01/29/2026
There’s a part of caregiving that no one really talks about. The part that lives quietly in your heart and soul long after the person you love is gone.
Being a caregiver to someone you love is actually one of the greatest gifts of love there is, and also one of the most devastating.
When you’re caring for someone who’s dying, you live in a constant state of anticipation and dread. You ‘know’ what’s coming, even if you don’t want to admit it.
You try to prepare yourself. You say things like “I know this is coming” as if knowing will somehow make it hurt less.
Here’s the thing…it doesn’t.
I was there. I watched the person I love fade right in front of me. I learned what it meant to measure time not in days, but in breaths. In moments. In how long it had been since they last opened their eyes or squeezed my hand.
I held the person I loved as they took their final breath, and unless you’ve done something like that, you’ll never understand what it feels like and how it changes you.
And no amount of ‘being prepared’ makes that moment anything other than devastating.
After they’re gone, people say things like, “At least you had time to say goodbye.” And yes, I did. But what they don’t understand is that watching someone die is its own kind of trauma. You don’t just lose them once, you lose them slowly, over and over again, long before they die.
And then comes the guilt. Did I do enough? Did I miss something? Should I have said more or less? Did I make the right decisions?
Even when you do everything you possibly can, the questions still show up, and grief has this weird ways of turning love into self-doubt.
What people don’t talk about is how lonely caregiving can be. How you carry so much responsibility, fear, and heartbreak while trying to stay strong for the person you love.
How you grieve them even while they’re still here and then have to grieve all over again when they’re gone.
Loving someone through their final days is one of the hardest things a human being can do.
It leaves marks on your heart that never fully fade…but those marks are proof of love, not failure.
Gary Sturgis – Surviving Grief
