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Yahoo
a day ago
- Health
- Yahoo
My dad is living with a rare neurological disease — here's how I'm navigating Father's Day in the midst of grief
My dad was diagnosed with Progressive Supranuclear Palsy. Here's how it has affected our lives. (Photos via Melina Brum) When your relationship with your dad has been reshaped by illness or loss, Father's Day can hit differently. The day is advertised as joyful, filled with backyard BBQs and picture-perfect moments, with an unspoken implication that everyone's dad is healthy, present or alive. At least, that's how it feels when you're someone who's hurting. The truth is, for many, the day highlights a sense of loss. It can bring up emotions of grief, love and everything in between. If you're feeling something along those lines, you're not alone. Father's Day can be heavy, and that's fair to acknowledge. There was a time when it meant searching for the perfect tool or tie — a small token to show my love. Now, I'd give anything just for him to be OK. Two and a half years ago, my dad was officially diagnosed with a late-onset neurodegenerative disease, Progressive Supranuclear Palsy (PSP). I say "officially" because there's no way to determine when it all started. Advertisement You can never really pinpoint the beginning, and you only begin to understand it as it progresses. This is why people are usually diagnosed in the thick of it. And that's exactly what happened to my father, Victor Brum, when he was 63. My dad was the type to constantly be outdoors, riding his bike, maintaining his garden and doing all the handyman things around the house. Over the years, we've slowly watched him become a shell of himself, unable to do even the simplest of tasks he once did with ease. This article is for informational purposes only and is not a substitute for professional medical advice, diagnosis or treatment. Contact a qualified medical professional before engaging in any physical activity, or making any changes to your diet, medication or lifestyle. Around 2019, my dad began showing symptoms of depression and anxiety. As a family, we did everything we could to support him, hoping he'd get better — therapy, walks, medication, you name it. But as time went on, we began to notice other changes. My dad in 2019 versus my dad in 2025. (Photos via Melina Brum) He started to isolate himself, which was very out of character for him. He began saying his body felt like an "old man," and at first, we thought it was just the weight of his mental health issues slowing him down. Advertisement But then, we noticed something else. His right hand started doing something strange — he always held it across his chest, raised and stiff. He complained about it often, but his doctor dismissed it as arthritis. As the years went on, the changes became harder to ignore. Uncles and cousins started to ask, "Hey, is Uncle Vic OK? His speech seems a bit off — he's kind of slurring his words." He began losing his balance unexpectedly, which was off-putting and strange. I can still hear my brother urging him to go to the doctor, convinced he may have suffered a stroke. In 2022, it took a hard fall down the stairs (backwards, might I add), a cracked skull, broken ribs and a hospital visit to push the diagnosis along. A diagnosis that came only after we had seen him slip through so many different phases of confusion and frustration. Once we found out, it was a hard road to acceptance for all — which we're still on. What is Progressive Supranuclear Palsy? The name of the disease is pretty intense, and you can only imagine what went through our minds when we heard the news (something along the lines of "What the hell is that?"). It's a rare neurological disease that progresses and gets worse over time — and it's just as horrible as it sounds. Advertisement It's part of a category of diseases called Atypical Parkinsonian Disorders (sometimes referred to as Parkinson's Plus). It's caused by the progressive death of nerve cells in certain areas of the brain, all thanks to the overproduction of a nasty little protein called "tau," which damages the cells. What are the symptoms of Progressive Supranuclear Palsy? The disease is extremely hard to identify and often gets misdiagnosed as Parkinson's disease, a stroke or depression — all of which we thought my dad might've suffered from — due to overlapping symptoms. It can take years to get the right diagnosis, which only adds to the frustration of it all. Here's a list of the main symptoms that can help decipher PSP from other contenders: Progressive loss of balance Backward falls Vision issues Cognitive changes Difficulty swallowing Speech changes Decreased facial expressions The main thing I've learned about PSP is that it affects each individual in a unique manner. Symptoms and progression can look very different for everyone, which makes it more unpredictable and even harder to know what to expect. Coping with the diagnosis Life has been extremely challenging since the diagnosis. When we first found out, we cried, panicked and cried some more. So many questions ran through our heads like, "What caused this?" and "Why did this have to happen to us?" To this day, these thoughts continue to race through my mind. Advertisement Fast forward from when we found out to today: My dad is now living in a long-term care facility, because, unfortunately, he needs a lot more care than we can provide him with. The rollercoaster of emotions we've been riding since 2022 include anger, sadness, grief, despair and guilt — just to name a few. My dad before and after his Progressive Supranuclear Palsy diagnosis. (Photos via Melina Brum) The feeling of not knowing, of watching him change without fully understanding why, has been one of the hardest things we've had to bear. I wish someone would have told me this when he first got diagnosed. But it's also why I'm sharing this now — to spread awareness, and to help others who might be going through something similar. At this stage of his journey, he's pretty much wheelchair-bound and very stiff, with slurred speech and a tendency to choke. He has his good days and his bad days — he's a trooper, and I commend him for his strength. He's still my strong daddio, after all. Want to share your experience with a life-changing diagnosis? Contact us at and you could be featured in an upcoming Yahoo Canada article. Dealing with ambiguous loss Since my dad's diagnosis, ambiguous loss has been a major part of my life. Ambiguous loss, according to the Mayo Clinic, is "a person's profound sense of loss and sadness that is not associated with a death of a loved one." Advertisement There are different types of ambiguous loss: type 1 and type 2. Type 1 deals with a physical loss that you're unsure of, like disappearances, kidnappings and natural disasters. It can also come from loss of contact, like divorce or adoption. Type 2 refers to a psychological loss: when a loved one is present but has changed — like Alzheimer's disease and forms of dementia. This is what my family and I have been dealing with, and is exactly what I mean when I say we watched my dad become a shell of himself. Of course, I acknowledge he is physically here, and for that, I am grateful each day. However, it's been an immense change. First and foremost, the diagnosis affects my father. But for the people around him, that's another kind of excruciating pain that looms over us day in and day out. Over the past couple of years, I've been on a treacherous journey of coming to terms with the fact that who he was, with all of his abilities and the person I'm used to, is no longer present. The contrast between what was and what is no longer is so deafeningly loud most days. And that's led to anticipatory grief. Progressive Supranuclear Palsy is a life-altering illness. (Photo via Melina Brum) What is anticipatory grief? We have all or will experience grief — but sometimes, you can feel it months or years before it even happens. That's anticipatory grief. Conventional grief is something experienced after a loss, but with certain impending situations, you can feel it beforehand. Advertisement When people are faced with a terminal illness or an incurable disease, it's normal to go through the feelings and emotions of grief in advance. I've been victim to many overwhelming emotions, ranging from gut-wrenching sadness to uncontainable irritability. I've lost sleep, my appetite and concentration over the thought of what my wedding might look like without my dad walking me down the aisle or him not being there to meet my future children. I know we don't have control over these things, but when you're faced with something so matter-of-fact, it's hard not to start grieving what you thought your life would look like. When you're a little girl, you think your daddy is going to be there until he's very old and grey — you don't imagine being 29 and visiting him in an old age home. How my family is coping My days are very unpredictable. Some moments are better than others, but I never know when a really tough one will sneak up on me. It's definitely been a learning process — one that keeps evolving. What helps me? Some days, not much. But I do tend to look through old photos, videos and text messages all the time, and while that might sound torturous, I find it healing. It reminds me of how grateful I am for all the memories, regardless of what we're going through now. It also gives me a moment to shift my perspective, to reflect on how quickly this disease progresses and to remind myself not to take anything for granted. Advertisement My mom is the best caregiver out there — her patience and strength are unmatched. It's one of the hardest jobs in life, and it takes a toll mentally and physically. Watching her give everything she has to my dad while still trying to take care of herself has been both heartbreaking and inspiring. As a family, we've had to adapt in ways we never imagined. Each day has become a new lesson in patience, resilience and finding strength. My mom and I during a PSP awareness walk. (Photo via Melina Brum) One thing I've come to realize throughout this journey is that it's crucial to take care of yourself, too. If you put yourself on the back burner (which is easy to do), it's impossible to show up for your loved ones. Some small ways to recharge include moments of quiet reflection, time spent with friends and family, leaning on each other for support and self-care, which looks different for everyone. I hope our story offers even a sliver of the comfort we so desperately needed during our own journey. With that, I will share that while not much can help my dad's disease, some products have helped provide relief. In the beginning, we would've loved to have a guide of things needed to help navigate this illness. So, if you're a caregiver experiencing a similar situation, I'd love to share some assistance products that can lend a helping hand. If you want to learn more about Progressive Supranuclear Palsy or find support in your personal journey, you can head to CurePSP for more information. To donate to the cause and help raise awareness, you can support CurePSP's mission here. Anything helps. For pain relief: For bathroom assistance: For transportation assistance: For eating assistance: For sleep safety: More accessibility items: Self-care subscriptions, therapy, books & journals: Let us know what you think by emailing us, commenting below and tweeting @YahooStyleCA! Follow us on Twitter and Instagram.
Yahoo
2 days ago
- Health
- Yahoo
My dad is living with a rare neurological disease — here's how I'm navigating Father's Day in the midst of grief
When your relationship with your dad has been reshaped by illness or loss, Father's Day can hit differently. The day is advertised as joyful, filled with backyard BBQs and picture-perfect moments, with an unspoken implication that everyone's dad is healthy, present or alive. At least, that's how it feels when you're someone who's hurting. The truth is, for many, the day highlights a sense of loss. It can bring up emotions of grief, love and everything in between. If you're feeling something along those lines, you're not alone. Father's Day can be heavy, and that's fair to acknowledge. There was a time when it meant searching for the perfect tool or tie — a small token to show my love. Now, I'd give anything just for him to be OK. Two and a half years ago, my dad was officially diagnosed with a late-onset neurodegenerative disease, Progressive Supranuclear Palsy (PSP). I say "officially" because there's no way to determine when it all started. You can never really pinpoint the beginning, and you only begin to understand it as it progresses. This is why people are usually diagnosed in the thick of it. And that's exactly what happened to my father, Victor Brum, when he was 63. My dad was the type to constantly be outdoors, riding his bike, maintaining his garden and doing all the handyman things around the house. Over the years, we've slowly watched him become a shell of himself, unable to do even the simplest of tasks he once did with ease. This article is for informational purposes only and is not a substitute for professional medical advice, diagnosis or treatment. Contact a qualified medical professional before engaging in any physical activity, or making any changes to your diet, medication or lifestyle. Around 2019, my dad began showing symptoms of depression and anxiety. As a family, we did everything we could to support him, hoping he'd get better — therapy, walks, medication, you name it. But as time went on, we began to notice other changes. He started to isolate himself, which was very out of character for him. He began saying his body felt like an "old man," and at first, we thought it was just the weight of his mental health issues slowing him down. But then, we noticed something else. His right hand started doing something strange — he always held it across his chest, raised and stiff. He complained about it often, but his doctor dismissed it as arthritis. As the years went on, the changes became harder to ignore. Uncles and cousins started to ask, "Hey, is Uncle Vic OK? His speech seems a bit off — he's kind of slurring his words." He began losing his balance unexpectedly, which was off-putting and strange. I can still hear my brother urging him to go to the doctor, convinced he may have suffered a stroke. In 2022, it took a hard fall down the stairs (backwards, might I add), a cracked skull, broken ribs and a hospital visit to push the diagnosis along. A diagnosis that came only after we had seen him slip through so many different phases of confusion and frustration. Once we found out, it was a hard road to acceptance for all — which we're still on. The name of the disease is pretty intense, and you can only imagine what went through our minds when we heard the news (something along the lines of "What the hell is that?"). It's a rare neurological disease that progresses and gets worse over time — and it's just as horrible as it sounds. It's part of a category of diseases called Atypical Parkinsonian Disorders (sometimes referred to as Parkinson's Plus). It's caused by the progressive death of nerve cells in certain areas of the brain, all thanks to the overproduction of a nasty little protein called "tau," which damages the cells. The disease is extremely hard to identify and often gets misdiagnosed as Parkinson's disease, a stroke or depression — all of which we thought my dad might've suffered from — due to overlapping symptoms. It can take years to get the right diagnosis, which only adds to the frustration of it all. Here's a list of the main symptoms that can help decipher PSP from other contenders: Progressive loss of balance Backward falls Vision issues Cognitive changes Difficulty swallowing Speech changes Decreased facial expressions The main thing I've learned about PSP is that it affects each individual in a unique manner. Symptoms and progression can look very different for everyone, which makes it more unpredictable and even harder to know what to expect. Life has been extremely challenging since the diagnosis. When we first found out, we cried, panicked and cried some more. So many questions ran through our heads like, "What caused this?" and "Why did this have to happen to us?" To this day, these thoughts continue to race through my mind. Fast forward from when we found out to today: My dad is now living in a long-term care facility, because, unfortunately, he needs a lot more care than we can provide him with. The rollercoaster of emotions we've been riding since 2022 include anger, sadness, grief, despair and guilt — just to name a few. The feeling of not knowing, of watching him change without fully understanding why, has been one of the hardest things we've had to bear. I wish someone would have told me this when he first got diagnosed. But it's also why I'm sharing this now — to spread awareness, and to help others who might be going through something similar. At this stage of his journey, he's pretty much wheelchair-bound and very stiff, with slurred speech and a tendency to choke. He has his good days and his bad days — he's a trooper, and I commend him for his strength. He's still my strong daddio, after my dad's diagnosis, ambiguous loss has been a major part of my life. Ambiguous loss, according to the Mayo Clinic, is "a person's profound sense of loss and sadness that is not associated with a death of a loved one." There are different types of ambiguous loss: type 1 and type 2. Type 1 deals with a physical loss that you're unsure of, like disappearances, kidnappings and natural disasters. It can also come from loss of contact, like divorce or adoption. Type 2 refers to a psychological loss: when a loved one is present but has changed — like Alzheimer's disease and forms of dementia. This is what my family and I have been dealing with, and is exactly what I mean when I say we watched my dad become a shell of himself. Of course, I acknowledge he is physically here, and for that, I am grateful each day. However, it's been an immense change. First and foremost, the diagnosis affects my father. But for the people around him, that's another kind of excruciating pain that looms over us day in and day out. Over the past couple of years, I've been on a treacherous journey of coming to terms with the fact that who he was, with all of his abilities and the person I'm used to, is no longer present. The contrast between what was and what is no longer is so deafeningly loud most days. And that's led to anticipatory grief. We have all or will experience grief — but sometimes, you can feel it months or years before it even happens. That's anticipatory grief. Conventional grief is something experienced after a loss, but with certain impending situations, you can feel it beforehand. When people are faced with a terminal illness or an incurable disease, it's normal to go through the feelings and emotions of grief in advance. I've been victim to many overwhelming emotions, ranging from gut-wrenching sadness to uncontainable irritability. I've lost sleep, my appetite and concentration over the thought of what my wedding might look like without my dad walking me down the aisle or him not being there to meet my future children. I know we don't have control over these things, but when you're faced with something so matter-of-fact, it's hard not to start grieving what you thought your life would look like. When you're a little girl, you think your daddy is going to be there until he's very old and grey — you don't imagine being 29 and visiting him in an old age home. My days are very unpredictable. Some moments are better than others, but I never know when a really tough one will sneak up on me. It's definitely been a learning process — one that keeps evolving. What helps me? Some days, not much. But I do tend to look through old photos, videos and text messages all the time, and while that might sound torturous, I find it healing. It reminds me of how grateful I am for all the memories, regardless of what we're going through now. It also gives me a moment to shift my perspective, to reflect on how quickly this disease progresses and to remind myself not to take anything for granted. My mom is the best caregiver out there — her patience and strength are unmatched. It's one of the hardest jobs in life, and it takes a toll mentally and physically. Watching her give everything she has to my dad while still trying to take care of herself has been both heartbreaking and inspiring. As a family, we've had to adapt in ways we never imagined. Each day has become a new lesson in patience, resilience and finding strength. One thing I've come to realize throughout this journey is that it's crucial to take care of yourself, too. If you put yourself on the back burner (which is easy to do), it's impossible to show up for your loved ones. Some small ways to recharge include moments of quiet reflection, time spent with friends and family, leaning on each other for support and self-care, which looks different for everyone. I hope our story offers even a sliver of the comfort we so desperately needed during our own journey. With that, I will share that while not much can help my dad's disease, some products have helped provide relief. In the beginning, we would've loved to have a guide of things needed to help navigate this illness. So, if you're a caregiver experiencing a similar situation, I'd love to share some assistance products that can lend a helping Tissue Percussion Massager Electric Heating Pad Magnesium Oil Spray with MSM CB2 Hemp Cream: Extra Strength Pain Relief Cream Toilet Support Rail Portable Urinal for Men Smart Bidet Toilet Seat Shower Suction Cup Grab Bars Deluxe Aluminum Shower Bench Positioning Bed Pad with Handles Single Axle Blue Streak Wheelchair Four Wheel Rollator with Fold Up Removable Back Support Gait Belt: Anti-Slip Transfer Aid Adaptive Utensils (Right-Handed) 8 oz Nosey Cup Foldable Food Tray Table Bib with Crumb Catcher Bed Rails VTech Digital Audio Monitor Owlet Cam: Video and Audio Monitor 360 Degree Swivel Seat Cushion Pill Crusher and Grinder Anti-Slip Non-Skid Crew Socks Skechers Men's Equalizer: Slip-on Shoe Headspace Subscription BetterHelp therapy How to Carry What Can't Be Fixed: A Journal for Grief Loss Trauma and Resilience Hardcover Soulbroken: A Guidebook for Your Journey Through Ambiguous Grief Expected Loss: Coping with Anticipatory Grief The Grief Deck: Rituals, Meditations, and Tools for Moving through Loss It's OK That You're Not OK: Meeting Grief and Loss in a Culture That Doesn't Understand
Yahoo
05-04-2025
- Health
- Yahoo
I felt lost after my dad was diagnosed with a rare neurological disease. Here's what I wish someone would have told me
Two and a half years ago, my dad was officially diagnosed with a late-onset neurodegenerative disease, Progressive Supranuclear Palsy (PSP). I say "officially" because there's no way to determine when it all started. You can never really pinpoint the beginning, and you only begin to understand it as it progresses. This is why people are usually diagnosed in the thick of it. And that's exactly what happened to my father, Victor Brum, when he was 63. My dad was the type to constantly be outdoors, riding his bike, maintaining his garden and doing all the handyman things around the house. Over the years, we've slowly watched him become a shell of himself, unable to do even the simplest of tasks he once did with ease. This article is for informational purposes only and is not a substitute for professional medical advice, diagnosis or treatment. Contact a qualified medical professional before engaging in any physical activity, or making any changes to your diet, medication or lifestyle. Around 2019, my dad began showing symptoms of depression and anxiety. As a family, we did everything we could to support him, hoping he'd get better — therapy, walks, medication, you name it. But as time went on, we began to notice other changes. He started to isolate himself, which was very out of character for him. He began saying his body felt like an "old man," and at first, we thought it was just the weight of his mental health issues slowing him down. But then, we noticed something else. His right hand started doing something strange — he always held it across his chest, raised and stiff. He complained about it often, but his doctor dismissed it as arthritis. As the years went on, the changes became harder to ignore. Uncles and cousins started to ask, "Hey, is Uncle Vic OK? His speech seems a bit off — he's kind of slurring his words." He began losing his balance unexpectedly, which was off-putting and strange. I can still hear my brother urging him to go to the doctor, convinced he may have suffered a stroke. In 2022, it took a hard fall down the stairs (backwards, might I add), a cracked skull, broken ribs and a hospital visit to push the diagnosis along. A diagnosis that came only after we had seen him slip through so many different phases of confusion and frustration. Once we found out, it was a hard road to acceptance for all — which we're still on. The name of the disease is pretty intense, and you can only imagine what went through our minds when we heard the news (something along the lines of "What the hell is that?"). It's a rare neurological disease that progresses and gets worse over time — and it's just as horrible as it sounds. It's part of a category of diseases called Atypical Parkinsonian Disorders (sometimes referred to as Parkinson's Plus). It's caused by the progressive death of nerve cells in certain areas of the brain, all thanks to the overproduction of a nasty little protein called "tau," which damages the cells. The disease is extremely hard to identify and often gets misdiagnosed as Parkinson's disease, a stroke or depression — all of which we thought my dad might've suffered from — due to overlapping symptoms. It can take years to get the right diagnosis, which only adds to the frustration of it all. Here's a list of the main symptoms that can help decipher PSP from other contenders: Progressive loss of balance Backward falls Vision issues Cognitive changes Difficulty swallowing Speech changes Decreased facial expressions The main thing I've learned about PSP is that it affects each individual in a unique manner. Symptoms and progression can look very different for everyone, which makes it more unpredictable and even harder to know what to expect. Life has been extremely challenging since the diagnosis. When we first found out, we cried, panicked and cried some more. So many questions ran through our heads like, "What caused this?" and "Why did this have to happen to us?" To this day, these thoughts continue to race through my mind. Fast forward from when we found out to today: My dad is now living in a long-term care facility, because, unfortunately, he needs a lot more care than we can provide him with. The rollercoaster of emotions we've been riding since 2022 include anger, sadness, grief, despair and guilt — just to name a few. The feeling of not knowing, of watching him change without fully understanding why, has been one of the hardest things we've had to bear. I wish someone would have told me this when he first got diagnosed. But it's also why I'm sharing this now — to spread awareness, and to help others who might be going through something similar. At this stage of his journey, he's pretty much wheelchair-bound and very stiff, with slurred speech and a tendency to choke. He has his good days and his bad days — he's a trooper, and I commend him for his strength. He's still my strong daddio, after my dad's diagnosis, ambiguous loss has been a major part of my life. Ambiguous loss, according to the Mayo Clinic, is "a person's profound sense of loss and sadness that is not associated with a death of a loved one." There are different types of ambiguous loss: type 1 and type 2. Type 1 deals with a physical loss that you're unsure of, like disappearances, kidnappings and natural disasters. It can also come from loss of contact, like divorce or adoption. Type 2 refers to a psychological loss: when a loved one is present but has changed — like Alzheimer's disease and forms of dementia. This is what my family and I have been dealing with, and is exactly what I mean when I say we watched my dad become a shell of himself. Of course, I acknowledge he is physically here, and for that, I am grateful each day. However, it's been an immense change. First and foremost, the diagnosis affects my father. But for the people around him, that's another kind of excruciating pain that looms over us day in and day out. Over the past couple of years, I've been on a treacherous journey of coming to terms with the fact that who he was, with all of his abilities and the person I'm used to, is no longer present. The contrast between what was and what is no longer is so deafeningly loud most days. And that's led to anticipatory grief. We have all or will experience grief — but sometimes, you can feel it months or years before it even happens. That's anticipatory grief. Conventional grief is something experienced after a loss, but with certain impending situations, you can feel it beforehand. When people are faced with a terminal illness or an incurable disease, it's normal to go through the feelings and emotions of grief in advance. I've been victim to many overwhelming emotions, ranging from gut-wrenching sadness to uncontainable irritability. I've lost sleep, my appetite and concentration over the thought of what my wedding might look like without my dad walking me down the aisle or him not being there to meet my future children. I know we don't have control over these things, but when you're faced with something so matter-of-fact, it's hard not to start grieving what you thought your life would look like. When you're a little girl, you think your daddy is going to be there until he's very old and grey — you don't imagine being 29 and visiting him in an old age home. My days are very unpredictable. Some moments are better than others, but I never know when a really tough one will sneak up on me. It's definitely been a learning process — one that keeps evolving. What helps me? Some days, not much. But I do tend to look through old photos, videos and text messages all the time, and while that might sound torturous, I find it healing. It reminds me of how grateful I am for all the memories, regardless of what we're going through now. It also gives me a moment to shift my perspective, to reflect on how quickly this disease progresses and to remind myself not to take anything for granted. My mom is the best caregiver out there — her patience and strength are unmatched. It's one of the hardest jobs in life, and it takes a toll mentally and physically. Watching her give everything she has to my dad while still trying to take care of herself has been both heartbreaking and inspiring. As a family, we've had to adapt in ways we never imagined. Each day has become a new lesson in patience, resilience and finding strength. One thing I've come to realize throughout this journey is that it's crucial to take care of yourself, too. If you put yourself on the back burner (which is easy to do), it's impossible to show up for your loved ones. Some small ways to recharge include moments of quiet reflection, time spent with friends and family, leaning on each other for support and self-care, which looks different for everyone. I hope our story offers even a sliver of the comfort we so desperately needed during our own journey. With that, I will share that while not much can help my dad's disease, some products have helped provide relief. In the beginning, we would've loved to have a guide of things needed to help navigate this illness. So, if you're a caregiver experiencing a similar situation, I'd love to share some assistance products that can lend a helping Tissue Percussion Massager Electric Heating Pad Magnesium Oil Spray with MSM CB2 Hemp Cream: Extra Strength Pain Relief Cream Toilet Support Rail Portable Urinal for Men Smart Bidet Toilet Seat Shower Suction Cup Grab Bars Deluxe Aluminum Shower Bench Positioning Bed Pad with Handles Single Axle Blue Streak Wheelchair Four Wheel Rollator with Fold Up Removable Back Support Gait Belt: Anti-Slip Transfer Aid Adaptive Utensils (Right-Handed) 8 oz Nosey Cup Foldable Food Tray Table Bed Rails VTech Digital Audio Monitor Owlet Cam: Video and Audio Monitor 360 Degree Swivel Seat Cushion Pill Crusher and Grinder Anti-Slip Non-Skid Crew Socks Skechers Men's Equalizer: Slip-on Shoe Headspace Subscription BetterHelp therapy How to Carry What Can't Be Fixed: A Journal for Grief Loss Trauma and Resilience Hardcover Soulbroken: A Guidebook for Your Journey Through Ambiguous Grief Expected Loss: Coping with Anticipatory Grief The Grief Deck: Rituals, Meditations, and Tools for Moving through Loss It's OK That You're Not OK: Meeting Grief and Loss in a Culture That Doesn't Understand
