How A Care Journal Fostered Healing: Deepening Connection and Quality of Care Through Written Communication

Creating a care journal for your person is one way to support connection by enhancing communication between family and friends. A care journal can be used in a hospice or hospital setting, or if your person is dying at home. You can invite anyone who is offering care to contribute - ideally with the blessing and permission of your person.

You can be intentional with the purpose of this journal. In addition to documenting health updates, it can serve as a running dialogue about each visit. It allows companions to share care, advocate for your person, and express hopes or concerns. You might encourage family and friends to journal about their experiences - sharing moments of connection, awareness, meaning, pleasure, and presence. They can also record stories about your person, adding depth to the journal. A care journal can often bridge gaps between differing points of view - offering a place to express what may not be easily said face-to-face. Below is a story of how I’ve used this supportive tool with a past client.

I was hired by the son of a dying woman to provide respite from the demands of caregiving. He asked me to visit his mom daily. He lived near the hospice that his mom was at but he was having a difficult time juggling a demanding career and family life. The responsibility of caregiving landed on his shoulders as his sister lived out of town and their younger brother who also lived nearby was considered unreliable due to addiction challenges. I was honoured to be companioning their mother for the final month of her life. The family dynamics were complex. Trust had eroded, and the relationships were fraught with anger and long-held wounds. The older siblings were estranged from their younger brother. A care journal felt like a meaningful mode of communication for this disconnected family.

I first gained permission from the woman to place a journal at her bedside. We spoke about her hopes and fears, and when I asked about her wishes, she had only one: she wanted her family to stay connected after she died. She worried deeply that her children would drift further apart. Near the beginning of the journal, I clearly recorded her wish: “Your mom’s number one hope is that the three of you stay connected after her death.”

As we spent time together, I documented the comfort measures I offered - modeling care in hopes that others might do the same. I wrote about how she enjoyed leg and arm massages, how we listened to her favourite songs, and how she lit up when we told stories from her childhood. I captured those stories in the journal for her family to read - gifts of memory and meaning. I also used the journal to advocate for her needs. Her well-meaning youngest son often tried to feed her, even though her body was no longer asking for food. This forced eating caused her discomfort and bloating. I gently used a page in the journal to explain that at this stage of life, it’s normal to stop eating - the body no longer requires energy in the same way as before. I shared how listening to the body can bring more comfort than force feeding. This journal was also a tool to foster communication among her children. I encouraged everyone to jot down a few notes after their visits - how their mom was doing, what brought her comfort, and any stories or observations they wanted to share.

I still remember the first entry from the younger son. On a blank page, he scrawled a single word: “Mom.” And then . . . nothing. But over time, he began to write more. His voice slowly emerged, tender and uncertain at first, then stronger. His entries began to weave between those of his siblings, like threads finding each other. His sister began writing with more gentleness. The older brother’s tone softened too. It was deeply moving to witness this gradual change - a family slowly learning from each other, offering comfort strategies and updates, their voices beginning to come together in a shared purpose.

The journal offered space for expressions that might never have emerged in conversation. It held feelings, ideas, memories - written safely and without interruption. One day, the significance of this little book became crystal clear. I had accidentally slipped it into my bag and brought it home. An hour later, I received a text from the son. “Where is the care journal? I just got here and it’s nowhere to be found!” In that moment, I realized how central the journal had become. It was anchoring this family - giving them a place to gather around their mother’s bedside, even when they weren’t there at the same time.

Her daughter later told me that her own daughters had decided not to visit. They were too afraid to see their dear grandmother so close to death. She planned to share the journal with them when the time felt right, so they could know this chapter of their grandmother’s life, even if they hadn’t witnessed it directly. This simple care journal profoundly supported this family as they navigated the end-of-life journey. It gave them a way to process the enormous experience, to witness one another, and to hold space for grief, healing, and love.