Author: Eileen Kilgore

  Yesterday I visited my father at the memory care facility. I brought him banana cream pie and held my phone up to his ear so he could hear some…

If I could change only one thing about myself, it’d be how I view the world. Instead of focusing on the clouds, I’d look for the sun. On dreary days,…

There is a saying I’ve heard many times, most recently on house-hunting shows: “Happy wife, happy life.” The husband and wife are at odds (making for better TV). He wants…

It hit me with a resounding thud, like a door slamming in my face: cold, hard rejection. The email was addressed to me wasn’t personal. It was an automated message:…

My father is becoming increasingly less verbal. During our call this morning he was trying to tell me about something but could not describe it. He kept saying vague things…

What separates us is glass—the window I stand behind when I visit. I can see him but he’s grainy, obscured by the screen and the shadows. A caregiver puts the…

It’s the day after Mother’s Day and thoughts of her are still in my head. Thoughts of the mother she was and the one she wasn’t. I struggle to separate…

    My father is slipping away. Physically, he's ok but mentally he's declining. Two days ago on our call he said he was working on a secret project for…

The call came at 2:00 am and that is never a good thing. It’s happened several times, mostly in the past year. This call was no different. The caregiver said…

The hardest lesson I’ve learned I’ve had to unlearn. Not yet, but I’m getting there. It’s a process. Perhaps it will take the rest of my life. I hope not,…