Caregiving Pivot #4: When Reasoning No Longer Works

This is the fourth of a series of stories about the turning points that reshaped my life as a caregiver.

A Cold Morning in York

It was February of 2020. Off to Arizona for a couple of months. We had stayed overnight in Des Moines, a familiar stop on our long drives. The next day we headed toward York, Nebraska, where the temperature hovered just above zero and the wind cut straight through us. My husband Uno didn’t like it. We unloaded the computers, two guitars, and our luggage, settling into the hotel with soup I had brought from home. Easy meals, warm meals that didn’t involve fast‑food or grease.

In the morning, it was even colder. Below zero! After breakfast, we packed up to head toward Denver. He sat on the edge of the bed and said, “I want to go home.” I reminded him gently that we were on our way to see the grandkids. After several minutes, he stood up reluctantly, and we walked out into the bitter wind. I kept my cool; I’d learned that much since the memory testing results in June 2018.

The Silent Drive to Denver

Somewhere on that drive, something in him snapped. He became angry — not irritated, but deeply unsettled — and insisted we turn south toward Arizona. I told him there weren’t good roads that direction and that we needed to get to Denver first. He went silent. He didn’t talk for FOUR HOURS. Four hours of silence. When he finally spoke, he said, “When we get to Denver, take me to the bus station. I’ll take a bus home.”

I knew he couldn’t navigate that. There are no buses that go to our small town in Wisconsin. He didn’t speak much for the rest of the seven‑hour drive. My mind was really trying to figure this one out. I assured him that we would go to Arizona after spending a night or two with our son and family in Denver.

Once we reached Denver, the storm inside him passed. He slipped back into himself — laughing with the grandkids, enjoying the warmth of the house, playing guitar. I knew the episodes weren’t over, but for a few days, we rested.

The Book That Changed Everything

That night, after everyone went to bed, I sat up with my iPad and searched for anything that could help me understand what had happened. I found a Kindle book called When Reasoning No Longer Works. I devoured it — late into the night and again the next morning.

It explained catastrophic reactions: sudden fear, anger, or refusal triggered by confusion or overwhelm. It described exactly what I had seen — the unpredictable break in logic, the emotional flooding, the inability to process reasoning. It gave me language for something I had only felt. And it told me what caregivers eventually learn: When the brain short‑circuits, compassion works better than logic.

Proverbs 15:1 A soft answer turns away wrath, but a harsh word stirs up anger. (WEB*)

Angel Smits** writes, “Ask yourself if you really have to win this argument. Why? If you can’t answer those questions, it’s a clue to back off. If you can — ask yourself again. There is really nothing important enough to fight over — and that will be the result if you persist.”

This is one of those lines caregivers don’t forget. It’s simple, but it changes everything.

I started to realize that anytime I had a different opinion or choice, it might set up a negative reaction in him. If I simply diverted, there would be no argument. Chances were, if it was something I really needed to do, I could do it quietly or it could wait.

It’s the moment you stop trying to “win” and start trying to protect the peace. Not in a go ahead do anything kind of way, but in recognizing that his brain could not complete that task. I either had to take care of it or forget it.

Arizona: A Soft Landing After a Hard Week

After what turned out to be a lovely weekend with my son and his family, when Monday came, we headed south through Colorado, climbing and descending the snowy passes, then dropping into New Mexico where the sun finally found us. By the time we reached Arizona, the familiar landscape felt like a balm — the saguaros, the wide sky, the long stretches of desert that had always steadied us.

We couldn’t get into our condo yet, so we stayed at an Airbnb in Apache Junction, AZ. It was a mother‑in‑law suite attached to a lovely couple’s home — a small sitting room, a bedroom, a shared kitchen. It became our temporary sanctuary.

The Host Who Saw What I Didn’t Want to See

Though I hadn’t said anything to our hosts about my husband’s condition before we arrived, I didn’t have to. She saw it immediately. The first morning she pulled me aside and said gently, “You know you’re going to have to put him in a home someday.”

Her words stunned me. I wasn’t ready to hear that. I wasn’t ready to imagine that. Running away, maybe. But not that.

Still, her comment stayed with me. It was the first time someone outside our family named the truth I was slowly learning.

Gentle Days in the Desert

Hiking was difficult that winter — because of an unusual amount of storms and rain. So we found gentler ways to spend our days. We took an excursion to see the wild horses, watching them move through the brush with a calm that settled both of us. We rode a small riverboat through a canyon, letting the quiet water and warm sun ease the tension of the previous week.

These were soft days. No pressure. No expectations. Just being together.

We went to Guitar Center where I talked to the techs and purchased a digital processor to use with the computer; something simpler than our Protools HD system. I chose a Focusrite Scarlett 8i8 and my husband barely talked during the conversation about what I needed.

We did manage one last walk to our favorite spot in the Superstitions, where years earlier he had spelled “UNO + JODI” with small rocks. We visited that place five times over the years, rebuilding the names once, then watching them stay. I put a photo of that rock formation in his bedroom recently. It feels like a marker of who we were.

And from that location, we broadcast our first two remote Our Kind of Church worship gatherings. One outside, with the mountains behind us. Another time inside, with the keyboard, the laptop, and guitar. Ministry didn’t stop. Life didn’t stop. We simply adapted.

Understanding Catastrophic Reactions

The book I had read in Denver helped me understand what was happening inside my husband’s mind. When reasoning no longer works, the brain reacts unpredictably — fear, anger, refusal, withdrawal. The person isn’t being stubborn. They’re overwhelmed. Their internal wiring misfires.

I began to take a very purposeful different stance — not arguing, not correcting, not convincing. Instead:
· redirecting
· softening
· avoiding conflict
· offering emotional safety
· treating him with the compassion of a scared child

Anything that made his day better, made my day better. 

The Road Toward March

We enjoyed the warm weather, the gentle days, the familiar desert. And then we headed over to the little town where we had rented a house for a couple of months. It was March of 2020.

The world was about to change. This was the pivot that changed us first.

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If you’re walking a caregiving road, I hope this story reminds you that you’re not alone. Feel free to share it with someone who might need to hear it. Should you ever want to share your own story, I’m here to listen. Reach out through the contact page and I’ll email back.

If you’re new to this caregiving series, you can read the purpose behind it here: Why Write About Caregiving.

 

© Jodi Bloom, July 2026

always find the hope

Quotes:

*WEB World English Bible, public domain

** “When Reasoning No Longer Works.” © 2017 Angel Smits. available on Amazon.