About Krista: Krista Powers is the Executive Director of Giving Voice Foundation and a social worker whose career has centered on strengthening communities, improving systems, and ensuring people feel seen and supported through every season of life. She believes meaningful connection begins when we slow down, become fully present, and continue to recognize the whole person beyond a diagnosis.

I’m one of the rare people who was fortunate enough to know from a very young age what I wanted to pursue vocationally. My heart was always drawn to elders.

I imagine that began with my church upbringing and the many opportunities I had growing up to spend time with older adults in all kinds of community settings. My parents taught my sister and me to be generous with our time and to bring joy to “shut-ins,” as people who were homebound were called more than thirty years ago.

They didn’t shy away from taking us to funerals, either. Death was not treated as something frightening or hidden. It was part of life. My parents answered our questions and encouraged our curiosity. Most importantly, they taught us to look beyond how someone’s body or mind might be showing up and to remain interested in who that person was.

Those early lessons pointed me toward social work. But long before I understood systems change, nonprofit leadership, or even what my career might become, I met two women who changed the course of my life.

That was my first deeply personal experience with Alzheimer’s disease. My own grandparents had maintained their cognitive abilities throughout their lives, so I had not witnessed this exact kind of loss so up close and personal before. It taught me that remaining present as someone changes is both a tremendous toll and a profound gift of love.

Years later, I watched my mom become a care partner for more than one dear friend. One of them was Deb Streight. Long before I knew her as Deb, I knew her as Mrs. Streight, my third-grade teacher. She was stylish, compassionate, and steady in her belief that every child could rise to what was asked of them. By fifth grade, I was the kid who “donated” recess to help in her classroom, not because I had to, but because being near her felt like being near something good.

Years later, Deb and my mom became best friends, and Deb became part of our family. She was present for birthdays, family cookouts, and all the ordinary celebrations that make up a life.

Then Deb was diagnosed with frontotemporal dementia. So much changed, but she never stopped being my beloved teacher. She was still pure class, with just the right amount of sass. She remained a bright light and one of the people who taught me to have a vision, make a plan, work hard, come from the heart, and always make room to laugh and play.

These experiences have shaped the way I understand both dementia and the end of life. I have a deep appreciation for end-of-life care, although for a long time I tried to soften that when I explained it to others. I’m now in a chapter of life where I can simply say that I value the ability to calm the busyness of the world and become fully present with someone who is nearing the end of life. I consider it deeply holy time. There is tremendous sorrow as someone we love changes and eventually leaves us. Yet I have also been gifted with so many lessons from people at the end of their lives.

Dementia asks us to hold two truths at once. There is sadness in letting go of what was familiar. There are real and repeated losses. But there can also be great light and levity when we set down our previous expectations and become present with one another in real time. There is still joy and connection. There is still something holy and happy to be found in the moment.

I recently got married, and many wise couples who have been together for forty, fifty, or more years reminded my partner and me that we will need to continue falling in love with each other through every season of life. They reminded us that neither of us will be the same person one year, five years, or fifty years from now. We will need to keep knowing and loving each other as we change.

I feel that lesson in my core when I think about people living with Alzheimer’s disease or another form of dementia. Yes…they have changed and there is loss. But they are still our beloved people. There is still a true connection to feel and create with them in the here and now. We may simply need to slow down, sink into our hearts, and learn to see beyond what has changed or what appears to be missing. That is what I wish more people understood. Slow down. Get present. Savor the people in your life for as long as they are here, in whatever form they are able to be.

Did this story remind you of one of your own?

Whether you’re living with dementia, supporting someone you love, working alongside families, or carrying a memory that matters, we’d be honored to hear it.