Well.
That was a month I don’t care to repeat.
In the span of just a few weeks, I lost my sweet dad—a WWII Army veteran and one of the most constant people in my life. I also became a walking example of what happens when grief and caregiving collide.
And I thought I was ready.
We had the will. The trust. The Power of Attorney. The “just in case” folder.
We had the ducks.
They were in a row.
And then one of them waddled off into a dementia rabbit hole, and all bets were off.
Because here’s the part no one talks about:
What do you do when someone dies…and the surviving spouse has dementia?
🤐 When “Telling the Truth” Isn’t the Kindest Option
My mom has advanced Alzheimer’s. She adored my dad. Still does.
She often asks where he is. Wonders if he’s in the garden. Or if she needs to call him in for dinner.
And we’ve made the hard, heart-heavy decision not to tell her he died.
Because we’ve already watched what that level of grief does to her.
When my sister passed away from COVID, the sorrow shattered my mom. Her tears wouldn’t stop. Her brain couldn’t hold onto the reason why she was so broken—but her body remembered the pain. Her nervous system carried the grief, even after the memory was gone.
So this time, we chose gentleness.
We say, “He’s out in the garden.”
We show her the photo books of the two of them, where he’s smiling at her like he always did.
We play the little videos where he says, “I love you, sweetheart.”
And when she reaches for his hand in the air, we take hers instead.
That is the truth we live now.
Not the one on the death certificate, but the one that keeps her calm.
That honors their love in the way she can still receive it.
💔 Meanwhile, the Paperwork Keeps Coming
Of course, the rest of the world doesn’t understand this kind of reality.
Government agencies?
Banks?
Insurance?
They still want her signature.
Never mind that she hasn’t held a pen in months.
Never mind that she once signed a check “Banana Sandwich.”
So I’m left explaining to official people with very official titles that:
-
No, she cannot authorize the change.
-
Yes, I’m her POA.
-
No, she cannot appear in person.
-
Yes, I do have a doctor’s letter confirming she lacks capacity.
And yes, I can fax it again for the fourth time if that’s what it takes.
🧠 What You Can’t Plan For
Even the best planning doesn’t prepare you for this.
You can be the world’s most organized caregiver—with a binder, backup copies, and color-coded tabs—and still be blindsided by:
-
Complicated grief that can’t be expressed in words
-
Institutions that don’t understand dementia
-
Family decisions that feel like a moral maze
-
The exhaustion of doing it all while caregiving full-time
There’s no “right” way through this.
There’s only your way.
Your best judgment.
Your family’s love.
And a whole lot of grace.
✅ Free Printable:
“When the Widow(er) Has Dementia: Special Steps to Take”
This one-page checklist includes compassionate, practical steps to help caregivers navigate the unique challenges of losing a loved one when their spouse has dementia.
From how to explain (or not explain) the loss, to managing financial accounts with POA, to protecting your loved one’s emotional well-being—this guide is here for you.
📘 Want a Little More Help?
This is just one of the reasons I created:
🕊️ The AFTER Workbook: What to Do After a Loved One Dies — One Gentle Step at a Time
It’s for people like us—grieving, caregiving, navigating paperwork, protecting loved ones with dementia, and trying not to lose our ever-lovin’ minds in the process.
👉 Available on Amazon
💬 Let’s Talk
Have you walked through this kind of heartbreak?
Had to make a choice that others might not understand—but you knew in your soul it was the right one?
You’re not alone.
Leave a comment below, or just whisper a prayer for all the families facing decisions like these.
With love, kleenex, and Nora Poppins hugs…