Two sets of experiences, two adjectives, and one helpful conclusion.

"My God, my God, why have you forsaken me?" What we have experienced, Jesus has said.

We may pray with the psalmist, "How long must I wrestle with my thoughts and day after day have sorrow in my heart?" And we may find from the psalmist a pathway to hope.

It is possible to experience happiness and grief at the same time. A weekend with lifetime friends proved it.

Which is worse? To see a young life snatched away too soon? Or to watch a long life twist to a tortured end?

Everyone who knows about Alzheimer’s anticipates that Evelyn is not doing well. But my new friend asked about me.

Another family vacation without Evelyn. Wonderful—and sad.

Briefly Sunday night I couldn’t contain the negative emotions or stop the agitated outburst.

A reader asked for advice, and that’s not what this blog is about. But maybe some stories from my experience will help him.

As the list of difficult or unseemly duties lengthens, my sadness is almost dulled. I feel myself getting weary.

I’m learning not to be surprised by grief, and I’m deciding maybe I should welcome it. That’s good, because grief is a persistent visitor.

Capitalizing on the present while admitting and grieving the loss of the past is the challenge for everyone loving a person with a debilitating disease.

The small or sometimes not-so-small changes in our routine continue to mount up.

“Though I never expected to be alone at this age or for this long, God has truly led me to a new, different, and surprisingly fulfilling life.”

I’ve struggled with four major issues as a long-distance caregiver while watching my mom’s condition deteriorate.

“I've come to rejoice in the small victories and make them big.“

Do you cry? I know I’m not the only one who puddles up often. And now that I’m a caregiver, I’m coming to understand what’s behind some of those tears.