The call came in 1989. The 20-year-old and her boyfriend had hit a horse; she'd smashed into the windshield. The physical damage was unbelievable.

She would recover, over time and only to a degree. On her best days, Danny Askew says, "she could go around the corner to the grocery store and get a frozen yogurt and go back home. But that was about all."

Then the physical deterioration of Huntington's began to add to the toll.

And the worse Julie got, the more she seemed to glow — almost as if she'd been imparted with some special grace.

She never misses church, never snaps at people, never fails to say "thanks" and "please." John is clearly frustrated and Amy is increasingly hostile and aggressive. But it is poor, devastated Julie who has become the calm in the center of the storm.

"I feel sorry for you, Mama," she said recently, holding out her twisted arms and hands for a hug. "This isn't fair."

· · · · ·

You can get some idea of the relentless pace of Huntington's disease by reading Lael Askew's letters to her brother-in-law Bob and his wife:

In November 1995, she wrote, John went to Phoenix to get together with business associates from his successful days to try to interest them in a financial deal.

When Lael told him to be careful, he hung up on her. She had become the enemy, his prison guard. She's not fun anymore, he complained to their friends.

"He really hates me," she wrote. "Anything I say sounds negative to him. I am purposely trying not to discourage him, but it doesn't matter what I say or how I say it, he ends up hanging up on me. When he originally left, I only hoped he would be gone long enough for me to get some rest and feel relaxed. Now I am worried that he will be gone too long, use his money all up and who knows what he'll do if he is desperate."