When my grandmother was diagnosed with Alzheimer's, everything changed. I watched, up close, how the small, ordinary parts of a day slowly became the hard parts. Remembering the medication. Keeping track of an appointment. Holding on to the thread of a normal routine. And I saw how much love and worry the people around her carried, often from a distance, never quite sure how she was doing on any given day.

What stayed with me most was the quiet worry. The not knowing. The wish to simply be there a little more, on the ordinary days, not only when something had already gone wrong. I kept thinking there had to be a gentle way to stay close, one that didn't ask our elders to learn a new app or invite cameras and sensors into their home.

That is why I built Cleo. Each day it checks in, gently and simply, to see that everything is alright. It makes sure the medication that matters isn't forgotten, and a quick reply is all it takes to confirm it has been taken. And if a day passes with no answer, it quietly lets you know, so you can reach out and be there.

Cleo will never replace the phone call, the visit, or the sound of a voice. Nothing could, and nothing should. It is simply here for the days in between, so the people who raised us can keep their independence and their dignity, at home and on their own terms, while we stay close in the ways that matter most. That is the world I am working toward, and I'd be honored to have you along.