Week 3: Purpose Looks Different Now. How Caregiving Broke Me Open—and Showed Me I Was Right Where I Was Meant to Be

I used to think purpose had to be bold, clear, and structured. After 30 years in the Army, I was used to knowing my mission. I had direction, deadlines, and the pride that came with seeing something through. But caregiving? It didn’t come with a rank. It didn’t follow a plan.

And yet, it has become the most meaningful mission of my life.

The truth is—caregiving broke me open. Not just physically from exhaustion or emotionally from watching my loved ones decline. It broke me open spiritually. It cracked me wide enough to feel everything: the fear, the frustration, the grief—and most unexpectedly, the joy.

I never expected joy to show up here. But it did.

It showed up when Clint got up out of his chair to dance to some great Disco music or R&B songs we both grew up listening and dancing to even though he couldn’t articulate or communicate verbally. It showed up in the small smile Mom gave me when I took her to Cracker Barrel to eat but then always ended up walking by the (sparkly) jewelry for her to buy another pair of earrings, even on days she couldn’t walk as sturdy and needed her walker. It showed up at church with Clint tapping to the sound of the music and momma seeing the son she remembered.

In those moments, something settled in my soul.

This was it.
This was purpose.
Not loud, not perfect, but deeply present.

I used to measure fulfillment by results—how much I accomplished or how far I climbed. But caregiving taught me a different kind of success: being still long enough to listen, staying soft when life felt hard, and celebrating wins no one else sees.

And those moments of joy? They were proof.
Proof that I was right where I was meant to be.

Caregiving reshaped how I see purpose. It’s not about doing more—it’s about being fully there for the people who need you most. And if you're reading this and feeling broken open too, please know that’s not weakness. That’s where your purpose begins to bloom.

My purpose now that my caregiving days are currently behind me is to bring awareness of the challenges that family caregivers live with daily. It is my hope that my book, I Am Their Voice, finds a worldly reach to encourage and assist other caregivers. It is also my purpose to educate and advocate for higher standards of care in nursing homes and more resources for families. If you’ve read my book, please leave a review on Amazon to provide other readers a peek into the content, what resonated most with you, and share the resources provided in the book.

Week 2: Was This My Calling? The Question That Wouldn’t Go Away

Caregiving didn’t tap me on the shoulder with clarity and calm.

It arrived in waves—unexpected, relentless, and emotional. And from the very beginning, one question followed me like a shadow:

Was this my calling?

There were hard days. Days when the weight of managing my brother Clint’s Frontotemporal Dementia and our mom’s stage-4 cancer felt unbearable. Days when I questioned whether I was strong enough. Days when I missed the freedom of retirement and wondered if this was really how I was meant to spend the next season of my life.

But there were also moments. Quiet, sacred ones. The kind that stopped time and answered that lingering question in a whisper.

One of those moments happened on a regular afternoon. Clint and I were riding around the yard in my golf cart. The breeze was soft, the sun filtered through the trees, and everything felt still. He reached over, touched my arm, and asked me to stop.

When I did, he looked at me and said, “Aren’t you retired?”

I nodded, “Yes.”

Then he asked, “You have a life… why take care of me? You need to live your life.”

His voice cracked under the weight of emotion. Mine did, too.

I looked at him and said, “I am living my life. You are my life right now, and I’m living it with you. You’re my brother—and you need me right now.”

He began to sob. Then, with tears streaming down his face, he whispered, “Thank you.”

In that moment, I felt something shift. A calmness washed over me. The question that had followed me so persistently—Was this my calling?—suddenly felt answered.

Yes. It was.

Not because I had chosen it. Not because it was easy.
But because love often looked like showing up, sacrificing, and staying present. And I knew—deep in my spirit—that this was sacred work.

Clint may not have remembered that moment in the days or weeks that followed, but I did. I carried it in my heart as a reminder that this chapter of my life was not a detour. It was not wasted. It was my purpose, unfolding.

If you’ve ever found yourself asking whether caregiving was your calling, I want you to know—sometimes the answer comes softly, in the stillness, in a shared moment that reminds you:
You were right where you were supposed to be.

Blog series - “Called to Care: Finding Meaning in the Midlife Caregiving Journey”

Week 1: When Life Rewrites Your Script

From Soldier to Full-Time Caregiver: The Unexpected Chapter of Purpose

They say life begins at 50—but I don’t think they meant caregiving, heartbreak, and grief all rolled into one. Yet for me, that’s exactly how this chapter started.

After serving 30 years in the U.S. Army, I had plans for retirement: travel, rest, maybe rediscovering a few passions I’d set aside while in uniform. Instead, I found myself back in the trenches—only this time, the mission was deeply personal.

Not long after hanging up my boots, my world shifted again. My marriage of over 20 years came to an end. I was emotionally raw, navigating the shock of divorce, unsure of who I was outside the roles I had lived for decades: soldier, spouse, and mother.

And then came the call to care.

My oldest brother, Clint—a proud U.S. Air Force veteran—was diagnosed with early onset Frontotemporal Dementia at just 54. Around the same time, our mom, Carol, received devastating news: her breast cancer had returned, now stage 4 and in her spine. Both needed care, and fast.

There was no blueprint. Just a decision: I brought them both into my home and became their full-time caregiver.

No more uniforms. No more certainty. Just day after day of managing appointments, medications, meals, emotions, and unpredictable moments of cognitive and physical decline. I had gone from Army operations to learning the rhythms of dementia care, from inspecting performance to inspecting pill organizers and managing bath and meal time. And truthfully? Some days, I didn’t know who I was anymore.

It wasn’t graceful. It wasn’t easy. But slowly, I realized something: life had rewritten my script, not erased it. All the years of leadership, service, and resilience had prepared me—just not in ways I had expected. I wasn’t fighting for a nation now. I was fighting for them—for Clint’s dignity, for Mom’s comfort, for the right to be heard in every hospital hallway and doctor's office.

This is the beginning of my story in midlife caregiving—not just about loss and sacrifice, but about finding strength when life calls you into unexpected service.

In this series, I want to explore the question I wrestled with in the dark moments:
"Is this my calling?"

Maybe you’ve asked yourself that, too.

Whether you’re just stepping into caregiving, or years into the journey, I invite you to walk with me as we look at how caregiving can break us open—and reveal purpose, even in pain.

The Emotional Earthquake — Grieving Someone Who’s Still Here

Receiving a diagnosis of early-onset frontotemporal dementia (FTD) is life-changing — not only for the individual, but for their loved ones as well. Beyond the medical facts lies an emotional reality that is rarely discussed: the experience of anticipatory grief.

Anticipatory grief is the deep sadness and mourning that begins long before physical death occurs. It arises as families watch the slow, often confusing loss of the person they knew, even while that person is still physically present.

The Layers of Loss

With FTD, the losses come in layers:

• Loss of shared memories and conversations.

• Loss of familiar personality traits and emotional connection.

• Loss of future plans and imagined milestones.

Because early-onset FTD affects behavior, judgment, language, and emotional understanding, families often find themselves interacting with someone who feels profoundly different. The shift can be heartbreaking.

In many ways, caregivers and family members are grieving two realities at once:

1. The gradual loss of the person as they once were.

2. The uncertain future they now face together.

Common Emotional Responses

The emotional toll of living with early-onset FTD can be significant. Common experiences include:

• Sadness and Depression: A profound sense of sorrow for both present losses and future changes.

• Anger and Resentment: Feelings of injustice, especially when the disease affects someone so young.

• Guilt: Wondering if more could have been done, or feeling guilty for moments of frustration.

• Loneliness: A sense of isolation from friends, extended family, and even the broader community.

It is important to recognize that these emotions are normal. Grieving while caregiving does not mean you are giving up — it means you are deeply human.

Strategies for Coping

While anticipatory grief is painful, there are ways to navigate it with care:

• Name the Grief: Acknowledging the emotional reality is an important first step. Naming what you are feeling allows you to address it rather than suppress it.

• Seek Support: Connecting with dementia support groups, therapists, or counselors who understand FTD can provide validation and strategies for coping.

• Honor the Person: Look for small ways to honor the individual’s essence — their humor, passions, or moments of connection that still shine through.

• Create Meaning: Journaling, art, advocacy work, or legacy projects can offer a sense of purpose and healing during a time of profound change.

Moving Forward Together

Anticipatory grief does not have a clear endpoint. It ebbs and flows, often resurfacing at milestones and new stages of the disease. By approaching these emotions with honesty, support, and compassion, families can find resilience even in the midst of loss.

While FTD changes so much, it cannot erase the love that underpins the relationship. That bond — even as it evolves — remains a powerful source of strength.

“I’m the One with Stage 4 Cancer—But I’m Still the Caregiver”

At almost 80 years old, Momma should have been resting between her chemo and radiation appointments—not lifting others up, cooking meals, or sorting through insurance paperwork for the people she loved. But there she was.

She had always been the one to step up. It’s just what you do in a blue-collar family. You don’t ask who else can carry the weight—you just carry it.

When her breast cancer returned, this time spreading to her spine, she may have thought life might finally slow down. That maybe, just maybe, someone would take care of her for once. But almost at the same time, her daughter-in-law began forgetting simple things—how to get home from the store, the way to make her favorite recipe, even the names of people she’s loved for years. Then, momma’s oldest son, just 54, started changing. Quiet. Frustrated. Lost. His doctors finally gave it a name: frontotemporal dementia.

So now, momma was not just living with terminal cancer. She became the caregiver—for both of them.

This is not a story of pity. It’s a story of reality—for our mom and for thousands of others.

Mom and others her age are the elder caregivers. They’re managing medication schedules while hiding their own pain. They’re attending doctor’s appointments for others while silently dreading their own. They are seen as the "strong ones," the dependable ones—but sometimes, no one asks how they’re really doing.

💡 Practical Insight:

If you’re an older adult caring for someone with dementia while managing your own illness, here are a few small shifts that helped mom:

• Use a daily whiteboard or a sheet of paper. List medications, reminders, and meals. It helps all of us stay on track, even on days when your body is too tired to explain.

• Ask one person for one thing. Stop waiting for people to “just help.” Have the courage to ask: “Can you bring dinner on Tuesdays?” or “Can you sit with him for two hours on Fridays?” Be specific.

• Keep a folder. One place for every medical paper, diagnosis, and prescription—for yourself and your loved ones.

These tips don’t fix the hard stuff, but they create moments of clarity in the chaos.

📢 A Call to Awareness:

The healthcare system doesn’t see people like mom. It assumes caregiving stops with age or illness. But for many, it never does.

We need caregiver support programs that include elder caregivers—the ones holding entire families together with limited income and fewer resources than ever before.

This blog series will follow our mom’s story over the next six weeks, not to shine a spotlight on hardship—but to show just how much heart, strength, and sacrifice lives in the people no one’s checking on.

Elders may be aging, but they’re still carrying the weight of others. It’s time someone carried them, too.

Week 2: Understanding Frontotemporal Dementia — More Than Memory Loss

Frontotemporal dementia (FTD) is a group of brain disorders caused by progressive damage to the frontal and temporal lobes of the brain. These areas are responsible for personality, behavior, language, and executive functioning — the very skills that govern how we interact with the world.

Unlike Alzheimer's disease, which typically begins with memory impairment, early symptoms of FTD often involve striking changes in personality, communication abilities, or behavior. For many families, these changes are confusing and distressing long before a diagnosis is reached.

What Is Early-Onset FTD?

When FTD is diagnosed before the age of 65, it is referred to as early-onset FTD. Some individuals may begin showing symptoms in their 40s or 50s. Because of the younger age of onset, early signs are often misunderstood or attributed to stress, mental health issues, or midlife challenges, leading to misdiagnoses or delayed treatment.

Early-onset FTD brings unique challenges:

• Many individuals are still working full-time.

• They may be raising young children or supporting aging parents.

• Financial, legal, and emotional impacts are often far more complex than in late-onset dementias.

Key Symptoms and Presentations

FTD is not a single condition, but rather an umbrella term for several related disorders, including:

• Behavioral Variant FTD (bvFTD):
  Characterized by changes in personality, behavior, judgment, and impulse control. Individuals may act in socially inappropriate ways, show apathy, or lose empathy for others.

• Primary Progressive Aphasia (PPA):
  Involves gradual decline in the ability to speak, understand, read, or write. Language skills erode over time, while memory may initially remain intact.

• Movement Disorders Associated with FTD:
  Some forms of FTD are linked with physical symptoms similar to Parkinson’s disease or amyotrophic lateral sclerosis (ALS), affecting movement, balance, or motor skills.

It is important to recognize that memory can remain relatively preserved in the early stages, which often leads families and even healthcare providers to miss or misinterpret the signs.

The Diagnostic Journey

Obtaining an accurate diagnosis requires a careful evaluation, often including:

• Detailed clinical interviews and history-taking.

• Neuropsychological testing to assess cognitive and behavioral changes.

• MRI or PET scans to identify brain atrophy patterns.

• Genetic testing in certain cases, as FTD can sometimes run in families.

Misdiagnosis is common. Many individuals with early-onset FTD are initially diagnosed with depression, bipolar disorder, or even marital problems due to the behavioral changes. This delay can be emotionally taxing and delay appropriate support.

Why Awareness Matters

Raising awareness about the early and atypical signs of FTD is crucial. Early diagnosis allows families to plan for the future, access specialized care, and make the most of available interventions. Although there is currently no cure for FTD, early intervention can help manage symptoms and improve quality of life for both the individual and their loved ones.

For more information on FTD, please go to The AFTD’s website: https://www.theaftd.org/what-is-ftd/disease-overview/

Week 1: A New Road We Never Expected

Hi, and welcome.

If you’ve found your way here, chances are you — like me — know the complicated, confusing world of early-onset frontotemporal dementia (FTD). Maybe it’s touched your family. Maybe it’s your diagnosis. Or maybe you’re just beginning to suspect that something isn’t quite right. Wherever you are in this journey, please know this: you’re not alone.

When we first heard the words frontotemporal dementia, it felt like someone had pulled the ground right out from under us. I’ll never forget sitting there, trying to process what the doctor was saying — something about personality changes, language loss, and no real cure. It didn’t make sense. After all, this wasn’t supposed to happen to someone so young, so full of life.

That’s the thing about FTD: it doesn’t follow the rules we expect from dementia. It sneaks in, not with forgetfulness at first, but with changes in behavior, mood, or speech. Things that are so easy to misread — as stress, depression, even just "getting older." It often takes years to get a proper diagnosis. Years of wondering. Years of second-guessing ourselves.

This blog series is my attempt to shine a light for anyone who is walking this uncertain road. I want to talk honestly about what it’s like to live with, and alongside, early-onset FTD. The heartaches, yes — but also the unexpected moments of beauty, humor, and love that this journey can reveal.

Each week, I’ll share pieces of our experience:

• How we learned to adapt to new challenges.

• How we found strength in unexpected places.

• How we continue to find meaning, even on the hardest days.

I am not an expert in medicine. I’m not here to give clinical advice. I’m here as a fellow traveler — someone who has faced the fear, the uncertainty, the exhaustion... and is still finding ways to move forward with compassion and hope.

If you’re reading this and feeling overwhelmed, let me say this clearly:
You are stronger than you know.
You don’t have to do this alone.
There are people who understand.

In the weeks ahead, I hope you’ll join me as we talk about all the pieces of this complicated, beautiful, heartbreaking journey.
Let’s walk it together.

Until next week!