A Break from the Routine
- Renee Martinez-Epperson
- Nov 6, 2025
- 2 min read
Updated: Feb 21
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 alone.
“Sing it to your wife!”
Dad paused mid-verse, laughed, and said, “Son-in-law, you’re gonna get me in trouble!”
We laughed until we couldn’t breathe.
Not polite laughter.Not careful laughter.The kind that spills out and makes you feel alive.
The clouds decided to perform too.
We laid back and pointed out ridiculous shapes only we could see. A dragon. A dancing squirrel. A cloud that looked suspiciously like Dad’s old mustache.
For a while, the world slowed down enough for us to notice it. Then came the mushroom rocks. Paint everywhere. Too much paint, actually.
They’re still drying.
And yes, if you sit too close, you might leave with a souvenir on your jeans.
Worth it.
At some point, Dad turned the patio furniture into his drum set. He tapped and drummed like it owed him a solo. And I watched him.
Every rhythm felt like freedom.
Every beat felt like, I’m still here.
And that’s the thing about days like this. When dementia softens the edges of memory… sometimes it sharpens the edges of presence.
He ate ribs — his favorite.
Sauce on his fingers.
No rushing.
No redirecting.
No schedules tugging at us.
Just five full hours of joy.
Five hours where no one was managing anything.
We were just together.
Sometimes caregiving can feel like monitoring. Reminding. Adjusting. Protecting.
Important things.
Necessary things.
But today wasn’t about any of that.
It was about remembering who he is.
Not who he was.
Not who he’s becoming.
Who he is.
A man who loves music.
Who teases his son-in-law.
Who drums on patio furniture like it’s Madison Square Garden.
Who still has rhythm.
Who still has spark.
Who still has dignity.
Days like this don’t erase the hard ones.
They don’t cancel out the fatigue or the grief that shows up quietly at night. But they remind me that caregiving isn’t just about holding someone through decline.
It’s about making room for freedom when it appears. And sometimes, if we’re lucky, freedom shows up singing Santana.
Love you, Pops.
Thank you for spending the day with me.
I’ll keep this one tucked safely in my pocket. 🥰
— Renee Martinez-Epperson, MSWAntlers Creek Caregiver Foundation, Inc.A Colorado nonprofit supporting caregivers and families.
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