Hey my fellow Caregivers and welcome back to the podcast that is all about you and your loved one. This is the Caregiver Secrets Podcast! My goal and heart’s desire is to make this the place where we share practical advice, heartfelt stories, and encouragement for those you who care for your loved-ones that can no longer care for themselves. Listen, I want you to know that you’re not alone on this journey, and together, we’ll share the joys and challenges of caregiving with compassion and suppo...
Hey my fellow Caregivers and welcome back to the podcast that is all about you and your loved one. This is the Caregiver Secrets Podcast! My goal and heart’s desire is to make this the place where we share practical advice, heartfelt stories, and encouragement for those you who care for your loved-ones that can no longer care for themselves. Listen, I want you to know that you’re not alone on this journey, and together, we’ll share the joys and challenges of caregiving with compassion and support.
My fellow caregivers, this is not medical, financial, or health advice. Please consult with the appropriate professionals for specific concerns. My role is to inform and support you as best I can, but the actions you take are totally up to you. With that said, let’s get into this.
I think this is a great story to help shed some light on our topic.
Brian sat in a dimly lit hospital room, holding his wife’s frail hand as the rhythmic beeping of the monitors filled the silence. Laura, the woman he had loved for over forty years, lay peacefully, her breathing shallow but steady. He knew this moment was coming—he had known for a long time—but knowing didn’t make it any easier.
Laura had been diagnosed with early-onset Alzheimer’s a decade ago, and Brian had dedicated himself to her care. At first, it was just small things, forgetting names, misplacing objects. Then, over the years, the disease stole more and more from her. She forgot their children’s names, the stories they had shared, the life they had built together. But even amid her decline, Brian clung to the love that had once burned so bright between them.
The past few weeks had been the hardest. Hospice had prepared him for the end, but the weight of it pressed down on his chest like a boulder. He wasn’t just losing his wife, he was losing his best friend, his partner, the one person who had always known exactly what to say, what to do, how to comfort him.
As he sat by her bedside, memories flooded his mind—their wedding day, the birth of their daughter, the nights spent dancing in the kitchen to their favorite song. He wanted to hold onto every moment, to preserve them somehow, but they slipped through his fingers like grains of sand.
A nurse walked in, placing a gentle hand on his shoulder. “She’s comfortable, Brian,” she said softly. “You’re doing everything right.”
He nodded, but his heart ached. What did “right” even mean at a time like this? Should he be talking to her? Holding her hand? Sitting in silence? There was no manual for saying goodbye to the love of your life.
Then, almost instinctively, he reached into his pocket and pulled out a small, worn notebook. It was something he had started when Laura first got sick—a collection of love letters, memories, and little notes he wished he could share with her. He opened to the last entry and, in a voice thick with emotion, he read aloud:
“My love, I don’t know what tomorrow holds, but I know this—I have loved you in every season. In the bright summer days of our youth, in the golden autumn of raising our family, and even now, in this long winter. I have loved you fiercely, and I always will. If you must go, go knowing that you have given me a life filled with love, and I will carry that love with me always.”
A single tear rolled down Laura’s cheek.
Brian squeezed her hand, his throat tight with emotion. It was a small thing, a fleeting moment, but it was everything. He had been given one last gift—the knowledge that she heard him, that somewhere, deep inside, she knew.
In that moment, he realized something powerful: saying goodbye didn’t mean letting go. It meant holding onto the love they had built, honoring the life they had shared, and carrying it forward.
For every caregiver walking this difficult road, I want you to hear this—your love, your sacrifice, your devotion, it all matters. Even when words fail, even when memories fade, even when time runs out, love remains.
One of the mantras I hold onto from my book Get Risen is this: I am grateful to be alive, and safely to my divine destiny, I will surely arrive. In moments of loss, it’s easy to feel like your world is ending, but your journey is not over. You are still here. You still have a purpose. And you are stronger than you know.
I’d love to hear from you. Have you experienced a moment of unexpected connection with a loved one in their final days? Share your story in the comments or email me. And if this episode resonated with you, don’t forget to subscribe and share it with another caregiver who might need it today.
And don’t forget to join our Facebook community at bit.ly/CaregiverSecretsOnFacebook, where we share stories, tips, and encouragement. Together, we can build a village of support and make this journey a little lighter.
Finally, I’d love for you to grab a free copy of my book, Get Risen. It’s written by a family caregiver for caregivers, and you can get it at bit.ly/GetRisen.
Caregiving is hard, but you are not alone. Let’s keep learning, growing, and finding new ways to bring more peace to our journey. Until next time, take care.
