Being There Until the End: A Companion’s Perspective

Not every day in the life of a companion is filled with joy and laughter. Carrie shares with us how some days are quiet, heavy, and deeply moving, reminders of the privilege and responsibility that comes with this role.

I’ve written before about my visits with Emma, a lady I supported for nearly six years. From the very beginning, our time together was filled with small but meaningful activities such as making lavender bags, sharing gentle humour, and enjoying simple companionship. As her dementia progressed and her eyesight and hearing declined, I had to find new ways to connect. Our visits became more sensory: the feel of a soft fabric, the scent of flowers, or simply sitting together while I gently held her hand. She would squeeze my hand so tightly, and I loved how she always called me “Duck,” a small endearment that never failed to make me smile.

The pandemic brought new challenges. Unable to visit in person, I stayed connected in other ways by sending her postcards twice a week without fail and leaving fresh flowers outside her care home. It was my way of making sure she knew she was loved, remembered, and never alone, even in the most isolating times.

In the final stages of her life, I also supported her cousin through some of the most difficult end-of-life decisions, ensuring Emma’s wishes were understood and respected when she could no longer speak for herself. These conversations can be hard, but they give families peace of mind, the reassurance that they are honouring their loved one in exactly the way they would have wanted.

When Emma passed away, I attended her funeral with Neil, her consultant. There, I met more of her family, heard new stories, and saw photos from chapters of her life I had never known. I noticed familiar expressions and little quirks in her relatives, signs that she still lived on in them.

At Plan With Care, we believe that supporting someone at the end of their life means more than just being present in their final days. It’s about building trust over time, adapting as needs change, maintaining dignity, and providing unwavering companionship through the ordinary days and the extraordinary ones ,right up until the very end.

Grief, I’ve come to realise, is the final act of love. And I am grateful for the opportunity to walk alongside people like Emma, honouring her life, her choices, and her story.