I’ve often thought there could be nothing worse than living with cognitive decline to the point where you are unaware of your family, friends or your surroundings. I have deep concern and empathy for individuals experiencing the effects of dementia. Yet, the decline a person experiences may not even compare with the difficulties their friends and family are navigating. Acceptance is a brutally painful journey that has no compass or roadmap.

Yet, when a few brave soldiers willingly share the most intimate and personal stories of what they have been through or are currently facing, they have freely given a gift of love. Through sharing, they help others find the pathway through the maze of dealing with this disease. Since there are no cures or answers to the question of why, it’s helpful to know how others have learned to cope. While we live in a fallen, broken world, and, in time, our bodies and minds fail, there is hope. Hope comes in the form of faith and our belief in a good God, who will make all things new someday. There will come a day when there will be no more crying or pain, and what a day that will be!

In the meantime, we must press on and find the beauty amid the brutal.

The closest I’ve come to experiencing someone I love not recognizing me was during my last visit from Ontario to New Brunswick to see my grandmother. I deeply loved my grandmother, who outlived my father by several years. She was cared for by one of my uncles and his wife at their home until her death. Her last years were lived with the growing confusion that comes with dementia, and to this day, I wish I had seen her more, but distance was the enemy.

I also saw the pain and grief that my dear cousins went through as one of my mother’s sisters was ravaged by this disease. My cousin Debbie and her mom had a beautiful mother-daughter relationship. Near the end, Debbie had to decrease her daily visits to a more reasonable schedule as her mom no longer knew her and could not even communicate. However, the family remained dedicated to their mom’s care until the very end. Their grief was intense.

Years later, I have seen a few dear friends pass through the dark, murky waters of cognitive decline. There’s no “that was easy” button available for the emotions I feel. Being an empathetic person by nature can be torture in these situations. Without my faith, I’d be inconsolable.

I’ve had the privilege of reading two books authored by women who have walked closely with their moms as their memories faded.

Regarding the first book, The Longest Goodbye by Shelly Calcagno, I had the privilege of knowing Shelly, a talented and genuinely beautiful woman of deep faith, but I didn’t know her mom. I felt I knew her mom a whole lot better after reading Shelly’s very touching and brilliant memoir, as now her mom has passed on to be with the Lord. Shelly has a way of sharing that is so relatable and honest. It’s a book I highly recommend.

The second book, entitled All These Beautiful Things, was written by Beth Curry. In this instance, I know her Mom, Kathy, who is still with us, at least physically, and sometimes, on occasion, even cognitively. I shared friendship with Kathy and her husband, Dave, through our church connections. Dave, Kathy, and I were in a Small Group together, and I saw Kathy daily as we shared office space where we both had jobs in ministry. Kathy and I had some good laughs; however, what I remember most was when I wept in her arms while experiencing a devastating loss. She was and is a kind and compassionate person. Therefore, I was deeply moved as I read this book. I cried, laughed and remembered, yet throughout the pages, I was both humbled and impressed by Beth’s ability to share her family’s journey in a way which honours them.

Beth’s attempt to record her mom’s stories before dementia erases them is much more than an attempt. Beth has a natural writer’s ability to share her family’s journey with passion, sensitivity, vulnerability and true love. As Beth so poignantly shares, “This is a story about memory and love, about holding on and letting go, about all the beautiful things that make up a life, even when that life begins to forget itself.”

Reading these stories was not just informative, although both authors put valuable and practical information for caregivers, family and friends. Rather, these books help us remember that there are no hard journeys that we need to face alone. There are people like Shelly and Beth who have willingly chronicled their narratives. In both these families, there is a foundation of faith they rely on to “hold them fast.” That foundation is God, in whom we place our hope, and by His grace, beauty will rise from the ashes. So, whether you’re experiencing a long goodbye or trying to find the beautiful things in the toughest situations, I encourage you to find help and hope in these thoughtfully written journeys through life’s most difficult circumstances.

“I may not remember what we did yesterday,” Mom told me recently, “but I know who loves me. That’s enough for today.” Maybe that wisdom – focusing on what remains rather than what’s lost offers the most helpful perspective of all, not just for dementia but for navigating any of life’s profound challenges” (pg. 52 – All These Beautiful Things).

Susan Page is the daughter of the King, His beloved child, wonderfully forgiven and blessed! Susan longs to age gracefully, becoming more like Jesus as she seeks the hidden treasures revealed to her through Scripture, literature, the arts, humankind, and nature.