Dementia is a marathon, not a sprint. And for the caregiver, it’s a much longer race than for the one we love. Today, that reality hit me hard. As a 24/7 caregiver, I realized – I’m not living, I’m just going through the motions. The “we” we used to be is gone, replaced by a constant “he.”
My husband, the man I adore, feels like a stranger in a familiar shell. There’s a constant ache for the man I miss, a yearning for a connection that seems lost forever. In his place stands someone I don’t recognize, someone who triggers a primal urge to run and hide. But running isn’t an option. We were a team, a united front. Now, I feel utterly alone.
Self-help books are full of advice, but none of them prepare you for the way dementia can harden your heart. It turns the warmth you had for your loved one into a dull ache. They don’t talk about the bone-deep exhaustion of constant solitude.
This journey is isolating, and the silence is deafening.
As always, I look forward to reading your comments. Together, maybe we can find a way to navigate this long goodbye with a little less heartache and a little more hope. 🌈☔️
- Recommended reading: Quotes about lighthouses.
Journeying With Wisdom 
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