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I was on the phone with my parents, doing what daughters in full caregiving mode often do—sorting through a growing mountain of medical appointments. Calendars open. Pen in hand. Deep breath on standby. Mom sounded tired. Not dramatic tired. Not complaining tired. Just the bone-deep tired that comes from juggling referrals, follow-ups, paperwork, insurance codes, and the quiet, constant pressure of not wanting to miss anything important. You could hear the papers shuffling in

Dad is extremely particular about who’s allowed near his face with sharp objects. Haircuts? Only by trusted hands. Beard trims? Even fewer candidates. So when Mom — whose barbering experience is limited to cutting tags off new clothes — offered to give him a shave, the stakes couldn’t have been higher. For those who don’t know, Dad is living with dementia. Some days are crystal clear, others feel a little foggier. Even simple routines — like a shave — can feel bigger, louder,

✨ Introducing: Finding Light in Caregiving – Mom & Dad’s Adventures This week, I’m beginning something tender. I’m going to start sharing stories from my parents’ everyday adventures — with their full permission and, honestly, their delight. They love a good audience. These won’t be polished lessons or inspirational speeches wrapped in a bow. They won’t be clinical. They won’t be “how-to” guides. They’ll just be us. Messy. Real. Sometimes a little ridiculous. And somehow, in

Today was one of those days. The kind you don’t plan.The kind you can’t manufacture.The kind you wish you could gently fold up and tuck into your pocket for later. Dad was in his groove. Santana’s “Evil Ways”  came on, and something lit up behind his eyes. That familiar smirk. The one that says, I’ve still got it. And honestly? He does. He sang like he was on stage somewhere in the 70s, hips swaying just enough to make us nervous. Of course, my son-in-law couldn’t leave it al

Vri has a partner in crime — her great-grandpa. The two of them together? Trouble with a capital “T.” They share the same sparkle in their eyes, the same quick wit, the same instinct for telling a story at just the right moment. The difference is this: Great-Grandpa is living with dementia, so when he tells a tall tale, it isn’t mischief. It’s his truth in that moment. His brain hands him a version of the world, and he offers it to us sincerely, confidently, sometimes brillia

He calls her “Glen.” I call my dad “VinSaint” — because honestly, the man is an angel. Even when he’s holding a giant axe in the rain. Our family’s dementia journey began almost six years ago, when we learned my grandfather, Ralphie, had been living with dementia. We didn’t have a roadmap. No binder. No neat checklist. Just a lot of questions and a deep desire to do right by him. So we did what felt loving. We honored his wish to stay home as long as possible. And like many f