02/04/2026
This is a very personal blog- I share it because maybe it will help someone else moving through a transition and into a new role - caregiver or arc of life- elder.
🌙 Becoming the Elder: The Grief Before the Grief
By PattiAnn Andrejcak
There is a grief no one can prepare you for.
It’s not the grief of death.
It’s the grief that comes before death —the slow unraveling of a parent, the dissolving of their strength, and the moment you suddenly realize the person you used to go to is no longer able to hold you in the way they once did.
This is the grief that arrives quietly in small changes. In stories that repeat. In ability slowly fading.
In fears that never used to exist.
It’s the grief of watching someone you love grow tired inside their own body.
The Living Loss
My mother says “be safe” every time we hang up or I leave her house. I know a lot of people say “ be safe” (which is a whole other thing we could talk about), and she’s always said some version of this — but lately, the fear behind it feels different.
Recently she told me to bring a gun to work. I was meeting a stranger - which is not unusual. But her concern was extreme for a woman who used to live with uncertainty like that everyday in her own business.
My mother.
The woman who once held all the family together.
The one who cooked, cleaned, organized everything, and somehow still found time to worry about us in a way that felt grounding, not panicked.
Hearing her say something like that shocked me. At the same time I understood what was underneath it -I could feel the desperation underneath.
She has expressed so many times - “i need you - I don’t know what I would do without you-take care of yourself, be safe, drive safe.”
Her world has gotten smaller.
Her body is aging and it feels scary.
Her confidence is diminishing.
My father is gone.
Friends and siblings are passing.
And although staying in her home is what she wants-being in a house full of echoes and shadows, that used to feel safe, can be challenging. The place where my dad once physically and emotionally lived inside her life , by her side - as husband, friend, confidant but also as business partners. Together all the time. Is no small thing.
When she says:
“I don’t know how much longer I can do this.”
or
“Sometimes I wish I could just end it.”
I don’t hear a suicidal woman.
I hear a tired one. Emotionally and physically. A woman who also quietly struggles with a belief system that questions - Why did God give me an illness that creates such pain and suffering.
With my dad I heard the quiet voice of - I’ve had enough- My time here is done.
I heard - no more- not like this.
He knew when he was done being human on this earth and he said as much to me several times in a short period of time and it wasn’t long after that . It was just like - I made up my mind and now it’s time to go- and he did.
But my mom, I see the woman grieving not only the loss of her beloved life partner but also the loss of her own abilities. I’m sure my dad was grieving the same loss of abilities but he didn’t express it the same way. He didn’t question God’s role- at least not out loud. My mom questions how she came to this time and why.
To her- aging feels like a slow theft of agency. Every uncertainty becomes amplified.
A woman afraid of every creak in the house, every spider and ant.
A woman who misses her husband so much her heart aches an unbearable ache and It comes through in every word.
A woman who leans on me because she knows I can hold her pain without collapsing into it. She can say the things she doesn’t say to everyone.
The shift from someone having reasonable concern to now fully embodied in fear imaging and sensations - real, alive -a quiet hum that resonates through her nervous system.
And even though I understand it…
it still breaks something inside me a little bit everyday. At the same time, even through the challenge is real, I feel blessed to be her witness, her sounding board, her strength when she feels hers slowly disappearing.
The Daughter Who Still Needs a Mother
There is a unique heartbreak in wanting to go to your mother — for comfort, to share something challenging you may be going through, to feel that safety —and realizing she no longer has the capacity to hold you in that way.
She tries.
She really does and I love her for that. But you know there are just things you simply can’t say anymore, some things you cannot burden her with - she just doesn’t have the strength to handle it, nor should she have to.
Something has shifted. There was no One moment. It is moment by moment. I can feel it every day. Sometimes I try to talk about
It with others but you don’t really know it in the way you know it from an everyday lived experience. There are moments that she seems really good and then there are moments and days that she just isn’t. I have come to know that there is a time you have to say -it’s ok. It’s not my job to change her .. I’ve tried.. it’s the time to accept honor her path- even when you can see another way.
This is the grief of losing the emotional mother long before losing the physical one. The grief of knowing another path- yet allowing her to choose her way.
It’s a grief no one explains or really talks about- I’m talking about it- it’s important- hopefully it helps someone else.
The Strange Becoming of the Elder
This past couple of year, it has hit me in waves:
I am becoming the elder.
Not because I feel wise.
Not because I feel old.
Not because of my age.
But because almost everyone before me in the family line is gone. The elder generation is crossing over.
My father.
His siblings.
My mother’s circle thinning.
My own children now adults.
My grandchildren growing taller every month.
I used to be the one who asked them questions.
Now I’m the one some look to for answers.
I used to be the one who needed guidance… and I actually still do. But now, I’m the emotional anchor.
I used to feel like the daughter.
Now I feel like a humble witness to the miracle of life, the slow decent towards death and the dawning of rebirth. The life of my mother, a woman who has always loved me unconditionally. Thank you for trusting me to witness you. To hold you.
Eldership doesn’t happen in one moment.It happens slowly, quietly, almost reluctantly — in the spaces left behind by the ones who came before you.
The mother begins her descent into surrender.
You begin the ascent into the elder-in-training.
A lifetime of roles invert quietly, tenderly, painfully, lovingly.
Fear becomes her language, and presence becomes yours.
I still don’t “feel” like an elder
in the way the world describes it. I think our society’s lived definition needs some fixing- the current one often says elder = diminished value , erasure, invisibility, purposeless. I don’t see elder in that way. I see elder as a wisdom keeper, ancestral memory holder and story teller. If you’re lucky enough to have an elder with the passion to share the details.
I do feel something shifting in me.
A new steadiness.
A new awareness.
A new responsibility.
A new place of holding and witnessing.
Not the elder in the traditional sense —but an elder in the soul sense.
A bridge between generations.
A keeper of the unseen threads.
A matriarch of memory and meaning. I’ve awakened to a wisdom that comes not only from years but true experiences with Source/God and discovering the truth of who I Am- and who we All Are.
Anticipatory Grief
Some call it anticipatory grief.
The knowing.
The sadness.
The slow goodbye that begins months or many times years before the final one.
I felt this during the last few years of my dad’s life as I learned to shave his face, bath him and spending time just sitting next to him - quietly. At a time when I knew words did not land the same anymore- sometimes I would just lay my head on his shoulder hoping he felt my love and gratitude.
And now I’m feeling it with my mother. I feel her slowly letting go. I feel her moments of clarity and joy. But I also feel her moments of desperation, the confusion, the shrinking of confidence, the fear and uncertainty of what’s happening and the what’s to come.
Don’t get me wrong it’s Not every day. And It’s Not dramatic.
But in the quiet, heartbreaking ways that aging can sometimes reveal itself - when she clings a little tighter when I hug her and the unspoken words that come through her eyes.
It is grief and love woven together.
I see her contraction at the same time my own field is expanding.
Her trajectory is inward,
Mine is upward.
Her energy says:
“I’m afraid of what’s coming.”
Mine says:
“I’m remembering who I’ve always been.”
Sometimes we think we need to descend into their fear in order to understand them. I don’t sense that. For me I see my role as a bridge, holding sacred space and witnessing her life. Yes there’s time I cry, and even sob, I mourn, but I also feel extremely grateful.
I know I’m meant to stay in my clarity so she can feel some stability in a world that feels unstable.
This is a sacred karmic role reversal that many daughters walk but few do consciously. I’m grateful I’m walking it consciously.
I can’t stop her aging.
I can’t take away her fear… not completely.
I can’t choose or change her soul path.
All I can do is hold her hand.
Bring comfort where I can.
Offer steadiness where she shakes. Love her exactly where she is —without trying to pull her to where she used to be or where I want her to go.
At the same time hold my own heart through this transition-as I become the elder I never imagined I’d be.
If you are walking a similar path of caretaking a parent or loved one and/or are transitioning into the elder role.
I wish you ease, patience, love and clarity.
PattiAnn- Ari’KaRuna
Indigo-Life Force Energy Healing
Multidimensional Energy Medicine and Soul guide. Walking the path of remembrance and guiding others home to theirs. 💕🌀
This photo is of my mom and I. It was taken by the creek behind her house. She had been wanting to go down but walking wasn’t an option, neither was a four wheeler.. so my husband came with a 4x4 and we got her there. She reminisced about the days that she helped her brothers with their trapline before they went to school. It was a nice experience for us both.
