My caregiving journey began on October 31st, 2019, when my father showed up on my doorstep. A neighbor had brought him over after finding out he’d spent the night in his car. He had dropped his keys somewhere in the yard and fallen multiple times trying to find them. That was the first sign something wasn’t right. It wasn’t dramatic. It was quiet, confusing, and heavy. It was also the beginning of everything that came next.
In the weeks that followed, I got him in to see a doctor and finally got access to his house. I was still trying to understand what had shifted when, on Thanksgiving, I received a call from a nurse telling me to take him to the emergency room immediately. His potassium levels were dangerously off. What we thought would be a short visit turned into a month-long hospital stay. He went through multiple tests, procedures, and diagnoses. The list of issues kept growing. And when he was discharged he returned to what had now become our home. He started dialysis three times a week. Suddenly, I was responsible for more than I could have ever prepared for.
There were decisions to make every day. Not just medical decisions, but logistical, emotional, financial, and spiritual ones. I gave up things I didn’t realize I’d be asked to sacrifice time, income, space, identity. My life split into two timelines: before and after caregiving.
No one sat me down and said, “This is what you’re about to carry.” And honestly, I wouldn’t have known how to hear it if they had. What I didn’t even know I needed, was language for what I was going through. I needed something that told me I wasn’t just tired or overwhelmed. I was grieving in real time, while still showing up every day to take care of the person who raised me.
This is the story behind the CareGivers Grief Commission. It started with one moment, one knock at the door and it became a mission. A calling to name the layers of loss that happen before death. To build tools that help other caregivers feel seen and supported. And to create something I wish we had back then.
I didn’t set out to create a national movement. I was just trying to survive what no one prepared me for.
But now that I’ve walked through it, I know I’m not the only one. And maybe, if we do this right, the next caregiver won’t have to walk it alone.
If you’re walking this road, or know someone who is, take a moment to explore what we’ve built. You can read the journal, join the newsletter, or just pass the resource along to someone who might need it.
Every caregiver deserves to feel supported, not just responsible.
Click in to Breathe out. You’re not alone.