He Forgot Her Name: What I Learned From Being A Care Aide

Picture this: you have 50 minutes to help someone get out of bed, shower, get dressed, and have breakfast. This client used to run marathons and his own business. Now, they need help with everything, and you can see the grief in their eyes as they struggle to accept this new reality.

This was my world as a care aide for seven years before I became a Social Worker. Every day, I walked into homes where families were facing impossible losses, not just the loss of a person, but the loss of who that person used to be, the loss of independence, the loss of the future they'd imagined together.

Working as a care aide taught me things about grief that no textbook ever could. It showed me that grief isn't just about death. It's about watching your parent forget your name. It's about becoming a caregiver overnight when you're already juggling work and your own kids. It's about the quiet moments when someone realizes they'll never drive again, never cook again, never be the person they once were.

If you're dealing with any kind of loss right now, whether it's illness, caregiving stress, or anticipatory grief, I want you to know that your feelings make complete sense. Your exhaustion is valid. Your anger is understandable. Your love, even when it's complicated, matters.

How Do You Grieve Someone Who's Still Alive?

One of the hardest things I witnessed as a care aide was ambiguous loss - the grief that comes when someone is physically present but fundamentally changed. I remember a wife whose husband had early-onset dementia. She would tell me, "I miss him so much, but he's right there." Their dream life had changed so much.

Here's what I learned: ambiguous loss is real loss. You don't need permission to grieve the person someone used to be. You don't need to wait until they're gone to acknowledge what you've already lost. Your grief deserves space, even when it feels confusing or contradictory.

Some things that might help:

• Create rituals to honour who they were while loving who they are now

• Find a photo or object that represents your relationship before illness

• Write letters to the person they used to be

• Talk to someone who understands that you can love and grieve simultaneously

Why Is Caregiver Burnout So Invisible, and What Can You Do About It?

I saw it over and over again - mostly women, trying to be everything to everyone. A daughter caring for her mother with Alzheimer's while working full-time and raising teenagers. A wife managing her husband's medications, appointments, and daily care while pretending everything was fine.

The 24-hour nature of caregiving is something people don't talk about enough. Even when you're not physically present, you're mentally carrying the weight. You're worried about falls, medications, mood changes, and what happens if you get sick too.

In many of our communities, caregiving is seen as a duty, an honour, something you just do without complaint. But here's what I want you to know: acknowledging how hard this is doesn't make you ungrateful. Asking for help doesn't make you weak. Feeling overwhelmed doesn't make you a bad person.

Your needs matter too. The person you're caring for needs you to be okay, which means you have to prioritize your own wellbeing sometimes. This isn't selfish - it's necessary.

Practical steps you can take:

• Set one boundary this week, even if it feels small

• Ask one person for one specific type of help

• Give yourself permission to feel frustrated, sad, or angry

• Remember that caring for yourself is part of caring for them

What Happens When Independence Slowly Disappears?

I'll never forget one client, a man in his 70's who had been incredibly independent his whole life. The first time I helped him shower, I could see him fighting back tears. He kept apologizing, as if needing help was something he should be sorry for. Over the months I worked with him, I watched him cycle through so many emotions.

The loss of independence is a profound grief that our society doesn't acknowledge enough. We live in a culture that values self-sufficiency above almost everything else. When your body stops cooperating, when you can't do the things that once defined you, the identity shift can be devastating.

For folks in marginalized communities, this loss can feel even more complicated. Maybe you've fought your whole life to be seen as capable and strong. Maybe you've had to be extra independent because systems weren't designed to support you. Suddenly needing help can feel like losing a crucial part of who you are.

What I learned from my clients is that there's a difference between independence and autonomy. Independence is doing things yourself. Autonomy is having choices about how things get done. Even when physical independence changes, you can still maintain autonomy in how you want to live, what matters to you, and how you want to be supported.

How Do Families Navigate This Together?

Some of the most beautiful and heartbreaking moments I witnessed were families trying to figure out how to love each other through impossible circumstances. I saw adult children learning to parent their parents. I saw spouses rediscovering each other in the midst of profound change. I also saw families torn apart by disagreements about care, by old hurts that illness brought to the surface, by the sheer exhaustion of it all.

One thing that struck me was how differently people process information and make decisions when they're scared. Some families want to know everything about a diagnosis and prognosis. Others prefer to take things one day at a time. Some want to talk openly about death and what's coming. Others find hope in not going there yet.

None of these approaches is wrong. Families need space to figure out what works for them, without judgment about doing it "right." Sometimes the most loving thing you can do is acknowledge that you're all doing your best in an impossible situation.

Here's what can help:

• Have conversations about values and wishes before crisis moments

• Recognize that people grieve and process at different speeds

• Create space for multiple truths to exist at once

• Remember that loving someone doesn't mean you have to agree on everything

Key Insights for Anyone Supporting Someone Through Illness or Loss

• Grief doesn't follow a timeline - Healing isn't linear, and there's no "right" way to move through loss

• Caregiver burnout is predictable, not inevitable - With the right support and boundaries, you can sustain caring relationships

• Small losses accumulate - The daily losses of ability and independence deserve recognition and support

• Community matters - Isolation makes everything harder; connection makes things bearable

• Professional support helps - You don't have to figure this out alone, and seeking help is a sign of wisdom, not weakness

What's Possible When You Don't Have to Carry This Alone?

Here's what I know after years of walking alongside people through some of the hardest experiences of their lives: you are stronger than you think, and you don't have to prove it by doing everything yourself. Grief shared is grief that can be survived. Love expressed in the midst of loss is love that transforms both the giver and receiver.

Your story matters. Your struggles make sense. Your love, even when it's complicated by exhaustion or frustration or fear, is enough. You don't have to be perfect to be valuable. You don't have to have all the answers to be a good caregiver, partner, child, or friend.

If you're reading this and recognizing yourself in these stories, I want you to know that support is available. Whether you're dealing with anticipatory grief, caregiver stress, or trying to make sense of ambiguous loss, you don't have to navigate this alone.

I offer grief and loss therapy specifically for BIPOC and LGBTQ+ folks because I understand that our experiences of loss often include layers that mainstream support doesn't address. I'm located in Surrey and serve clients throughout Coquitlam and Greater Vancouver, as well as online across Canada.

You deserve support that honours your whole story, your community, your values, and your way of loving. You deserve to be seen, heard, and held through whatever you're carrying.

If any of this resonates with you, I'd love to connect. You can reach out for a consultation to see if we might be a good fit for working together. Sometimes the most radical thing you can do is ask for help.

FAQ

What's the difference between grief counselling and regular therapy? Grief counselling focuses specifically on the unique challenges of loss - whether that's death, illness, relationship changes, or other significant losses. It's designed to help you process complex emotions, find ways to honour what you've lost, and discover how to carry your love forward.

Do you only work with people who have experienced death? Not at all. Grief shows up in many forms - chronic illness, caregiving stress, estrangement, job loss, moving, identity changes, and more. If you're dealing with any kind of significant loss or transition, grief support can be helpful.

What makes your approach different? I understand that grief doesn't happen in a vacuum. Your identity, community, family dynamics, and cultural background all influence how you experience and process loss. My approach honours these complexities and works with your strengths and values.

Can you help if I'm caring for someone with dementia? Absolutely. Dementia creates a unique type of grief that often isn't recognized or supported. Whether you're the person diagnosed, a caregiver, or a family member watching someone change, this experience deserves specialized understanding and support.

Do you offer support for families, not just individuals? Yes, I work with individuals, couples, and families who are navigating loss together. Sometimes the most helpful thing is having a space where everyone can be honest about how hard this is while still supporting each other.