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…

June 17, 2026 When I was a small child, my mother had long, wavy hair. She loved her curls. Then I believe around the summer of 1981, she cut her hair short and never grew it back. From then on, her curls became her signature. They were her volume, her style, and a source of…

June 16, 2026 Today Mom had a visit from one of her best friends. Donna came to see her, a friendship that stretches all the way back to 1976. They are both in their eighties now, carrying decades of memories between them, though only one of them can still reach most of those memories. Donna…

June 10, 2026 Something about the rain triggers a mood change in Mom. It’s as if she can sense the weather long before it arrives because the warning signs appear in her first: increased confusion, withdrawal, and a reluctance to engage. Dementia has taught me that Mom is deeply influenced by her environment. She not…

June 5, 2026 Today reminded me that even in seasons of loss and change, there can still be renewal. Just a few weeks ago, we began cleaning Mom and Dad’s forgotten screened in porch with a vision of creating a peaceful retreat where they could enjoy the beauty of summer together. Today, that vision has…

May 26, 2026 This past Saturday, I took my parents to visit Virginia Memorial Park (the cemetery) spending time looking at the “real estate” they invested in exactly twenty years ago. At the time, I was oceans deep in parenthood — meal planning, nighttime routines, school schedules, and surviving one exhausting day at a time…

May 21, 2026 Today felt like the beginning of something new. For the past few years, my parents’ sweet screened-in porch has slowly been forgotten. As Mom’s dementia brought changes faster than the changing seasons, the porch became one more project pushed aside while our family focused on more immediate needs. But today, Dad found…

May 20, 2026 Dad’s empathy toward Mom is almost too compassionate to witness sometimes. People rarely ask about his grief. They ask how Mom is doing, whether she ate, whether she slept, whether she recognized anyone today. But they do not often ask what it feels like to slowly lose the person who stood beside…

April 14, 2026 It was an unseasonably warm April afternoon, the kind of day that invited people outdoors. The sun shined brightly over Lynchburg, and the temperature climbed into the upper eighties. It felt strangely out of sync with what our family was about to do. While spring was announcing new life outside, we were…

May 19, 2026 Today with Mom felt like we standing between two worlds — the one she is slowly leaving behind, and the one we are desperately trying to hold onto for her. This afternoon I sat beside Mom and gently asked, “Mom, do you know you have children?” Her eyes widened with surprise. “I…