Life

The Gift of the Conversations We Have While We Can

/ LiveYourBestLife / Leave a comment


Yesterday, a good friend reminded me of something I sometimes forget.

She asked me how I was feeling about my dad, his cancer, and the fact that he is going through chemotherapy to keep it at bay.

My answer surprised me a little.

“I’m okay.”

Not because I want him to die. I don’t.

Not because I want him to experience pain or struggle. I certainly don’t.

I’m okay because my dad and I have talked.

We don’t keep things from each other. We’ve had the hard conversations. We’ve talked about what matters to him, what he wants, and what he doesn’t want. I know his wishes.

And there is an incredible kind of peace that comes from that.

I’m still his little girl. I’m sure there are times he puts on a brave face for me, and maybe even fights a little harder because I’m watching.

But underneath all of that is something I’m incredibly grateful for: we have talked honestly while we still can.

My dad has loved me to the best of his ability. He has taught me lessons through both the good and the difficult parts of life. He communicates the best way he knows how.

And that, in itself, is a gift.

There is another side to this realization for me.

My mom and I had those conversations too. We talked about life. We talked about difficult things. We talked deeply.

But dementia has changed that.

The conversations I once had with my mom, the ones where we could explore an idea, work through something difficult, or simply connect heart-to-heart, aren’t available in the same way anymore.

And that has made my relationship with my dad feel even more precious.

He has become, in some ways, my saving grace. I can still talk to him in a way I can no longer talk to my mom.

And maybe that’s the lesson I’m being reminded of.

Have the conversations.

Don’t assume there will always be more time.

Ask the questions you’ve been avoiding.

Tell someone what they mean to you.

Talk about what matters. Talk about wishes. Talk about fears. Talk about the things that feel uncomfortable.

Because someday, one of those conversations may become a gift you carry with you.

As a coach, I often talk about being intentional with our lives. Sometimes that means setting boundaries or taking care of our bodies. Sometimes it means slowing down enough to actually listen to what our hearts are telling us.

And sometimes, it simply means picking up the phone and having the conversation.

While you still can.

A few things to consider

– What conversation have you been putting off?
– Is there something you need to ask someone while they are still able to answer?
– Is there something you need to say that you’ve assumed you will have time to say later?
– Do the people closest to you actually know what matters most to you?
– And if circumstances changed tomorrow, would you have peace knowing you had said what needed to be said?

We can’t control how much time we have with the people we love.

But we can be intentional about how we use the time we have.

Sometimes the greatest gift isn’t knowing what the future holds.

It’s knowing that you’ve had the conversations that matter.The Gift of the Conversations We Have While We Can

Yesterday, a good friend reminded me of something I sometimes forget.

She asked me how I was feeling about my dad, his cancer, and the fact that he is going through chemotherapy to keep it at bay.

My answer surprised me a little.

“I’m okay.”

Not because I want him to die. I don’t.

Not because I want him to experience pain or struggle. I certainly don’t.

I’m okay because my dad and I have talked.

We don’t keep things from each other. We’ve had the hard conversations. We’ve talked about what matters to him, what he wants, and what he doesn’t want. I know his wishes.

And there is an incredible kind of peace that comes from that.

I’m still his little girl. I’m sure there are times he puts on a brave face for me, and maybe even fights a little harder because I’m watching.

But underneath all of that is something I’m incredibly grateful for: we have talked honestly while we still can.

My dad has loved me to the best of his ability. He has taught me lessons through both the good and the difficult parts of life. He communicates the best way he knows how.

And that, in itself, is a gift.

There is another side to this realization for me.

My mom and I had those conversations too. We talked about life. We talked about difficult things. We talked deeply.

But dementia has changed that.

The conversations I once had with my mom, the ones where we could explore an idea, work through something difficult, or simply connect heart-to-heart, aren’t available in the same way anymore.

And that has made my relationship with my dad feel even more precious.

He has become, in some ways, my saving grace. I can still talk to him in a way I can no longer talk to my mom.

And maybe that’s the lesson I’m being reminded of.

Have the conversations.

Don’t assume there will always be more time.

Ask the questions you’ve been avoiding.

Tell someone what they mean to you.

Talk about what matters. Talk about wishes. Talk about fears. Talk about the things that feel uncomfortable.

Because someday, one of those conversations may become a gift you carry with you.

As a coach, I often talk about being intentional with our lives. Sometimes that means setting boundaries or taking care of our bodies. Sometimes it means slowing down enough to actually listen to what our hearts are telling us.

And sometimes, it simply means picking up the phone and having the conversation.

While you still can.

A few things to consider

  • What conversation have you been putting off?
  • Is there something you need to ask someone while they are still able to answer?
  • Is there something you need to say that you’ve assumed you will have time to say later?
  • Do the people closest to you actually know what matters most to you?
  • And if circumstances changed tomorrow, would you have peace knowing you had said what needed to be said?

We can’t control how much time we have with the people we love.

But we can be intentional about how we use the time we have.

Sometimes the greatest gift isn’t knowing what the future holds.

It’s knowing that you’ve had the conversations that matter.

People often try to solve grief when what grief actually needs is witnessing.

/ LiveYourBestLife / Leave a comment

Today is my birthday.

It’s also the third year in a row that my mom, because of Alzheimer’s, doesn’t know it’s the day she gave birth to me.

Someone I love asked, “How do I fix this?”

The answer is… you don’t.

Some things aren’t meant to be fixed. They’re meant to be witnessed.

As a life coach, I’ve learned that one of the healthiest things we can do is stop treating grief like a problem to solve. Grief is love looking for a place to land.

Today, I’m sad.

I’m also grateful that I still get to hold my mom’s hand.

Those emotions don’t compete. They coexist.

We often think strength means choosing gratitude over grief. But real emotional health allows us to hold both at the same time.

If someone you love is carrying a loss that can’t be fixed, resist the urge to find the perfect words. Instead, offer your presence.

“I see this hurts.”

“I’m here with you.”

“Your feelings make sense.”

Sometimes the greatest gift we can give another person isn’t an answer.

It’s permission to feel.

Today I’ll celebrate another year of life. I’ll grieve another year of loss. And I’ll be grateful for every moment I still have with my mom.

All three belong here. ❤️

When the Caregiver Becomes the Compass

/ LiveYourBestLife / Leave a comment

Finding the Shore Through the Fog of Alzheimer’s


Standing at the water’s edge, I knew the lake was there.


I couldn’t see it. The fog had wrapped itself around the shoreline, blurring every familiar landmark. If someone had arrived for the first time that morning, they might have wondered if there was even a lake beyond the mist.


But I knew better.


I had seen it on clear days. I knew where the shoreline curved, where the water met the rocks, and how the sunlight danced across its surface. The fog had changed my view, but it hadn’t changed the truth.


That’s what caregiving for someone living with Alzheimer’s or dementia feels like.


The disease is the fog.


It rolls in quietly, hiding memories, routines, names, and places that once felt as permanent as the shoreline itself. To your loved one, the world can become unfamiliar and uncertain. But as caregivers, we remember what the fog has concealed.


We become their compass.


A compass doesn’t remove the fog. It simply points toward what is true.


When your loved one forgets which room is theres, you gently walk beside them.
When they can’t remember that breakfast comes after getting dressed, you lovingly guide her through the next step.


When yesterday disappears and tomorrow has no meaning, you become the steady voice that says, “We’re okay. This way.”


As a life coach, I’ve learned that so much of life is spent chasing perfect clarity. We tell ourselves we’ll feel confident once the fog lifts.


Caregiving teaches a different lesson.


Sometimes the greatest strength isn’t seeing farther.
It’s knowing enough to take the next faithful step.


This photograph reminds me that even when the lake is invisible, the path is still beneath our feet. The trees continue to grow. The bench waits patiently. Life hasn’t stopped because visibility has changed.


The same is true in caregiving.


Love becomes less about restoring what was and more about faithfully guiding what remains.


You become the keeper of routines. The holder of stories. The gentle reminder of home. The compass that points toward safety when someone else’s internal map no longer can.


One day, the fog will lift for all of us.


Until then, may we have the courage to walk slowly, speak gently, and trust that what love has built cannot be erased by what memory has lost.


Reflection


If you’re caring for someone with dementia today, remember this: You don’t have to clear the fog. You only have to keep pointing toward love. That’s what a compass does. It doesn’t change the weather. It simply helps someone find their way home. ❤️

Featured

Sharing the Truths that Helped Me Heal

/ LiveYourBestLife / Leave a comment

Why do I share my truths?

Because, for the first time in a long time, I feel like I finally get it.
Life is hard.
We all have life lessons, whether they are big or small, that change us. They make us rethink what we believe, how we show up, and what we might do differently the next time.
I’ve had my share of unhealthy relationships, relationships with little communication, lots of control, and old beliefs I was following without even realizing it. Eventually, I reached a point where I no longer knew who I was.
They say people sometimes stay in unhealthy relationships because the familiar feels safer than the unknown. Even when the familiar hurts, at least you know what to expect.
I get it.
And I’m grateful that I’ve experienced healthy relationships since then. But healthy doesn’t mean perfect, and it doesn’t always mean forever.
One of the hardest and most humbling things I’ve ever done was end my first marriage after 8½ years together. When I left that relationship, I also lost a stepson I loved. In many ways, I felt like I had lost myself, too.
I had become an over-glorified housekeeper, cook, errand runner, and laundry maid. I felt overwhelmed, frustrated, and deeply underappreciated.
When I finally left, I shut down.
I felt like a quitter. And honestly, it completely sucked.
I didn’t believe in divorce, but I also couldn’t unhear or undo the things that had torn the relationship apart. I couldn’t go back to pretending I didn’t know what I knew.
Several months later, life became quieter.
I spent time with a dear friend who was battling cancer. I rescued a puppy. Little by little, I started living again.
And somewhere along the way, I let go of the belief that I had to have everything together all the time. I didn’t have to put on a brave face or pretend I was okay.
I could simply be human.
I felt broken, with all my cracks showing. It was terrifying.
And it was freeing.
So why do I share this?
Because I know there is someone out there experiencing something similar.
Someone who has been made to feel small or powerless. Someone who has reached their limit but is terrified of what comes next.
If that’s you, please know this:
You don’t have to have the whole path figured out before you take the next step.
Surround yourself with people who are kind, loving, and able to see you for who you really are. Create boundaries that protect you from returning to the same patterns. Give yourself permission to learn from what happened instead of allowing it to define you.
And, perhaps most importantly, learn to love yourself enough to stop abandoning yourself just to keep someone else comfortable.
Sometimes healing doesn’t look like having it all together.
Sometimes it looks like finally letting yourself be seen, cracks and all.