June 30, 2026
Some days are measured not by how much gets accomplished, but by the precious moments tucked quietly between the errands.
Mom and Dad began the day with a little pampering at Trimmers, enjoying fresh hair washes, cuts, and styles. It’s amazing how something so simple can brighten a person’s spirit.
Afterward, we treated ourselves to Rookies ice cream before finishing our errands.
The summer heat, however, was relentless. By the time we walked from the takeout window to a picnic bench, Mom had lost her desire to eat—or even to speak. She quietly lowered her head, and the woman who had been enjoying the afternoon just moments before seemed completely drained. Dementia has a way of changing the course of a day without warning, and the oppressive heat only magnified its effects. We sat together in the silence, spoon feeding mom her ice cream, knowing there wasn’t anything to fix—only a moment to share. A few minutes after moving back to the car and air conditioning, she perked back up clapping to the music of Beethoven Symphony No. 6.
Dad was dropped off at a doctor’s appointment, and I took Mom for a drive to the cemetery. We searched for the grave of her beloved cousin, Janis, who passed away in 2005 after a courageous battle with cancer. When we found her, everything seemed to slow down.
Mom sat quietly, looking at the stone, and reflected on the cousin she loved so dearly.
“She was just wonderful and beautiful,” Mom said with a smile. “She was easygoing.”
As the afternoon sun shined across Janis’ name, it also seemed to illuminate something within Mom. She smiled—a genuine, heartfelt smile—and for those precious moments, love spoke more clearly than dementia ever could.
The words of 2 Timothy 4:7 were engraved on her stone: “I have fought the good fight, I have finished the course, I have kept the faith.” Janis truly did.
Before leaving, we stopped to visit Annie with Everstory. Mom happily introduced Melanie and me as “her cousins.” Teehee! We gladly played our roles. In her world, family isn’t always defined by genealogy but by love, and for that moment, we were exactly who she believed us to be.
Today reminded me that dementia is full of unexpected turns. The afternoon began with simple pleasures, paused in quiet exhaustion, and ended in a place many would associate with sorrow. Yet it was there, among the headstones and bathed in warm sunlight, that joy quietly returned.
When memories drift and words become scarce, love still finds its way home. Sometimes it simply arrives in the sunshine, a familiar name etched in stone, and a smile that says more than words ever could.
