Dust Bunnies and New Beginnings: Moving Day Reflections

The doorbell rang at 9 a.m. sharp, and a very long, emotional day began. The movers arrived,  efficient and focused, ready to transport the pieces of my dad’s life to his new home. His recliner, reading lamp, desk, mattress, bed frame — all the familiar things he hasn’t seen in over three months while he's been in rehab. 

He’s been talking for weeks about how much he’s looking forward to his own bed, his recliner, his TV, his book shelf. The simple comforts of home. But the truth is, he thought he would be enjoying them back at home. Instead, we’re setting them up in his new assisted living residence.

As I followed the moving van, tears streamed down my cheeks. A pang of guilt crept in; the kind caregivers know too well. That whisper that says, if only I could have done more, maybe I could have brought him home.
But I know the truth. His days of independent living are over.

And finally, he knows it too.

It took a long time for him to get there. There were months of therapy, countless conversations, and gentle but firm feedback from his PT, OT and clinical care team to break through the denial that had held on for so long.

So many emotions — for him, for me, for all of us.

When I closed the door on the house, I looked around at the empty spaces where his furniture had been. Dust bunnies gathered in the corners served as a quiet reminder of how much had changed. I thought about cleaning, rearranging, making the house feel like home again, but not now. Later.

I got in my car, wiped my tears, and followed the movers.

My cousin came to help me set up Dad’s room, making the bed, unpacking boxes, arranging the small touches that make a new space feel familiar.
Then I drove to the rehab center to pack up the last of his belongings — the clothes, the photos, the snacks he’d tucked away. When I finally got home that night, I collapsed into bed, completely spent.

The next morning came early. At the rehab center, more logistics awaited — paperwork, medical forms, meetings with staff. There were lots of hugs, and goodbyes to the staff who had cared for him so well. Evelyn, the wheelchair van driver who had transported Dad to appointments these past few months, greeted us with a hug and rolled dad into the van for the ride to his new place. Adriana, his home health aide who had become part of our family, came to help him transition.

As Evelyn pulled away, I followed. Stenciled on the back doors were the words Brookdale Senior Living — Dad’s new home. Through the window, I could see the back of his head just above the seat. I snapped a photo and sent it to my brothers: We’re all packed up and on our way to Dad’s new place.

And the tears came again. What was supposed to be a six-month visit to “get eyes on Dad” has turned into eleven months of falls, hospital stays, rehab, and decisions, along with wonderful conversations, new stories I might never have known, and a newfound respect for the man who taught me how to use a spoon.

And now, we were beginning a new chapter.

Truth be told, I’m looking forward to getting my life back. I hope Dad adjusts well and finds comfort in his new surroundings. With that will come, I hope, some much-needed freedom for both of us. I’m grateful that I stood strong and that I waited patiently, or shall I say mostly patient, while Dad came to his own realization about needing more support.

This morning the house is quiet. His walker and cane have been put away. The space is no longer the home my parents built together so many years ago. There’s still so much left to do. Shortly I will head out to meet with Dad's PT and OT team and then I'm taking the day off from everything. I think I’ll head to the beach — to sit, breathe, and simply be for a while. I'll bring my laptop just in case I feel compelled to write ... but only if truly inspired.

There are the moments from my caregiving journey that I’ll never forget; the raw, real parts of caregiving that break you open and teach you what love looks like in action. They’re also the moments and the stories that continue to inspire my upcoming book, Caregiving Essentials: What to Say, Do, and Prepare Before Caregiving Becomes Your Second Full-Time Job, a practical guide for high-capacity women navigating aging parents, tough decisions, and caregiving curveballs with clarity, confidence, and compassion.

If you’d like to follow along as I write — and be the first to know when the book is released — I’d love to have you on my list.
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