What Caregiving Has Taught Me About Going Slow
I have never been the kind of person who jumps out of bed at the sound of an alarm. I’m more of a coax-yourself-awake person — one, two, three, four, five… let’s go. That rhythm shifted when my dad fell and broke his hip. I still don’t leap into mornings, but I’ve come to appreciate the slower pace he’s moving at now as he heals — and as we enter this final phase of our journey, walking him home. There’s something about his need to go slow that has given me permission to do the same. To do less. To linger more. To reflect. To sit with what I’m feeling, knowing our time together is short. I’m more emotional than I expected to be. Or maybe not more — just more aware. My moods shift. The emotional weight of caregiving has become sharper this past week, especially as we begin making what-if plans and quietly close chapters we once took for granted. There are so many thoughts moving through me. Too many to manage all at once. And maybe the answer right now isn’t to manage them at ...