Renee Martinez-Epperson

The Invisible Losses There are losses in caregiving that nobody sends flowers for. There’s no funeral. No sympathy cards. Sometimes the person you love is sitting right beside you. And yet, something has been lost. I think about Mom. She didn’t wake up one morning and decide, Today I become a caregiver. It happened slowly. One responsibility at a time. One appointment. One reminder. One sleepless night. One thing Dad could no longer manage became something Mom needed to manage. And then...

As I wrap up Grandpa’s stories, I realize they were never just stories about dementia or caregiving. They were stories about learning what you don’t know—usually when you’re already overwhelmed. We went from the hospital to skilled nursing, then home. We learned about neuropsych testing, guardianship and conservatorship, respite, community resources, utility assistance, private-pay care, Medicaid planning, nursing-home placement, advocacy and so much more. And somewhere in the middle of all...

There comes a point in some caregiving journeys when you realize you cannot keep living every moment as the professional in the room. For a long time, I was the social worker. The therapist. The care manager. The one asking questions, coordinating services, anticipating problems and trying to stay three steps ahead of whatever might happen next. Those skills helped my family. But somewhere along the way, I realized I didn't want every moment with my parents to feel like a care conference. So...