Caregiver’s Journey Week 129: Caregiver Contribution to Emotional Well-being

As Lee’s caregiver, my days were filled with the quiet routines that keep a life going—preparing meals, managing medications, helping with hygiene, and doing my best to preserve some sense of normalcy. I tried to meet each need as it came, one task at a time, as calmly and faithfully as I could. Even so, I learned that I also needed small moments of care for myself. At Lee’s urging, I went to the beauty shop each week, did simple exercises like leg lifts and squats, and listened to audiobooks while he rested.

The deeper challenge was caring for Lee’s spirit as much as his body. As his condition declined, his world grew smaller, and with that came loneliness I could feel. He was homebound, and his children lived far away—in Wichita, Kansas, and Reading, Pennsylvania—though they called often, sometimes every day. Our daughter Susan gave us a digital photo frame that kept family faces and memories close by. A few church friends visited from time to time, always careful not to tire him, and their presence brought a gentle kind of comfort.

Now, five years into my grief journey, I find myself thinking about those last months with a tenderness sharpened by hindsight. Lee never complained, and we did have meaningful conversations. We often returned to the joyful moments of our life together, yet for a long time we both avoided the harder memories—the losses, the struggles, the burdens we had carried. When that changed, something in us softened. As we began to speak more openly about the painful parts of our story, our conversations grew more honest, more tender, and more real. Making room for both the blessings and the burdens of our life together gave those final months a depth I still carry with me.

Celebrating Lee’s 80^th Birthday. The Rondelle is reminiscent of WWII-era aircraft manufacturing. I designed this shirt to acknowledge his interest in these aircraft.