I had a weird reaction driving to work today. The morning sun put a crisp spin on trees and the occasional lush meadow. All the houses I passed looked inviting, as though their windows had just been cleaned and their curtains washed. No one pulled out in front of me from a side street; no delivery truck slowed me down.

I get a ton of emails weekly from one particular friend whose dozens of friends all send her emails that she then passes on. You know the kind: the truth about cats and dogs, the ten scariest pictures of the year, photos of leopards playing with newly hatched chicks, etc. I do read and enjoy them and sometimes pass them on to others, though rarely.

I recently had a conversation with a caregiver, actually a former caregiver, that I must say surprised me. The man was adamant that I pay attention to what he had to say. He actually horned in on a conversation I was having with another caregiver about her ill spouse.

After giving in (not that I had much of a choice), I understood why he wanted, and needed, to tell his story.He’d stepped up to the plate to help his mother when she became ill and cared for her for over two years. Nothing unusual there, as many of us know. But then he proceeded to fill in the details.

He’d always been the “bad boy” in his family, his siblings being the responsible, fine upstanding citizens and family members, towering over him in all their achievements. But when his mom was in need, he did a sort of turnaround. He moved in with her and cared for her night and day, attending to all her various needs.

As he explained this, his eyes were aglow. He said that the experience changed him and for the better. He noted that he’d not only surprised his siblings and mom, but that he’d actually surprised himself. He became more disciplined and focused. He grew to love and truly appreciate his mother more than ever as he tried to anticipate her needs. He learned about assisting with the tasks of daily living. He dealt with doctors and medical emergencies. And then he said—and I didn’t exactly see this coming—that he’d never felt so vital in his life! He still missed his mother sorely even though she’d died a few years ago. And he remembered that period as a magic time in his life, giving him purpose and a pride he’d never felt before.

So, I’m glad he interrupted. And I am still intrigued by his perspective. Most times in my various caregiving experiences, I felt I wasn’t doing enough. Often I was more worried about turning everything to a positive, and was frustrated when I couldn’t. Certainly I felt good when my dad or my husband’s mom seemed cheered or ate a little better on a given day…but I experienced no rush like this former bad boy enjoyed.

Which makes me want to ask you: Does the good and often difficult care you provide make you feel vital? Always? Sometimes? Never? All of the above? Let me know if this story strikes a chord in you. Whatever your reaction, take a page from this tale and give yourself a gold star today for the vital care you give!

It’s not every day that you open an e-mail that knocks your socks off! But last week, we received one that did just that, and more.

We often get thanks for our articles, readers telling us why a topic or profile touched their head or heart in some way, but this one—well, it literally makes something we printed a lifesaver.

Rather out of the blue, a woman caring for her parents and with health issues of her own read “A Eureka Moment,” by Debbie Newsham, published in our November/December 2006 issue. And not a moment too soon, for, as she explained to us, she had attempted suicide a few days before.

Debbie Newsham’s article (a winning essay in last year’s “Give A Caregiver a Break” essay contest) helped this caregiver “put many things in perspective.” She’s already taking action, she says, on the job and home front. As she puts it, we’re “rearranging our lives instead of fighting it,” adding that “A Eureka Moment” is “taped to my bathroom mirror to remind me every day.”

Our reaction here? “Wow!” We’re still shaking our heads in amazement and awe.

Debbie Newsham’s reaction? “To hear that another human being, somewhere in the world, read my words, was moved (and in such a positive dramatic fashion) is stunning to say the least. My greatest wish has been that my father’s illness would ultimately lead to a ‘greater good.’ I cannot believe that ‘this is it.' Those 500 little words that you and your magazine requested have profoundly changed at least two lives.”

“Wow!” we say again, to Debbie’s powerful words and wish—and this caregiver’s outlook so profoundly changed by them.

A phone conversation I had last week with a caregiver I'll call Kay has had me smiling for days.

Kay called to ask how to begin investigating respite care for herself and her sister who are helping their elderly parents. Her folks don't need a lot of help yet, but when she visits she's been noticing inattention to details, some distractedness and a little less cleanliness, among other things. Whenever she's suggested getting them some help, however, her parents have balked. They're retired professionals who have the means to pay for cleaning and other assistance but dislike the idea of spending the money and having strangers in their home. I suggested that Kay call a local home-aid organization such as Home Instead Senior Care to learn about services offered, and then we chatted further.

Last Saturday night, I was at a big party where (what a surprise!) one of the topics of conversation was caregiving. A friend was there with her now-healthy husband, so her story has a happy ending. But getting there wasn't easy. The months and months of dialysis, the kidney transplant, the time it took to get a match, the subsequent problems he had when they were afraid the kidney might be rejected—every detail was very fresh in her mind.

EVERYWHERE I TURN I find I'm talking to--or overhearing--caregivers. It happens at dinner parties, in restaurants, on trains and buses, on city streets, even in the grocery store--and sometimes in my dreams!