Lisa “Our hats off to you if you have ever had Caregiver as a title.” she said, raising her glass to a room filled with 500 people.

They burst into cheers and clinks of glass. Followed by thunderous clapping. The conference room was filled with friends, family, and members of the professional networks that Rosie had created over the years. 

The occasion was the launch of their book dedicated to fundraising for nonprofits supporting caregivers. 

I added “Taking on the caregiver role, whether by choice or circumstance, deserves immense recognition and respect.”

Lisa added with a wink and a smile, “Do any of you believe you will never find yourself in such a position?” A few brave souls raised their hands. “We all should have a get-together in 10 years and see if your predictions come true.” The room burst into laughter.

I tried convincing these brave souls,” While the caregiver experience was often challenging and exhausting at the moment, it also resulted in profoundly cherished periods.”

Lisa added, “The complexities, responsibilities, and emotional rollercoaster that accompanied us as caregivers were daunting, they forged invaluable memories and lessons that are only appreciated more deeply in retrospect.”

Lisa said with excitement, “Are you all ready to know who won the Best Caregiver awards?”

As the room buzzed with anticipation, Lisa and I presented the awards.

“The Midnight Oil Burner goes to John for the most nights of sacrificed sleep.” 

“The Chef of Spoon-Feeding award goes to Mela for mastering mealtimes.”

“The Zen Master award goes to Teddy for maintaining peace in chaos.”

“The Marathon Listener award goes to Mona for endless patience in hearing stories and concerns.”

Each award, wrapped in laughter and applause, was a unique nod to the unseen yet deeply impactful aspects of caregiving, celebrating the resilience and compassion that each caregiver brings to their role.

When awards, laughter, applause, tears, and hugs were done. 

I looked at Lisa and said, “So should we introduce the surprise?”

With her nod, I said, “Cheryl, can you please join us on the stage?” 

As Cheryl was walking up to the stage, I added “Transitioning out of the caregiver role is bringing a complex mix of emotions. There’s a sense of profound loss, not just for the individuals but also for the role itself, which has become a significant part of our identities.”

Lisa added, “This period of adjustment is a time for grieving, healing, and gradually rediscovering oneself beyond the caregiving responsibilities.”

I introduced Cheryl as a world-renowned expert on how to overcome grief.

Cheryl asked me, “Can you share what you feel most guilty about?”

I responded, “The ghost of my past lives on Interstate 5. Passing exit 51B always brings back the painful memory of the last argument I had with my father. It was about forgiveness. Something I vehemently refused to extend to my cousin. The words I threw at my dad that day, harsh and unforgiving, haunt me still, especially after he suffered a heart attack not long after. The guilt of that moment, our final exchange, weighs heavily on me. I wish for another opportunity, to soften those words, to choose kindness over anger, but some scars from words spoken in haste are too deep to heal.”

Cheryl then asked the audience, “When do you feel the loneliest?”

The audience was yelling out answers: Birthdays, Death Anniversary, Mother’s Day, Father’s Day, Christmas, the audience went on.

Cheryl then asked Lisa, “What’s a moment of loss that was overwhelming for you?”

Lisa narrated with a deep breath, “A few months ago, I was visiting a friend who had just come out of minor surgery. I know that my friend’s mom is a worrywart. As I was about to leave her hospital room, I asked her if her mom knew about the surgery. She informed me that both her parents had flown in to see her and they were planning on staying a week to help her recover. She also told me a bit irritated with her mom’s overprotective nature, that she had to yell at them to go home and take a rest after the long day they had.”

I held Lisa’s hand as she added, “What I would give, to experience that over protection again. I no longer have a lifeline.” 

Cheryl asked, “How many of you have felt that?”

Many raised their hands.

Cheryl went down the stage and among the audience with the microphone, “Hope you all realize why we are doing this? I want you to look around and know that your feelings are normal, and that you are not the only one who feels this way. Ok! Who else would like to share a story about their feelings of loss?”

She chose the person closest to her, among those that had raised their hand, “Four weeks after my mother passed, I dressed up for a concert, seeking joy amidst my sorrow. That evening, a simple misstep and an ankle injury highlighted my isolation, missing my parents’ care deeply. The concert featured a young dancer, her mother’s pride also touched a nerve in me. It made me mourn the parental pride I’d no longer receive, a stark reminder of my loss. The absence of my parents’ care and pride have left a void nothing can fill.”

After a few other poignant stories.

Cheryl asked another question, “Who has seen dreams about their loved ones that have passed?”

Again, many raised their hands.

The first one narrated, “I often dream of the caregiving days, but with a twist: I feel the pain of my loved ones’ suffering intensely. One dream had me on a path of colorful eggshells, trying not to crack them despite my best efforts.”

Cheryl giving a hug to this wonderful girl who was clearly rattled said, “A metaphor for the delicate balance of caregiving.”

A man shared “I relive my seeing my mom after her car crash. I also see my dad in the ER. It is a recurring dream and drives me nuts. I woke up with a sweat.”

Cheryl asked, “Who else is having recurring dreams about traumatic times with their loved ones.”

Many raised their hands again.

As her session was coming to an end Cheryl went a different direction “What have you all done to fill the void of caregiving?”

All kinds of answers were yelled out: Move, New job, Gardening, Painting, 

Lisa and I looked at each other with a smile and said in unison, “Wrote a book.”

The audience burst into laughter and clapping.

Cheryl went on to another question, “What have you done to seek help?”

Answers yelled out: Therapy, Support Group, Phone a friend, Travel, Some more drinking, …

Cheryl responded, looking at the person who said drinking with a smile “Thanks for your honesty.!”

Cheryl said in closing the session, “As we navigate through our grief and seek new beginnings, let’s remember that the journey of caregiving has sculpted us into warriors of compassion. The void left behind is a space for new growth, new joys, and the promise of brighter days. Here’s to finding light in the shadows and moving forward with the strength and love our loved ones have instilled in us.”

Rosie and Lisa raised their glasses again to the audience “To caregiver, treasured memories and too Love!”

“So, as we all leave here, let’s remember one word”, said Cheryl. “If I had to sum up in one word the lesson we have learned as a caregiver it would be?” She said looking at Rosie and Lisa, who responded in unison “COMPASSION!”

“So, what would you do differently for yourself to make it easier to cope with the challenges as a caregiver?” asked Cheryl.

This time the entire audience yelled “SELF-COMPASSION!”

Rosie said to Lisa as they were driving home, “This book… it’s just the start. There’s so much more we can do, so many more ways we can bring people together.”

Lisa responded with excitement, “My imagination is already going wild!”

As they goodnight, the seeds of their next adventure were already taking root. The book project had brought them together, but it was clear their journey was far from over. There were more plans to be made, more dreams to chase, and more ways to share their hard-won wisdom with the community.