There was a moment with my mom that I won’t forget. I was sitting with her, trying to engage her in something, anything. I suggested an activity. She didn’t respond. I tried again, a different way. Nothing. After a few minutes, I stopped. Not because I didn’t care. Because I didn’t know what to do next. That was the hardest part. Not the time. Not the responsibility. The uncertainty. I remember thinking, I should know how to do this. So I did what most people do. I looked for answers. I read....

If you’re caring for someone with incontinence, you learn something quickly that no one really tells you upfront: What looks like “behavior” is often communication. Agitation. Restlessness. Resistance. It’s easy to assume things are getting worse cognitively. But often, it’s something far more basic—and far more fixable. Discomfort. A wet or soiled brief, even for a short time, can trigger distress. And when someone is nonverbal or struggling to express needs, that discomfort doesn’t come out...

My goal was simple. I wanted to be able to reach my mom...consistently. Not once. Not occasionally. Every time I sat down with her. And for a moment, I thought I had found something that worked. She was holding it, interacting with it, engaged in a way I hadn’t seen in a long time. It felt like a breakthrough. But the next time I reached for it, I stopped. It didn’t feel clean. I didn’t know where it had been, how it had been handled, or how to reset it quickly. So I didn’t use it. And in...