When I first thought about writing this blog, I was deep in the exhausting, emotional journey of end-stage Alzheimer’s care with my husband, Gar. It occurred to me that others might need to hear what I was going through, not because I had all the answers, but because I wanted people to know they weren’t alone.

And then Gar passed away.

I started a whole new chapter: one filled with grief, anger, fear, and confusion. There was no handbook, no tidy checklist of “what to do after your heart breaks.” But eventually, I started to heal. I realized that while posts about caretaking and grief are meaningful, what I really wanted was to explore how to live, I mean really, really live, in this autumn season of life.

So, welcome, and thank you for taking time to read my wanderings. I hope they bring you some laughs, comfort, and the occasional moment of “oh thank God, it’s not just me”.

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The End That Wasn’t the End

As stated Gar had Alzheimer’s. Near the end of his life, I moved into his nursing home room and refused to leave. I was determined to be there when he passed. The staff told me it wouldn’t be long. (Spoiler: they were wrong.)

He lived much longer than expected, and let me tell you, living in a nursing home as a non-patient, in memory care, is its own weird little adventure. But one day, his breathing slowed, and he opened his eyes. He looked at me and said, “I love you.”

Now, you’d think I’d break down from the emotion of that statement, but honestly, what broke me was that in that moment he knew me. After everything Alzheimer’s had taken from us, it gave us one last gift.

I laid my head on his chest and began to sing to him. After a while, he passed.

(And yes, this is the part where I usually say, “I think I killed him softly with my song,” but that joke tends to flop. Still, I think it’s funny, and I am sticking to it.)

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My Caretaking Resume: 6 for 6

I’ve been a caregiver for six different people in my life. All six have died. Statistically speaking, that’s a 100% fatality rate; which I suppose is normal, but still, not exactly a glowing reference.

So when someone comes to me for help with caregiving, I’m often tempted to say, “Just so you know, I don’t have a great track record.” But instead, I usually smile gently and say, “I’m not available at the moment.”

Caretaking, as it turns out, is both holy work and emotional demolition. It’s sacred, exhausting, heartbreaking, and sometimes even funny, darkly funny, but funny, nonetheless.

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If You’re in It, or Just Coming Out of It…

If you’re in the midst of caregiving right now, know that you are doing the hardest and most beautiful work. Even when you feel like you’re failing, you’re showing up. That counts for more than you know.

If you’ve recently lost someone and now find yourself in the surreal fog of grief, welcome. You are not alone. This autumn season of life is quieter, maybe, and it certainly looks different than I expected. But it still has its moments of light.

And that’s what I hope this blog offers: a place for light, laughter, and connection, even in the shadow of loss.

Thanks for reading and I will see you next time.   – Donetta –