I didn’t choose to be a caregiver. I didn’t wake up one morning and say, “I’m bored. I think I’ll ask God to give Jack dementia so I have something to do.” I was blindsided by his diagnosis. We both were.

I didn’t ask to become the parent for my husband. I didn’t plan to spend our marriage taking care of an adult size baby. But that’s what I was given. I deal with it and make it work as best I can.

Nothing prepared me for caregiving. I learned as I went along. While there is a loose formula to it, so to speak, there is nothing to prepare you for the many ‘firsts’ in caregiving. Nothing, that is, except living them head on and learning what works in that moment. And then learning something different the next time, because what you learned before doesn’t work any more.

No two caregiving experiences are the same, just as no two caregivers are the same. As a caregiver, this was the first thing I learned. I can share what works for me, but I have no right to say it’s the ‘right’ way or the ‘only’ way. That is a slap in the face to anyone who does things differently. It is a disservice to everyone on this path.

As caregivers, each one of us is different. We have our own ways of getting through the day, our unique coping skills, our own talents and mindsets and abilities. We have our own unique breaking points. Unfortunately, the ‘normal’ world tends to view it as a one size fits all model, with a linear progression and a predictable timeline. I did too, until I actually started doing it. I’ve learned first-hand how narrow that perception is.

I am not saying that it’s wrong. This linear view of caregiving arises out of an inability to understand what is actually involved. In the linear version, you start at Point A. Then at Point B “this” happens; then at Point C “this” behavior is observed; and then at Point D you have done all you can and it’s time to put the loved one away. It makes for a nice, tidy textbook package. But real life isn’t like that.

Life is an organic, constantly evolving process. And caregiving is exactly the same. You can visit all the points on the spectrum in a single day, especially when the caregiving involves a loved one with dementia. You could have a day where the loved one has no idea how to use the toilet, can’t get dressed, and forgets how to use a spoon; and then the very next day they dress themselves and use the toilet without a hitch. There is no rhyme or reason to the progression. You just roll with it.

My point here is that I have absolutely no right to tell another caregiver that they have done all they can; that they shouldn’t have to live like this; that they are orchestrating their own ruin and need to put their loved one away “immediately”. I have no right to make that judgement, simply because I haven’t got a clue about their life together and all the dynamics therein. I don’t know what their breaking point is. The only person who can decide that is the caregiver. And I have no right to tell them otherwise.

I didn’t choose caregiving; but I have chosen to be a caregiver, for the simple reason that I love Jack. He deserves to have his dignity for as long as I can help him to maintain it. He deserves to live in his own home, surrounded by the things he loves. He deserves to die in a dignified manner rather than being hooked up to tubes and wires in a strange place. He deserves all of that. And i, as his caregiver, have chosen to give that to him.