The Treasure of Caregiving for Alzheimer and Dementia Patients

Yesterday, I attended a caregiver support meeting at the adult day care center where my husband, who was clinically diagnosed with Alzheimer’s, spends four days each week. The meeting began with a short meditation — a quiet invitation to notice what we were feeling.

There were five of us in the circle:
An older man caring for his sister, who struggles not only with cognitive decline but also with physical limitations.
A woman caring for her brother, unable to walk or talk;
Another woman devoted to her mother, who follows her every step;
A wife caring for her husband;
And me, a wife caring for mine.

As we shared our stories, the weight of our responsibilities filled the room.
The woman caring for her brother, herself a recent breast cancer survivor, spoke of her exhaustion. Her brother depends on her for everything — bathing, feeding, medication, and doctor visits. Though he appears nearly vegetative, he is aware of his situation and often feels embarrassed being washed by a woman. Her pain was palpable. She spoke of the life she once had — friends, travel, freedom — and how it has been replaced by endless caregiving.

The man caring for his sister described how his dreams of an easy retirement were replaced by tending to his sister’s most intimate needs.
The woman caring for her mother said she never has a moment alone. Her mother follows her from room to room, and every door is bolted to keep her from wandering outside.
Each one of us shared a version of the same truth: we wake up at night at every movement or sound from the person we love.

Caregiving can be physically and emotionally draining. The mood in the room was somber, but also deeply human — full of quiet courage.  people with love and compassion.

I know spouses who divorced their partners when illness arrived, and others who placed their loved ones in memory care facilities the moment cognitive decline began. I don’t blame or judge them. Caregiving is not for the faint of heart. It consumes everything. There is no real break.

And yet, there are those of us who step up to the challenge.
I felt so much love and compassion for these people who, day after day, show up.

My husband was abandoned by his children and family, though they live only minutes away. Fortunately, he is still highly functional, and I attribute this to receiving light often at the center and home. But he requires constant supervision. He spends his days at a senior center, and I handle the rest.

Beyond the practical tasks lies the deeper heartbreak — the grief of losing the relationship we once had. We have been married 28 years. Before his diagnosis, our life was full — two careers, fine dining, travel, and a love that ran deep. The loss of that shared life is immeasurable.

Listening to the others at the meeting filled me with sadness, but also recognition.
In the four years since I was appointed my husband’s caregiver, I’ve grown in ways I never imagined. I’ve become more patient, more independent, more autonomous. But above all, a portal has opened in my heart — one that pours out love and compassion in depths I had never known before.

Paradoxically, even amid exhaustion and grief, I experience moments of profound joy. My relationship with the world has changed. I feel softer, more caring, more open. It’s as though the pain has drilled deep into my soul, and what it has unearthed is something precious — like gold rising from the earth. The deeper the pain, the deeper the love that flows, and the closeness and acceptance of this arrangement.

Caring for someone with Alzheimer’s is a kind of spiritual excavation. The deeper the drill, the more love and compassion spring forth — not only for your loved one but for the world.

I wish there were more affordable resources and support for caregivers’ families. I hope to help change that — to find solutions, raise awareness, maybe even fight for better legislation. If my journey has taught me anything, it’s that even in heartbreak, hidden treasures are waiting to be shared. And uncompromising hope.