---When the Holidays Stand Still: A Caregiver’s Journey Through Dementia and Beyond

Anne Childress
Dec 22, 2025
3 min read

Dedication:

I dedicate this blog to my best friend, Gwenna White Maddox. She and I had the challenging and painful experience of burying a parent on the same day in 2023. For both of us, we navigated the waters of caring for two elderly parents. I am still caregiving for Mama, now in year 12 of her dementia journey.

Gwenna, I love you, and I took some of the best things we learned on our journey as caregivers, and I hope this blog helps someone. I love you, Bestie.

Holidays, Past, Holidays Now

The holidays once shimmered with tradition—bright lights, shared meals, familiar laughter. But when you are the caregiver of someone in stage six dementia, those same lights can feel dimmer, the laughter more distant, and time itself… frozen.

Whether your loved one is still at home or living in memory care, the season can feel repetitive—each day blending into the next. The holiday calendar still turns, but the moments no longer mark progress; instead, they echo a cycle of care, confusion, and bittersweet connection.

The Weight of Memory and the Stillness of Time

Caring for someone with dementia is often a journey through still waters. You may hang the decorations, bake the cookies, and play the old songs—but they don’t land the way they used to. Where there was once shared memory, now there is mostly your memory.

There is a quiet ache in realizing that holiday traditions now exist more for you than for them. And yet, within that ache lies a humble truth: love is not dependent on memory. It’s an energy that persists even when names fade, even when recognition slips away.

The Caregiver’s Holiday Dance

If your loved one is in a memory care facility, your role doesn’t end at the door. You bring pieces of home—a favorite ornament, a soft scarf, the scent of something familiar—to wrap them in comfort. You find yourself smiling through visits that may or may not be understood.

If they’re still at home, you live within a loop of caregiving and exhaustion. You measure your moments not by holiday events but by medications, meals, and small mercies: an unexpected smile, a glimpse of calm, a spark of who they once were.

Sometimes, saying "no" to gatherings is the kindest decision for both of you. Other times, you find yourself creating small private traditions—a quiet car ride to see the lights, a candle burning softly in remembrance of the person they were.

Finding Meaning in the Middle of the Fog

The holidays amplify absence—but they also highlight endurance. In the repetition, there’s quiet courage. In the stillness, there’s love doing its most challenging work.

The caregiving chapter can feel endless. But the truth is, it’s shaping you for the life that comes after.

When that day arrives—when your loved one finally finds peace—your journey doesn’t end. It shifts.

The real work begins in learning how to survive afterward: how to fill the silence that once rang with their needs, how to grieve without guilt, how to remember without pain. There will come a time when the holidays will no longer feel frozen—but gently thawed, touched again by memory, healing, and love.

Holding On and Letting Go

If the holidays hurt this year, know that your love is the light that remains steady. You are not only surviving caregiving—you are living love in one of its purest forms.

When this season feels motionless, remember: your heart is still moving forward. You are becoming, healing, and transforming—even here, in this quiet space between care and loss.

My goals this holiday season as a caregiver!

May I find stillness in the slowing of time.

May I remember that love needs no memory to exist.

May I honor the person they were, while cherishing the soul they are now.

May I release the guilt for what I cannot fix, and embrace the grace of simply being here.

May I believe that this season—hard and hollow as it may feel—is still a part of a larger journey toward peace.

And when the silence comes, may I trust that my love will carry forward, lighting the path to life after caregiving—a life that, though changed, will bloom again. I will keep writing and sharing my stories!