We noticed subtle things at first.

Mom would pay way too much for dolls that we didn’t need or hang up the phone without saying goodbye or when she forgot Valentine’s Day for the first time.

I’ll never forget the day that I was packing for a doll convention, and instead of her telling me what to do, she came over and asked me if she could help.

Dad and I eventually switched off days with Mom, and she never was alone or afraid. She came to work with me up until just a couple of months before her passing.

She always knew who we were, and even when she couldn’t speak anymore, and she would rub my cheek and squeeze my hand when I did things for her.

If you are living with a broken heart from a loved one having dementia, and it feels so lonely and hard some days - you are not broken.

You are not broken, love. You are never broken.

Caregiving calls us to lean into love that we didn’t know was there, that we didn’t know was possible. And those years prepared me for anything I could ever face now.

I think about my Mom every single day. I thank her for the space she gave us to create, to make a living, and to share joy with the world.

I’m building new doorways in the shop, and this is what you’ll find walking through them: Healing. Reclaimed hope. A new future.

Sometimes the doors we want to stay open shut for a long time. Sometimes they don’t open at all.

And sometimes, we need to find the courage to open a new one.

And sometimes, just when we think we can’t keep hoping, life surprises us.