love may not eradicate sickness, they aren’t useless: It’s been proven that optimism and positivity play a factor in healing and recovery from sickness or injury. A handmade card does more good than you may think.

There are so many other ways to help, too, if you’re supporting a loved one through a serious illness. Donating time, money, or resources (such as food and clothing) can be extremely restorative and can turn frustration into action. My mom is very active in volunteer work, and I’ve gone with her before to nursing homes other than my grandmother’s. One time we brought our dog to show the residents, and I won’t forget how people lit up and how excited they were to pet the dog. Hospitals and health-care facilities are always looking for extra support. By donating or volunteering, you will be channeling your frustration into action that can make progress.

Weathering everything my grandma’s sickness has brought on has been the most depleting and heartbreaking thing I’ve ever had to go through, but it has also, ironically, restored my faith in people. I’ve often heard this question bounced around, in school or otherwise: “Will human beings do something if they had nothing to gain personally from it?” I think of all the money, time, and support my family has poured into my grandmother’s treatment, and of all the nurses and friends of hers who have come to visit and help with her care. And the fact that, even though she no longer remembers our names or our relation to her, my grandmother is still visited by us weekly, and we still care about her, are devoted wholly to her, and want her to get through this. I smile because I know the answer is yes, of course. ♦