Once upon a time (before transforming into a Florence Nightingale caregiver), I was a fun-loving, joyful, and spirited woman, married to the love of my life, leaning into the shade of my magnificent tree of life: my Ultimate Concierge. He was rugged and dependable, ever present with those unmistakable red-framed glasses always just within arm’s reach, grounding me in a world that felt lighter, brighter, and endlessly alive because he was by my side.
Then vascular dementia entered like an uninvited contractor and began quietly rearranging the floor plan in our condo in the sky, stealing rooms we planned to live in and robbing us of the future we assumed we had earned. It didn’t arrive with a warning or a timetable, just small changes at first, then bigger ones, until I realized our life was being remodeled without our consent. And darling, when you are living inside a renovation you never requested, you learn to grieve what was while still finding a way to live in what is.
Caregiver With Love and Flair
These days, I am less lighthearted and more Florence Nightingale, though I still charge through our condo in the sky in platform boots and red lipstick. I run a small but mighty consortium of caregivers and helpers with equal parts tenderness and command. I issue gentle directives. I am the only one allowed to fill pill boxes. And I fill them like a pharmacist with flair.
I sorely miss the roots of my sturdy tree beside me, as I feel some of his leaves drift away on a wind that neither he nor I ordered. When those moments arrive, and they do daily, my eyes drop tears of steady water on him, as if love could be poured like hydration. Maybe it can.
My Caregiver Titles
For the past two and a half years, I have lived in what I call controlled chaos. I am Honey Good to you, my darling readers, but under my roof I wear different titles.
- To my housekeeper of nine years, I am Mrs. Good.
- To my assistant, I am Honey.
- To the dog walkers, I am Mrs. G. or Susan.
- To the caregivers, I’m the woman who keeps the ship steady and always says thank you.
But most importantly, to my Ultimate Concierge, Sheldon F. Good, I am Suzi. And darling, there has never been anyone in my life who says my name the way he does. Lastly, to myself, I am Florence Nightingale to my one and only Ultimate Concierge.
The Worldly Team of Caregivers
Under one determinedly optimistic, somewhat chaotic roof, a beautiful mix of helpers gathers each morning around 8:00 AM. Different backgrounds, cultures, and faiths (our United Nations of Caregivers), all under one roof, with one shared mission: caring for my Ultimate Concierge with dignity and respect. Our kitchen becomes a meeting place where accents blend, traditions quietly coexist, and even America, my Irish pooch, seems to supervise it all. And now and then, one well-meaning caregiver offers an extra prayer or a hopeful blessing, reminding me that love shows up in many languages.
Groceries are delivered throughout the week. Amazon arrives daily. Family members move in for weeks at a time. The nurse arrives twice a week for checkups. Orchid deliveries light up my life. There is never a dull moment at the Good condo in the sky.
If our home were a movie set, it would be a railroad station. Caregivers clocking in and out. Dog walkers whistling for America. A housekeeper waging daily war on crumbs. An assistant trying to settle me on one topic at a time, which is next to impossible. Hospice charging in twice a week like a calm cavalry.
And at the center of it all sits my Ultimate Concierge, traveling through his memories while I try to glide through the chaos with unwavering devotion and a smile, insisting to myself that my glass is refillable as the cast rotates through like a long-running sitcom nobody auditioned for. See, darling, I can still be funny.
Organized and Disorganized
I must admit something. I am organized and disorganized, and somehow it works. If I were too rigid, I would snap. If I were too loose, everything would slide. So I live in the middle, where real life happens.
What matters to me is this: my husband has a routine, he is treated with dignity and respect, and he is safe. The United Nations caregiving staff gets its clarity from Florence. If I meet those needs, my day is a win. In my world, rhythm is everything. Everything else is decoration.
Somehow, between scheduling and the misplaced remotes and iPhones, we have built a tiny world order based on kindness and respect. In our airborne embassy of dementia care, accents blend, generations compare notes, and everyone agrees on one thing: love translates fluently. Chaos knocks, respect answers the door.
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How to Cope as a Caregiver
When things go sideways, and they do, I have what I call my coping and strategy portfolio. It is not glamorous. It is not trendy. It is simply what keeps me standing.
- My close friends are my privy council: I don’t call them to complain. I call it verbal therapy with no co-pay. Some friends make me laugh, some steady me, some remind me who I am when I forget. My friendships go back nearly 40 years, and yet I keep finding new friendships that feel like old friendships. That, darling, is a miracle in itself.
- I watch documentaries and historical series: They let me leave my life and enter another. That is not avoidance, it is relief. Sometimes self care is giving your mind a safe place to rest.
- I write my Sunday Story: Writing keeps me from drowning. I take my weekly madness and distill it into meaning. My stories are authentic, a journal of my personal inventory. With music playing softly, my ultimate concierge and America beside me, I create an inner space to breathe and share.
- Philanthropy is my forward motion: Giving back builds something brighter than the day’s sadness. It asks something of me, and in return it gives me purpose that did not exist before. Right now, that purpose lives in part through my work with ZOA Women, and darling, it feels like a small light I can carry on the hardest days.
- I work out: I don’t do facials, massages, Botox, pills, or competitive marathons. Exercise is my antidepressant. Pilates is my plastic surgeon. When life tries to fold me in half, I stretch. When grief tightens my chest, I strengthen my core. My wrinkles aren’t erased, and why should they be, they tell the story of my life.
That is my kind of self care. Not the fluffy kind. The survival kind. The kind that keeps my nervous system steady enough to show up again tomorrow with patience in my pocket and love still in my hands. It doesn’t erase the grief, darling, but it gives me just enough strength to carry it.
Living Above the Noise
At this stage of my life, I prefer to live above the noise, the way animals do on the Serengeti plain. From up here, above the city sounds, I lapse into pockets of silence inside the chaos. I think. I reflect. I gather myself. The ingredients of love in our high-rise United Nations are simple and sacred: a heap of patience, a dash of humor, a respectful bow to every faith and nationality, and a shared understanding that dignity is non-negotiable.
So here I am, darling, a Jewish Florence Nightingale, Commander-in-Chief of the Chaos Condo in the Sky, surveying my little kingdom with the precision of a general and patience that is a work in progress. Can you imagine living for over two years with people surrounding you all day and night? Above the city noise, in the hallowed quiet of our slightly chaotic home, I tend, I laugh, I scold occasionally, I sob, I grow intellectually, and I survive.
A one-woman army, not organized nor disorganized, but filled with tenacity and love, fighting the good fight, proving that love, patience, and a sense of humor are positive weapons in this plight.
What I Have Learned
There is one thing I have learned in the Chaos Condo in the Sky: adversity doesn’t just challenge us, it reveals us. It shows us courage we didn’t know we had, humor that keeps us afloat, and a kindness that refuses to leave, even when circumstances feel impossible.
And that is what I want to offer you, darling: a steady hand, a listening heart, and maybe a wink, to remind you that even in the hardest of times, laughter and love can coexist with grief and chaos. I would be happy to be your lighthouse in the fog, a reminder that even amid loss and challenge, you can find resilience and even a bit of joy while you wait. Amen.
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