From the Desk of Nora Poppins:
Well, hello there.
It’s been a minute.
You may have noticed I’ve been a bit…quiet. No blog posts, no new printables, no cheeky caregiving quips for a few weeks. Just radio silence from this cozy corner of the internet. And while I’d love to tell you I was away on a relaxing Mediterranean cruise, sipping something sparkly and reading books without footnotes—real life had other plans.
Let me catch you up.
Life Decided to Happen All at Once
About six weeks ago, my beloved dad passed away. He was a WWII Army veteran, a quiet force of strength in my life, and someone I had the honor (and full-time job) of supporting as his financial and medical POA. I thought we had every “affairs-in-order” box checked. Turns out, even the best-laid plans have fine print. And that fine print gets a lot messier when your surviving parent has advanced Alzheimer’s disease.
What I expected to be a heartbreaking, but fairly straightforward, season of grief… turned into a tangled maze of:
- Survivor benefit applications that asked my mom to “sign here” (she no longer recognizes a pen),
- Institutions requiring her “authorization” (which she can no longer give),
- And conversations that began with “We just need to verify her identity” and ended with me screaming into a pillow.
Let’s just say, the paperwork does not file itself, and when the widow has dementia, there’s no such thing as a simple process.
Grief in the Cracks of Caregiving
All of this, of course, was layered on top of my already full-time role caring for my loved one with Lewy Body Dementia (LOWLBD). If you’re in the thick of it too, you know—LBD doesn’t pause to give you time to grieve. Or file paperwork. Or sleep.
In the midst of this emotional avalanche, our neurologist decided it was time to report my loved one to the DMV for cognitive concerns. Which…she wasn’t wrong. But try explaining “driving restrictions” to someone with LBD and Capgras Syndrome who already thinks half the house is a movie set.
Cue: daily rants of “Who does she think she is to report me?!”
Cue: intense tension, resistance, heartbreak, and worry.
Cue: hiding the car keys. Again.
Meanwhile, in the Kitchen…
Let’s just say things are also…unfolding…on the homefront. A few recent highlights include:
- Dirty dishes being taken out of the dishwasher, wiped with a dish towel (still dirty), and put back in the cabinet—proudly.
- Coffee machines not working (because someone forgot the water), followed by, “Don’t help me!”
- Nightly wake-ups. Confusion. Agitation. Sleep? What’s that?
And yet.
He’s jogging again.
We signed up for TaiChi.
He smiles at me when I bring him a fresh cup of tea, and sometimes—just sometimes—we laugh.
So I Wrote a Book (Well, two actually…)
In the middle of all this chaos, I did what I do: I processed the madness by writing it down. I created a compassionate, practical, and deeply personal guide called:
“The AFTER Workbook: What to Do After a Loved One Dies — One Gentle Step at a Time.”
It’s for anyone who finds themselves suddenly responsible for handling All The Things after a death… especially when the surviving spouse has dementia, or you’re caregiving while grieving. Or when your “support system” keeps asking, “Didn’t you already take care of that?” and you want to say, “Yes. Eighteen times. With snacks.”
Why I’m Back
I’m still tired. I’m still caregiving. And I’m still figuring it out—one messy, miraculous, mortifying day at a time.
But I’m back.
Back to writing, back to sharing, back to building this space where caregivers like you and me don’t have to pretend we’re fine when we’re crying in the shower. Or the pantry. Or the DMV parking lot.
Over the next few weeks, I’ll be sharing more about:
- What it’s like to lose a parent while caregiving for another,
- How dementia affects everything from bank accounts to burial decisions,
- Why I now have a special system for hiding car keys, and
- How to get through grief, paperwork, and post-op recovery without losing your ever-lovin’ mind.
A Gentle Invitation
If you’ve been in a season of too much, you’re not alone.
If you’re grieving someone while still caregiving for someone else—I see you.
And if you just want someone to say, “You’re doing a good job, even when it feels like it’s all falling apart,” — consider it said.
Thanks for sticking with me.
If you’re in the thick of too much right now, I see you.
💌 Want a little encouragement each month? [Join my email list here.]
📚 Curious about the workbook I mentioned? [Get a sneak peek of The AFTER Workbook.]
With tea-stained love and Nora Poppins hugs