Holding On While Letting Go: 3 Practical Strategies to Bring Hope to Grieving Dementia Care Partners

There’s something I have heard many care partners say—and maybe you’ve felt it too.

They describe their experience of watching their spouse or parent progress through dementia something like this:

 “It feels like I’m watching someone I love slowly fade away.” 

“This is not the person I married anymore.”

“This is not my mom, this is just the disease.”  

“I’m still with them, but little pieces—memories, reactions, familiar habits—seem to slip away one at a time. It’s not one big loss. It’s a thousand tiny ones.”

And then, right behind that thought comes the next one:

“How do I keep showing up with love when my heart hurts like this?”

If that sounds familiar, you’re in good company.   As a Dementia Coach, working with thousands of people with dementia and hundreds of family members, I have noticed that this is one of the tender, very real challenges of dementia. It makes sense that it would feel confusing, emotional, and exhausting at times.  The reason I have written this post, is so you can actually have hope throughout this disease process, minimizing the feeling listed above and adding to them joy, laughter and purpose.

That’s exactly what this post is here to help you with.

Because even here, even now, there is still hope—not for everything to go back to how it was, but for something steady, meaningful, and good to still be possible.

It is possible to carry what’s hard and still find moments of calm, connection, and yes—real hope for how you move through this.

The Quiet Heartbreak of Dementia Care

Grief in dementia care isn’t always loud. It doesn’t always come with tears. More often, it’s a quiet ache that shows up in everyday moments.

• Like when your spouse doesn’t laugh at the same jokes.
• When Mom has an off day in the kitchen, and you wonder if that ability is starting to slip away.
• When you catch yourself holding tightly to what’s still the same, knowing you will feel the sting when it changes, too.

This is the push-pull that wears so many care partners down. The emotional exhaustion of trying to enjoy today while quietly grieving what’s already changed… and what might change next. 

Dare I take it one step further and add the grief of the loss that you believe will come, but may not.

Here’s something worth saying out loud: This kind of grief is rarely recognized. Most people think of grief as something that comes after a person is gone. But with dementia, you’re grieving while you’re still loving and caring for the person right in front of you.

And because this disease is progressive, it doesn’t settle. Just when you think you’ve adjusted, something shifts again. You barely find your footing before the ground moves beneath you.

But what if, just for a moment, you shifted your focus?

What if your hope wasn’t in what your loved one can still do, but in simply being with them, as they are today?

Imagine how that might feel - not like losing your person again and again, but like discovering new ways to connect, one moment at a time.

That’s what this post is here to help you do.

You’ll find three practical and gentle yet powerful ways to move through this kind of grief.  I hope this will help you feel more grounded, more connected, and more hopeful in your role as a spouse, child and care partner.

1. Let Grief and Love Coexist

One of the most common things I see in care partners, especially those who are deeply devoted, is the urge to push grief aside in order to “stay strong.”

You might feel like you need to put on a brave face. Stay cheerful. Focus on the positive.
Or maybe you tell yourself there’s no time to feel sad because there’s too much to do.

But here’s the gentle truth: grief isn’t something you have to get over in order to love well.
In fact, grief is often proof of how deeply you are loving.

Grief and love can live side by side.

You can miss who your loved one used to be and still feel tenderness toward who they are today.
You can feel a lump in your throat and let yourself laugh when something funny happens.
You can carry sadness in one hand and hold theirs with the other.

Letting both be true, at the same time is the mere definition of being present. And it’s powerful. And, it can change your life today and for the future.

When you stop trying to outrun or “fix” the sadness, you free up energy to actually be with your loved one. As they are. As you are. Right now.

I have seen it.  Many times.  When relationships have always been good and when they haven’t.  When loss makes you feel like you can’t breathe and when you are ready to tackle this condition. 

That is why this is a point that we explore all throughout my program, Dementia Caring with Kerry which is 7 lessons for spouses and children of people with dementia. The aim of the program is to help you think right (about dementia) so you can do right (for your loved one, for your family, and you) leaving you most satisfied in this role as a care partner.  We spend time in this program learning how to make space for both grief and joy because I have seen this single shift make such a difference in people’s lives.

You don’t have to be one or the other—heartbroken or strong.
You can be both.

And when you start to practice this, many care partners notice something unexpected: a bit more balance. A bit more steadiness. A bit more calm. A bit more of themselves returning.

This shift, allowing both grief and love to be part of the experience, can be the beginning of a more peaceful rhythm in your relationship and brought into your caregiving. One that’s less about holding it all together… and more about being grounded in what really matters.

2. Name the Losses as They Happen

Grief in dementia care doesn’t usually come from one big, obvious moment. It arrives quietly, through the small, unexpected shifts.

• Maybe your gentleman husband no longer thanks you because he doesn’t know the depth of what you do.
• Maybe your mom pauses before answering a question she once would’ve jumped in on.
• Maybe your dad, who always wanted to help you, offers over and over, but he can longer offer the help you need.

These aren’t just changes. They’re losses. And when they’re left unspoken, they tend to pile up, leaving you feeling frustrated, sad, impatient, without knowing exactly why.

But something powerful happens when you pause and simply name what you’re noticing:

• “That part is different now.”
• “I miss how we used to talk during our drives.”
• “That one caught me off guard.”

Naming the loss gives shape; context and parameters to your experience. It doesn’t fix it but it makes it more understandable. And when you can see your grief more clearly, you’re less likely to feel swept away by it.

In fact, many care partners I work with initially describe feeling guilt.
They say things like:

“I should’ve handled that better.”
“I should be more patient.”
“I should’ve known what to do.”

But often, what they’re calling guilt… is actually unrecognized grief.

Inside Dementia Caring with Kerry, we have a whole lesson to help you understand what is happening in the brain of your loved one with dementia.  This is to help give you understanding which brings you clarity. On understanding what’s really going on beneath the surface. Not just with your loved one’s behaviors and needs, but with your reactions and emotions, too. 

• When your husband asks you the same question a hundred times, you might still get annoyed (eventually) but you might also recognize he trusts you, which is deep and personal.
• You might be talking with a friend about your reaction to something your mom did and acknowledge that you are feeling loss…not guilt, because you wish you could do more…and in learning about the brain, you learn how you can help her.

These small shifts in perspective can lead to monumental changes in your thinking!

When you start to name what you’re feeling—and why—it takes some of the power out of it.
You begin to realize: “This isn’t me falling apart. This is me feeling loss. And it makes sense.”

The losses don’t go away. But your relationship with them can shift.
And when that shift happens, it opens up more space for peace, for presence, and for the kind of hope that doesn’t rely on everything staying the same.

3. Focus on Connection, Not Cognition

One of the hardest parts of dementia for many families is the loss of shared conversation. The ease of communication starts to fade. Stories don’t land the same way. Recognition may flicker or disappear altogether.

It can start to feel like the relationship is slipping away.

But here’s something important: connection doesn’t depend on cognition.
It doesn’t live only in words, memory, or conversation.

Connection lives in your tone of voice.
In your eye contact.

In treating someone with value simply because they are human.
In shared rhythm.

In a quiet look.
In the way your hand rests gently on theirs.

Even when your dad can’t follow the storyline, he may still light up at your smile.

Even when your mom doesn’t know your name, she may still relax when you enter the room.

Even when your wife can’t form a sentence, she they may still hum along with you to a familiar melody.

Again and again, I’ve seen something shift when care partners stop reaching for who their loved one used to be and start noticing who they are right now.
There’s often more calm. Sometimes joy.  Most often peace.
And more connection than they expected.

Inside Dementia Caring with Kerry, we guide families in making this exact shift, from measuring interactions by what’s “missing,” to recognizing what’s still present.
We help you stop chasing perfect responses or hoping for a flash of the “old” version of your loved one—and start tuning in to the ways they’re still showing up.

And when that happens, something beautiful unfolds.

You stop feeling like every moment is a test you’re failing.
You begin to feel more settled in the unexpected.
You notice more softness in yourself and in your loved one.
You might even feel joy at times you wouldn’t have expected.

No, it’s not the same kind of connection you once had. But it’s not gone.
It’s just different—and it’s still deeply meaningful.

If I may, I would like to take a moment to address those of you who are reading, who have a different situation.  Those who are saying,

“This all sounds good… but our situation feels different.”

You may be either

“Our loss is too great.”
“Our love was so deep—I don’t know if I can bear this.”

Or

“We weren’t that close to begin with.”

“You don’t understand our history.”

I’ve heard these things before. And I get it.

Every family has its own story. Its own past. Its own dynamics and depth.  It is true that everyone’s experience with this illness is unique because each relationship is unique. 

Here is my encouragement to you.  When your loved one finishes the journey of this disease, you will be left to remember it.  How it went down.  How you handled things.  How you dealt and addressed the things that came up.  Your past doesn’t have to determine how you will think of yourself when this all passes.  And here is the wild part, the families that even I questioned, “how can you be so loving when [fill in their past]?”, they shared that who they were mattered more than who their family was.  They employed these lessons and in some cases relationships were restored or deeper connections were made.  These are the same people who look back today at this journey with their family member and have the most peace.   

And for those who this loss is utterly devastating, these same principles apply for you because you have a chance to become stronger.  The families I have worked with in your situation, who have adopted these shifts we’re talking about, have equally found some joy, and hope and satisfaction and more love.  I might argue they are loving the deepest and most intentionally and in some ways take the most out of this disease process into the future.

This disease leans into humanity and since each of our human existence is different, the principles that can be applied are the same and how they will play and last into your future lives is what will be different.

Franny & Lanie: A True Story About How Shifting Focus & Gaining Connection

Two sisters, who both lived far from their parents. Their dad was the primary care partner for their mom, who was declining quickly in her dementia journey. He was exhausted, overwhelmed, and emotionally spent. He didn’t know what else to do.

The sisters took turns visiting home. At first, they were focused on what Mom could still do—how much she remembered, what skills she retained, what made her seem “like herself.”
But the more they learned about how to support her, and how to manage their own expectations, they started to shift their focus. Instead of measuring every visit by what Mom could or couldn’t do, they began asking a different question:

How is she feeling today?

They noticed she was starved for connection. So during their visits, they just sat with her. Talked with her. Sang with her. Laughed or held silence, depending on the moment. And they modeled this for their dad, too.

Then, something remarkable happened.

One visit, Lanie was sitting with her mom on the couch. Lanie’s oldest child, her own son, was about to leave for college, and she was full of emotions.  She was nervous, proud, sad. She started talking out loud, not expecting her mom to respond. Just sharing.

Her mom, mostly nonverbal by this point, turned to her, reached out, and took her hand. They sat there, crying quietly. No words. Just presence. Just love.

And in that moment, they were connected, not through memory or conversation, but through being.

That’s what becomes possible when you stop reaching measuring success by what can be done and meet them exactly where they are. ❤️

Let’s Recap

We’ve spent time looking at the quiet, ongoing grief that comes with caring for someone with dementia. Not the kind of grief that follows a single loss—but the layered kind that sneaks in through everyday changes.

And we talked through three powerful ways to move through it with more steadiness, clarity, and hope:

1. Let Grief and Love Coexist
2. Name the Losses as They Happen
3. Focus on Connection, Not Cognition

Grief is invisible, but it affects everything—your mood, your outlook, how you respond, what you expect. When you begin to think differently about your role, everything else starts to shift.

You’re not erasing the hard. But you are creating space for something better: presence. Calm. Purpose. And yes, hope.

What is your Next Step as a Care Partner to Your Loved one with Dementia?

If you’re ready to feel more clear, confident, and grounded in your relationship as a spouse or child and in this role of a care partner for someone with dementia, the next step for you is to enroll in my program Dementia Caring with Kerry,  a self-paced, online program that teaches 7 lessons that I have seen help countless families think differently—so they can do differently.

This is what I mean when I say, “If you think right [about dementia] you can do right [in your role as a care partner].”

When you begin to see what’s really happening—under the surface of your loved one’s behaviors, and inside your own reactions—you’ll move forward with more peace and purpose than you thought possible.

You don’t have to stay stuck in confusion or heartbreak. You don’t have to wonder if you’re doing it “right.” And you definitely don’t have to do it alone.

Join the families who are walking this path with more clarity and hope than before.

👉 Click here to learn more and join Dementia Caring with Kerry.