A Love That Carried Us Through
By Shayla Reeves, Caregiver
For twenty years, my husband, Lomax, was my rock. He was the steady hand that held our family together, the quiet strength that made every storm feel bearable. We built a life filled with laughter, love, and the kind of trust that only comes from decades of standing side by side. But then, kidney failure came like a thief in the night, stealing his vitality and turning our world upside down. Suddenly, the man who’d always carried me needed me to carry him. And I did—through dialysis, wheelchairs, a kidney transplant, and, in the end, his passing. All while wrestling with my own health struggles and making sure my mother was taken care of too.
It started with the dialysis—three times a week, hours tethered to a machine. Lo hated it, but he’d smile for me, even when his body grew frail. I became his driver, his nurse, his advocate. When he could no longer walk, I pushed his wheelchair, my hands trembling not just from the weight but from the fear of losing him. My own body ached—chronic pain gnawing at me—but I couldn’t stop. He needed me, and I needed him to keep fighting. We clung to hope when a kidney transplant became possible, flying across the country for treatments. I’d sit in sterile waiting rooms, praying for a miracle, my own health suffering.
Through it all, it was the little things that kept me afloat—things I wish every caregiver could have in one place. My sister, a nurse, would call and explain Lo’s medications when the doctors’ jargon left me lost. A family friend texted me quick tips when I couldn’t reach anyone else. Our pastor offered counseling, a safe place to cry and find strength when I felt like I had none left. And every so often, another family member would take Mom to her appointments or sit with Lomax so I could step outside, breathe, and recharge. Those small lifelines weren’t always easy to find, but they made all the difference.
The transplant gave us a flicker of hope, but it wasn’t enough. Lo slipped away, leaving a hole I’ll never fill. I was his rock until the end, but I couldn’t have done it without those scattered bits of support. Now, I think about other caregivers—spouses, parents, friends—piecing together help from a dozen places, exhausted and alone. What if it could all be in one spot? Medical advice, emotional support, a moment of respite—right there when you need it most. It wouldn’t have saved Lomax Reeves, but I was blessed to put scattered pieces of help together to saved me from breaking.
I miss him every day. But I’d do it all again for the love we shared. If my story moves you, share it. Hands and Hearts That Care has what caregivers need—because no one should carry this weight without a hand to hold.
we will go public and share the investment link at 
