My Story, My Why

I'd cared for many dying people over the years. So I knew, professionally, that I could do it. But when it's your own child, it's completely different.

When my daughter Che' was dying, I was scared. I remember standing in the shower one day, overwhelmed, just repeating to myself: "You've got this. You've got this." Until I knew — underneath all the fear — that I had the strength to do it for her.

What I learned in that time is something I carry into every family's home now. You have to detach from the emotion just enough to find your strength — without ever losing the compassion and the love. That's the hardest thing a person can be asked to do. And it's also the most human.

"Every carer deserves to know they're more capable than they feel — and that they don't have to find that strength alone."

Decades at the bedside — and beside families

I'm a registered nurse, dementia consultant and educator. I've managed specialist dementia units, trained hundreds of professionals, and consulted with families in the community. I've seen what works — not in theory, but at kitchen tables, in bathrooms at shower time, in the long afternoons when everything feels hardest.

All of it — the nursing, the teaching, the caring, the grief — went into my framework, The Path of Connection™, and into my book, The Long Goodbye Hello.

Why now

People sometimes ask why now — why not just keep doing what I've always done? The answer is simple. It's about being the change I want to see.

I know I can help people have better lives when dementia knocks at their door. So, just like that day in the shower, I tell myself: "You've got this." And I find the courage to change myself, in order to make other people's lives a little easier.

Because I want to be able to help people all the time — not just when they call. If my words can do that — well. What a gift.