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Some dates don’t just mark time; they pull you back into a room you can still smell and hear. I open up about the hardest stretch of my year—the week from New Year’s Eve to January 6—when hospice set the timeline, the music got louder, and my resolve to keep my mom from being alone turned into a nightly vigil. If you’ve ever felt the sting of an anniversary date, especially after a long season of caregiving through dementia, this conversation offers language, tools, and gentle company.

We explore how grief changes during the holidays, why trigger dates can feel like alarms in the body, and the practical ways to prepare: plan A and plan B, honest boundaries with friends, taking the day off work, and creating rituals that actually comfort. I share the small things that mattered—Barry Manilow on repeat, a chair by the bed, marshmallow Peeps, and the calm that arrived when my mom sensed familiar songs. We talk about building a memory corner, lighting a candle, writing a letter, cooking a favorite dish, or choosing quiet over crowds. There’s room here for all approaches, including pretending the date doesn’t exist if that’s what keeps you steady.

Caregivers and grievers will also hear about the moments near the end that felt like grace: my mom seeing loved ones, the softening in her breath, and the peace that came without an exact time stamp. We challenge the myth that the “first year is the hardest,” and acknowledge how year two can ache just as much. Most of all, we hold space for your way of remembering—whether that’s tea and old photos, a playlist from the 60s and 70s, or a plan to leave early if the room gets loud.

If this resonates, share it with someone who needs a companion for their tough date, subscribe for more candid stories about grief and dementia, and leave a review to help others find the show. Your rituals matter. Your boundaries count. And you don’t have to carry this alone.

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