7 Soul Stirring Lessons I Learned From My Mother’s Death

My mom’s birthday was on February 15th. She would have been 60-years old. That hit me hard when I did the math and my heart skipped a beat while I let that settle into my bones.

Sixty years old, damn.

Eight years have passed like a true classroom education.

However, instead of paying tuition with coinage, this school was paid in revolting screams + chest rising tears + full body upheavals of emotion and life pivots that took me down several roads I was not the least confident in.

Eight years ago I bared witness as my mother gasped and then exhaled her last earthly breath.

Cancer was the door that opened her to the afterlife.

I was 24 years old and had no idea the tsunami of emotions and cataclysms that life was about to throw my way.

Left with an awkward, gaping hole in my heart from not only my mothers death, but from the last twenty-four tumultuous, heartbreaking years with a woman I finally felt like I was getting to know and love again.

Our relationship was a painful mess for most of my life.

She was unequipped to be a parent; battling her own demons as she rode hard down the lane of self destruction, addiction, major depression and emotional unavailability – which was the most agonizing one for me.

I felt like physically, I had a mother, but emotionally, she was rarely there.

The constant arguing with her, and the raging anger she released frequently, coupled with a major lack of connection with my own mother, sent me packing my bags out of a very dysfunctional upbringing at fourteen years old. I moved in with my older brother (like, 18 years older brother) and his family seeking a functional, safe atmosphere.

The next time my mother and I had any contact was about 6 years later when she ended up in the psych ward for an attempted suicide/pill overdose.

I recall bringing her some belongings, angrily asking her why she did what she did and then wanting to get the hell outta there.

She left that place soon after our interaction and ended up dating some guy for a couple of years.

When I had not spoken with my dad for a few days (which was SUPER rare at that time because him and I spoke on the daily), it was then that he spilled the beans that my mom had returned and asked my dad if she could stay with him while she got her feet on the ground.

I completely lost my shit because my dad actually obliged her request.

Turns out, her moving back was the open door my soul needed to grow within that relationship, even though I could not see it at the time.

Over time and digging deep within myself and doing some maaaaaa-jor Soul Work, I was finally at a place where her and I were jiving and loving and most of all forgiving…of the rollercoaster and heart entanglements that was our wounded relationship.

I felt like finally, I had a “mom” again – she had a job, she was fully functional in everyday life and the drug stuff was no longer there. And she was very sincerely apologetic for the whole beautiful mess that encapsulated our journey thus far.

My heart was opening, sun was shining in the cracks of the broken parts of my heart, and joy for where we were, was settling in.

And then she broke the news in May/2007: Stage 3-4 Non-Hodgkins Lymphoma.

Doctors, hospitals and chemo soon consumed her life and most definitely, mine.

On July 28th, 2007 – two months after her diagnosis – she was gone. So began one of the largest revolutions that my soul would take on in my life.

Here are some of the deep, wound uncovering, lessons learned from my moms death:

1.  Parents (especially moms) are human too.

I had these ginormous expectations for my mom, especially because all of my other friend’s parents appeared to be able to function quite well. Parents are just grown children. We are all doing the best with what we have and know.

I realized my moms rough, drug-fueled childhood and lack of healthy coping mechanisms were a perfect storm for being emotionally unavailable as a mother + human being as well.

Honor their journey; even if you have to love them from a distance while/if they work their own demons out this go around. My mom finally came around through the fog, but it was much later in life, definitely not when I wanted her to, but when her journey called for it. You just never know.

2.  Anger kills you, not them.

When I moved out at fourteen, I thought I was “showing” my mom something. Like, if I move out, that would be the most painful thing for her, but it wasn’t. I was soooooo fucking angry with her for not caring that she “lost” her daughter and it didn’t seem to bother her. I thought the angrier I got, the more it would hurt her. Until one day, my brother said, “All of that anger you have isn’t killing her, it’s killing you.” That’s all he needed to say – I totally got it and dropped the anger from that moment on.

 3.  I am not my mom.

We all have our own unique journey. When I was little, I would seize up in thought that I would be an emotionally disconnected woman, with raging addictions backed with enough anger to fill a stadium. Deep down I knew better though. I am not my mother, or anything else which doesn’t light my soul up.

We all have the ability to choose because choice creates possibility.   

I also did not want to be a mother because of her. I thought that if I didn’t have a great mother role model, how would I know how to be a good mom? I would speak this fear to my sister from time to time and one day she said, “I get that Kel, but guess what you do know? All the things NOT to do.”  Again, some soul lights went off inside me and well, now, I am a mom + doing things WAY different and loving the sacred journey of motherhood.

4.  I chose this.

My spiritual journey really amped up and began to unfold after my mom’s death. I became super curious about all things death, the afterlife, reincarnation, etc. I devoured soulful books and listened to Wayne Dyer like he was my new favorite rock star boyfriend. Wayne dropped a spiritual bomb on me one day when he said that before incarnating into this current life, that…WE CHOSE OUR PARENTS. I was like, “whhhhhaaaaaaat?!” And wondered why in the hell we would do that, especially why would I have chosen this crazy-ass relationship with my mom. Simple answer: for our souls growth. For some of us, the choosing of our parents is one of the most in-your-face lessons we can learn in a lifetime.

I know it might sound cray to someone who hasn’t heard that theory, but for me, I was totally pickin’ up what Wayne was throwing down. I felt like, yep, my higher self totally chose this relationship to help grow me in ways I would not have. Because I moved out at fourteen, I grew up super fast, which served me for the better many times in life. Silver linings everywhere + everything is happening FOR us, not against us.

5.  Don’t become the ice queen.

If you’ve seen the Disney movie Frozen, well, I could have been Elsa: the queen who shuts everyone out of her life because she doesn’t know how to use her powers/gifts. Elsa ends up freezing her small country + tries to run anyone off who comes her way, especially her sister.

Because I was rockin’ some major trust issues (hello, if you can’t trust your own mama, who the hell can you trust, was my thinking), I was so quick to dismiss, throw in the towel early and walk away and never look back. I rarely allowed myself to feel my feelings and this had me running from anything that scratched an emotion in me.

It wasn’t until I sought some grief counseling after my mom passed that I was able to work through it. I recall asking my counselor, “Ok, now that I’ve identified my issue with just closing everyone off and shutting them out, how do I fix that?”

That sweet gray haired beauty, chalk full of wisdom, broke it down for me and pretty much said that those walls are my bag in life, so-to-speak, and my work is in being aware and conscious of them and choosing differently in my knee-jerk reaction to wall building. I felt like a weight was lifted when she said that: awareness creates choice.

6.  Accept + forgive quickly.

When my mom and I finally reached this sweet spot in our relationship and then she died soon after, I was overcome with so much guilt that it paralyzed me for a long time.

I so wished that I would have not been so stubborn all of those years + truly opened myself up to viewing my mom as another BEing on their own journey.

If you are where I am and you are open to it, send love to the person you feel wounded by and bless their journey. It doesn’t mean that you have to take on their shit, create healthy boundaries, but send them love, so you can also feel that love.

7.  Hurricanes are temporary.

After my mom died I felt like I was in the midst of a hurricane and my feet were barely dangling here on earth. I experienced this feeling of being in the eye of a storm, totally out of touch with reality and a complete brain fog that wouldn’t clear.

I chose some very interesting relationship choices at that time, all for comfort in some form. The man I had been in a relationship with when my mom passed, I found myself running away from because I couldn’t handle giving of myself emotionally at all, but then I would run back to him because he was a soft place to land. It was heart wrenching for both of us to walk through that time.

Seeing clearly now, I could have saved myself and so many others loads of heartache if I would have just focused on myself and not tried to feed my void with emotional comfort from a person or relationship.

At that time, I could not see but what was right in front of me, perhaps that is the expedition of healing, but having the lucidity I do now: seek and heal yourself first – the rest will fall into place.

Love + Lessons,


A Letter To My Younger Self

Hey girl —

It’s me, Kel — your older self — talking to your twenty-two-year-old self.

Do you recall her?

Ripe age of twenty-two, full of angst to fulfill her purpose and loaded with a quivering confidence.

I’m 32 now. Crazy, right?

I’m married, with a four-year-old and STILL trying to maneuver this purpose thing.

Sit down 22-year-old Kel, rest easy child, let’s go for a soul stroll. I want to whisper some schoolings to you that I’ve picked up along the way.

Let’s chat, shall we?

A Letter To My Younger Self

Sister —

Chill The Fuck Out. Like seriously.

Enjoy your life right now, at an age you will never be again.
Quit worrying so much about your “purpose.” It will all work itself out. You ARE living your purpose just by BEing you.

Enjoy The Journey.
Quit chasing the future, it will come soon enough.

Never Say Never.
Shit will change – your mind, your thoughts, your environment. Roll with it. Don’t get stuck in something you’ve “always” told yourself. Be open to the beautiful unfolding that is life.

And above all, choose the soul whisper; it knows what’s up. (Hint, hint: quit saying you don’t believe in marriage or kids and that you don’t want either: your bitch-ass will get married to a phenomenal man + you both will bring forth a breathtaking old soul of a child).

Feel. Cry. Erupt. Move On…Rinse + Repeat.

Quit running away from your feelings and shutting everyone out that scratches an emotion in you.

Sit with the dark side, usher in the shadows and let it permeate the soul, allow the rain to wash away which no longer serves you + be open to the sun healing all which has broken wide open.

Keep Your Edge Though.

Don’t ever dim that light which shines so bright, Sister.
Your presence is magnifying + your love is worthy.

Keep showing up just the way you are.

Love you like crazy,

Your future self.

Everybody’s Hell is Different – A Love Note for Relationships

The hubs and I were having a heart to heart one night and reminiscing, actually we were more than reminiscing….we were deep soul diving into what we had experienced in moving to Santa Barbara, CA and abruptly moving back home to Colorado not too long ago.

It was one of those late night chats you didn’t see comin’, but end up being exactly what you needed. The soul always knows.

We lay there openly expressing how we viewed that special, as well as heartbreaking time in our life, from a vision of better understanding now that we were getting settled and feeling less rocky in the rebuilding stage of that ride.

And because our relationship is based upon raw, no-matter-what-this-has-to-be-said-communication, we were free flowing in the depth of our heart whispers and soul diving in piecing together how to wrap our minds (and hearts) around that time in our life…

Moving to Santa Barbara was something I had to work out in my atmosphere.

That knock on my heart to head west to California had been placed upon my core since I was a little girl and although I tried numerous times to fulfill that desire, it didn’t happen….until what I saw as the perfect opportunity presenting itself.

In the name of being wildly open and honest with each other I was so pulled to moving to California that I told my husband continuously, “I have to do this for me and I don’t expect you to come with me, but I have to do this, or I will be a very unhappy person if I don’t give this a go.”

In his mind that had divorce written all over it, but in my eager brain, it was just a soul journey that had to be fulfilled to the highest.

We were married for about three years with a two-year old in tow and the hubs (at times with much kicking and screaming in the beginning) gave me the blessing for us to trek our asses out west in pursuit of my own dreams, but also to help ease my spirit in regards to California.

And so we did.

After giving away and selling every tangible item we owned except what would fit in a car we took the leap of faith to Santa Barbara, CA with no real plans in place and so much hope and optimism to what could be.

We were blindly, blissfully happy for this new chapter in our lives. 

We safely landed in paradise and began to make SB our home.

However, four months later after the money from business ventures didn’t come in as fast as it was going out, we were snappishly driving back home to Colorado in a rental car (again with minimal belongings), but this time with so much despair and uneasy emotions that just pierced our hearts over and over and zero dollars to our name. 

My husband always refers to our relationship as the unstoppable force (me) and the immovable object (him) living out our lives together…and that is probably the best way to describe us. Ok, back to the story. 😉

So, here we were pillow-talking late one night and expressing and reflecting how we felt NOW about Santa Barbara and seeing it through the eyes of more understanding and maturity.

I remarked to him numerous times that, “I knew you never wanted to go out there and you were happy here in Colorado, but it’s something I had to do for my soul, so thank you for making that sacrifice.”

And then I said what I felt was my truth, “…because I’m not sure I would have done the same for you, ya know? And that makes me feel, well, I’m not sure. But, I just had to be raw and honest with you.”

At that point, instead of him getting upset or hurt because I expressed that I may not have been able to do what he did for me and the family, he broke his heart spaced decision down so vividly, there was nothing left for me to wonder. 

He explained eloquently…

He asked me if I remember that part in the movie with Robin Williams, “What Dreams May Come” where Robin Williams literally goes to hell to find his wife (who committed suicide) because he didn’t want to experience heaven without her.

I acknowledged that part and the movie and he said… 

“That is how I feel. I would rather go through hell with you then experience heaven without you…even if that means self-sacrifice in some areas. And everyone’s hell is different; so don’t beat yourself up because of what I was willing to do. You just never know until you are there.”

And in that moment, I loved him even more.

Just like California was something my soul had to do…my husband explained going with me was what HIS soul had to do, even if it might have been his own hell – it was heaven to him as well. 

As I write all of this it sounds almost like some mushy love story, but if you asked the hubs and me we would never categorize ourselves like that.

We always thought we were too real, too raw, too “above” the usual flowers and cards stuff.  

Turns out, we had a depth AND mad love expressed in our own unique way…just like you: irreplaceable and distinctive with full expression in your own way…’cause baby you were born this way (yes, I just quoted Lady Gaga).

What my heart knew in that moment was my hell could be your heaven and vice versa. We all have our own voyage to sail and lessons to learn.

My hubs reinforced something I had forgot…vulnerability is beautiful and I should partake in it far more often in life.

I fell in love with that man again that night and it reignited in me that every journey is sacred and there is no such thing as mistakes or failures, just chances to learn and grow.

Because if we stop doing that we stop living. 

Love + To Hell and Back,


Dementia: Why Humor Heals + The Crazy Shit We Do For Family

Swings, second shift, whatever you want to call it; September 8th, 2011 was my last night on the 3-11PM shift I’ve worked for almost six years of my life. 

A few days later I began a new chapter in my work life, as I began working the graveyard shift (11p-7a).

When I would tell people (excitedly might I add), that I was going to switch to working nights, most everyone looked at me like I was crazy, and they would inevitably tell me what a ______ (insert negative connotation/feeling/adjective here) shift it is. I would launch into my short, but sweet explanation of WHY I am voluntarily making this decision, and that is when some would say, “That’s understandable.

So, why did I (happily) take a voluntary demotion to work graveyards?

Easy answer: Mio Caro Padre & La Famiglia (my dear father and family).

My father Vic was 50 years old when I was born. Dad and I’s bond has been thick from the day I was born and I took a crap all over him.

Dad had a rather raucous past before I came into this world; life as a Marine, participating in and surviving the Korean War, three marriages, and of course, the alcohol that added to all of the “good times” and endless, history-making Conci family gut-busting laugh sessions.

Daddy’s Little Girl

I was not privy to the side of my father that involved alcohol, but only stories told by my family members and confirmed by Vic himself. By the time I came around, his drinking was non-existent.

Thankfully I didn’t get to see the side of him that alcohol brought out, but I have been immersed and rather in awe of my father’s humor since I was a little girl — of course his sense of humor is nothing less than genius in my mind. He never takes himself seriously and believes in and respects the raw truth. As Dad always says, “I calls ‘em as I see’s ‘em.

This quality is something that everyone knows and understands about dad. If you’re looking for an honest answer, he will give it to you –  I just hope your skin is thick enough to handle it.  Although giving unsolicited advice is not his style either, thank God.

My father is child-like in his nature and acting silly is not above him. Going out in public with him on any given day usually will include him yelling “HEY!” loudly in the middle of a large crowd, and shouting random names and/or profanities while grocery shopping, as he pretends that he did none of the above mentioned. And please note this is all with a sound mind. 🙂

In our family, we affectionately call dad a “Drama King” and tell him that he missed his calling as an actor. If he would have been a performer, I always picture him amidst the “Rat Pack” era/group singing, dancing and engaging socially, just like Frank Sinatra or Dean Martin.

Dad’s conversations usually begin in Italian and start with, “Oh Christo” followed by a Vicism.

A Vicism could be:

“Did the eagle shit yet?”  = (Have I been paid)

“Your dying ass” = (I don’t believe you)

“Tits Up” = (Someone/thing being deceased) just to name a small few.

Dad despises pretenses and can spot phony a mile away. Growing up, dad frequently told me, “Keli- always be yourself. Don’t try to keep up with the Jones’ and don’t be phony, just be genuine.”

Those words didn’t mean much to me when I was in middle school and all I wanted to do was fit in, but as I grew older those words resonated within me and I heard them whenever I was not being true to myself. I strive to possess just half the qualities of genuineness my father exudes.

One of my dad’s favorite past times – flipping animals off at the Zoo!

I did not know the father who chose the bars and alcohol over his kids and school functions, nor did I know the father who continually broke promises along with hearts of the ones he loved.

Perhaps it was the aging process, or time to grow-up, or the fact that my mother (his 3rd wife) was barely able to take care of herself, which forced my father to be a different parent later in life.

Whatever the real reason, I’m beyond grateful I’ve been able to experience the father I’ve loved and cherished my whole life.  There is not a soul closer to me on this earth than my father (well, besides my husband of course). We get each other — far beyond words and usually at a glance, we know where the other is coming from and where we’re about to go. More times than not, we finish the other’s sentence and then start humming the same tune! Dad always says, “I should have named you Victoria.” 

Dad was ALWAYS there for me as a child and budding teenager.

When my friend’s moms’ were taking them school clothes shopping, it was my dad who did those tasks with me. It was dad who showed up at every parent-teacher conference and school function, as well as dropping me off and picking me up from school. I never wanted to leave my dad’s side and felt comfort, security and unconditional love whenever we were together.

He was both my father and my mother growing up.

My mother had her own deep-rooted issues she was dealing with and became a very distant parent both physically and emotionally. While dad was aware of this, all he could do was show up for us kids and love us unconditionally.

He is the reason why I did not go down a dark path in life, which would have been easy to do. And his unconditional, selfless love is the reason why you could say I don’t have “daddy issues” (mommy issues are a whooooooooole other Oprah show, however!)

By the time I was in college and living in Denver my father was living by himself with my younger brother. I remember coming home for a weekend and sitting at my dad’s kitchen table and observing cut-off notices for utilities. When I questioned him about them, he seemed unfazed and almost unaware of the circumstance.

It was then that I consciously knew I was going to have to step in and help him.

I moved back to Pueblo soon after and took over dad’s finances, which turned out to only be the beginning of repaying to him all that he had done for me thus far in life. I felt a fierce protection over him and a burning desire to do whatever I could to make the quality of his life the best it could be. I never looked at it as a task, but instead as a labor of love. I truly enjoyed taking care of whatever needed to be taken care of for my dad.

In the beginning, it was not much; I paid his bills every month and made sure he had groceries.

It was not until years had passed, and the truly unthinkable and unexpected happened, that Dad was seen in a different light…

The Big D: Dementia 

I was 24 years old in 2007 when my mother Jackie was diagnosed in May of that year with Stage 3-4 Lymphoma cancer.

Two months later she died on July 28th, 2007.

The mother whom I had fought bitterly with most of my life and then learned to finally forgive in the last two years of her life, was now gone.

She was not only gone, but my father was left a widower, and not soon after my brother Mike (same dad, different mom… and I affectionately refer to him as Brother) and I began to see changes in dad we rarely noticed before.

They were subtle and slow changes, not too alarming, but enough for us to question dad living alone. So, we brought dad to live with Brother and me. It was healing for us all, I believe, to be together. Dad needed some extra TLC and this would give us better visibility into dad’s behaviors, etc.

It was not long after we were all living together that Brother and I noticed the decline in dad’s memory and cognition. The famous spaghetti sauce dad made growing up now required one of us to help guide him through what to put in it. Dad was beyond obstinate in wanting to change his clothes, shave and take a shower (an Oscar-worthy performance on dad’s part in protesting that he hated water and that he took enough showers in his life, he didn’t need to take another one-LOL).

We would notice him isolating during family functions. Half-eaten cheese sandwiches were a regular fixture in the kitchen, and of course, we were always on the hunt for his beloved coffee cup that he would warm up throughout the day and then forget it in the microwave.

Brother and I were at a loss of where to turn, what to do, or how to even go about handling this. Neither he, nor I were trying to not believe what we saw considering our backgrounds in psychiatric nursing, but we were left wondering, “Could dad really be losing his memory?”

My two dads.

We decided to take dad to his doctor and hopefully get some answers; our suspicions had been confirmed: Dementia.

I do not believe that we were shocked, only relieved to put an official name on it and get to work on a course of action.

Dad’s dementia was discovered in the earliest stages and he began a regimen of Aricept and Namenda to “help slow the progression, but not cure it” said the doctor. The early detection of the disease and jumpstart on these medications, I believe, has been what has allowed my father to not decline so rapidly. And some major family love to help the heart!

It will be 5 years in July of this year that my mom passed, and 5 years that my father and our family have been getting to know dementia.

I moved out of my Brother’s house 3 years ago and when I did I took my father with me. It was a joint decision we all (bro, dad, me) made together and believed it to be the most therapeutic for everyone involved.

I welcomed this opportunity to take dad on my own and have never looked back since.


It was just dad and me living on our own, but soon after I met my now husband, Joshua. Josh knew the minute he met me what my priorities are in my life and he knew the highest one being my father.

My husband never made me feel like I had to choose between two people, he has consistently supported me by sharing in the responsibility of taking care of my dad and for just doing that, I am forever grateful for his sacrifices.

I hope I say it more times than not, but for all the times I don’t:

Thank you, My Love. Thank you for being you and thank you for making decisions based upon family and our future when you had more than a right to choose just yourself.  

My hubby and I married on November 28th, 2009 and 11 months later came our most precious, amazing gift straight from the Divine- sweet Ava Rose. Even with all of the sudden changes dad adjusted well. I think having Ava has added a few more years to dad’s life; he feeds her all of her meals, he speaks Italian to her and reads her books and watches Sesame Street with her, and he even chases her all around the house.

I love watching those two together. I will hear them playing and she will burst out in the heartiest laugh imaginable, and it is at those times that my souls’ wings soar.

Feeling the LOVE from dad the day I was having Ava.:) Love. <3
Dad + Ava…the moments I treasure.

As you can see, the journey my father and I have been on goes beyond most father-daughter relationships. I have felt like the parent a lot, but I am comfortable with that and have not resented that role in my life.


At the end of the summer of 2011 when dad began showing slight declining changes in his dementia and increased anxiety, I became concerned.

I have a fierce protection over my father; the protection that a mother feels for her child and I go into overdrive trying to protect him from whatever I think I can control. Dad’s changes weren’t drastic, but they were alarming to my husband and I. Dad would leave the front door wide open after coming in from outside, his questions peaked concerning the “who is alive and who is dead in the family” list, and mostly his anxiety increased when I would get ready to leave for my shift from 3-11 p.m.

My husband, Joshua…my rock.

When I would get ready to leave and go through the ritual of telling him where I was going, what time I would be home and what I did for a living, he would then tell me to call off and not leave him (my husband and I have always worked opposite shifts [he works days], so someone is home with dad at all times and this also worked out after having Ava and not having to use daycare).

Dad begged me daily to not go to work, “please don’t leave me.”

Although my dad is quite the jokester, the true anxiety he felt was palpable, and it was then that I knew I had to do something about this. After continuously bouncing ideas and maximum stress off my husband, we both agreed that taking a graveyard position would be the best solution at this time. And as synchronicity would have it, not soon after that conversation an opening popped open and I slid right into it

So-long stress, anxiety, fear and any other negative feeling that was clouding that time.

Thank God my husband knows how to handle my crazy + for moments like these.

I have officially been on graveyards for five months now. It was an easy transition for me and one of the best decisions I (and my husband) have made thus far.

Are there times when I want to sleep more than anything? Yes.

Are there times when my schedule is off whack and I don’t think I can cram another possible thing into it? Abso-frickin-lutely!

Do I think I am in over my head at times (taking care of a 16-month old, being a loving, supportive wife, taking care of my father and not trying to lose it when he asks me the same question for the 10th time, going to school to be a Health Coach/Counselor and starting my own business/practice, homework, eating healthy, cooking, full-time job AND maintaining relationships with family and friends and oh yeah, taking care of myself)? HELL YES!!!

But, let me tell you what keeps me going, not losing it and being grateful on top of it: Staying positive, having a husband who knows how to handle me and allows me to be me, having more time with my family than I ever had, being able to spend holidays with my loved ones, being able to read Ava a story and put her to sleep at night and tucking my Dad in bed and him thinking I just don’t work anymore, or when I get up after I’ve slept during the day, he asks, “Did you have a good nap?”, knowing this is only temporary, being grateful for dad’s amazing health, the love and support from my family (thank you Brother for helping take Dad periodically, so Josh and I can have time together), surrendering, deep breathing and remembering that through all of our triumphs and letdowns, I Love You’s and I’m Sorry’s- Family Is Everything – and that includes the friends that have become family!

Do I think that dad can stay like this forever and that his dementia will never change? I wish, but I’ve read the books. Of course, I am an eternal optimist, but I have made myself knowledgeable for what can be.

How I’m Handling My Father’s Dementia…

What I do know for sure is that I will go down swinging. However, I won’t sink the entire ship just because I don’t want to see beyond the horizon, and in that time I pray for strength, guidance, mercy, and peace.


Thank you, dad, for you are one of my largest, continuous learning lessons in this life and thank you graveyards for being part of this journey…no matter how much shit people talk about your wacky shift, I will forever be grateful to you.

Love + Loving Dementia,