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Visiting
128 pages, Paperback
Published May 26, 2026
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Displaying 1 - 7 of 7 reviews
June 3, 2026
Visiting is one of those books that feels deceptively simple at first. The structure is diary-like, moving day by day through the Blakemore’s visits with her mother during hospice care in 2018, but the emotional weight sneaks up on you gradually. There is no dramatic attempt to manufacture sentimentality here. Instead, the book lives in tiny observations, routines, irritations, jokes, snacks, cigarettes, television shows, diaper changes, and conversations that loop between lucid and surreal. It ends up capturing something about caregiving and anticipatory grief that feels painfully honest.
What struck me most was how grounded the writing feels. Blakemore doesn’t romanticize dying, and she doesn’t turn her mother into a saintly figure. Her mother is sharp, funny, stubborn, demanding, critical, affectionate, exhausted, confused, and still deeply herself all at once. Some of the best moments come from the small exchanges between them. The mother complaining about “that voice,” obsessing over food, wanting cigarettes, talking about mashed potatoes “just heaven,” or proudly staying up all night eating carrot cake and ice cream with Rhonda somehow become both funny and heartbreaking at the same time.
I also appreciated how the book acknowledges the strange practical side of death that people often do not talk about openly. There are scenes about fixing loose door handles, worrying about smoke smells in jackets, sorting medications, considering who will inherit furniture, picking out a casket, and organizing hospice logistics. One paragraph in particular about mentally cataloging household items while sitting beside her dying mother felt brutally real because it captures the guilt and weirdness of thinking about ordinary material things while someone you love is fading away.
The shorter paragraph style works very well for this kind of memoir because it mirrors the fragmented rhythm of caregiving itself. Some days are repetitive, some days are chaotic, some days are unexpectedly peaceful. The entries slowly build emotional momentum without ever becoming melodramatic. The humor also helps enormously. There are genuinely funny moments scattered throughout the book, especially in the mother’s blunt observations and stubborn personality. The scenes involving fast food runs, lottery tickets, Judge Judy, and endless snacks give the book warmth and personality rather than making it feel overwhelmingly bleak.
What really stayed with me after finishing the book was its tenderness. Not perfect tenderness, but lived-in tenderness. Blakemore openly admits that there were years she did not want to be around her mother and that she cannot fully explain why. That honesty gives the relationship more depth because it never feels artificially polished. The caregiving here is tiring and repetitive and messy, but it is also full of intimacy. The repeated back rubs, helping her move room to room, listening to the same stories multiple times, or simply sitting together watching television become acts of love.
Check out my full review here: https://likelystory.blog/2026/06/02/v...
What struck me most was how grounded the writing feels. Blakemore doesn’t romanticize dying, and she doesn’t turn her mother into a saintly figure. Her mother is sharp, funny, stubborn, demanding, critical, affectionate, exhausted, confused, and still deeply herself all at once. Some of the best moments come from the small exchanges between them. The mother complaining about “that voice,” obsessing over food, wanting cigarettes, talking about mashed potatoes “just heaven,” or proudly staying up all night eating carrot cake and ice cream with Rhonda somehow become both funny and heartbreaking at the same time.
I also appreciated how the book acknowledges the strange practical side of death that people often do not talk about openly. There are scenes about fixing loose door handles, worrying about smoke smells in jackets, sorting medications, considering who will inherit furniture, picking out a casket, and organizing hospice logistics. One paragraph in particular about mentally cataloging household items while sitting beside her dying mother felt brutally real because it captures the guilt and weirdness of thinking about ordinary material things while someone you love is fading away.
The shorter paragraph style works very well for this kind of memoir because it mirrors the fragmented rhythm of caregiving itself. Some days are repetitive, some days are chaotic, some days are unexpectedly peaceful. The entries slowly build emotional momentum without ever becoming melodramatic. The humor also helps enormously. There are genuinely funny moments scattered throughout the book, especially in the mother’s blunt observations and stubborn personality. The scenes involving fast food runs, lottery tickets, Judge Judy, and endless snacks give the book warmth and personality rather than making it feel overwhelmingly bleak.
What really stayed with me after finishing the book was its tenderness. Not perfect tenderness, but lived-in tenderness. Blakemore openly admits that there were years she did not want to be around her mother and that she cannot fully explain why. That honesty gives the relationship more depth because it never feels artificially polished. The caregiving here is tiring and repetitive and messy, but it is also full of intimacy. The repeated back rubs, helping her move room to room, listening to the same stories multiple times, or simply sitting together watching television become acts of love.
Check out my full review here: https://likelystory.blog/2026/06/02/v...
June 9, 2026
Visiting is a tender, funny, unsentimental diary of a daughter spending time with her dying mother through hospice, dementia, ordinary errands, cigarettes, fast food, caregivers, family history, and the strange practical weather of grief. The book follows Polly Walker Blakemore’s visits from 2018 to her mother’s death and burial in 2020, and what accumulates isn’t a dramatic plot so much as a lived-in record of decline: the “bad lady” who is really the bath lady, cereal improved with ice cream and sugar, Panera and Pieology and Five Guys becoming almost sacramental, Rhonda Ba Bamba appearing like a grace note, Missy’s death opening a fresh pocket of sorrow, and finally the obituary, the grave flags, the lichen on the cross, the household objects waiting to be claimed.
What I loved most was the book’s refusal to tidy anything up. Blakemore doesn’t pretend caretaking is noble in some glowing, greeting-card way. It’s exhausting, smoky, repetitive, bodily, sometimes gross, often funny, and frequently boring until suddenly it isn’t. I found myself moved by the way love here arrives through small maintenance tasks: fixing a loose door handle, bringing candy, rubbing a back, watching Food Network, sitting beside a bed while language thins into echo. The book understands that grief can coexist with irritation, curiosity, appetite, logistical competence, even relief. That honesty gave the whole thing a deep steadiness.
The writing has a wonderfully vibrant texture, dry and observant. Blakemore has a sharp eye for the comic absurdity of decline, like trying to make a “safe-smoking protocol” for someone on oxygen, or treating a car trip for burgers as both outing and ordeal. But she also knows when to let a sentence soften. Her descriptions of her mother’s hands, her grandmother’s calendars, the orchids and peace plants, the final season shifting toward fall, all carry a quiet ache. The ideas in the book felt strongest when they circled memory and identity: how a person can become unrecognizable and still remain intensely themselves, how children only ever know part of their parents, how a life gets reduced and preserved through objects, habits, foods, phrases, and other people’s recollections.
By the end, I felt both saddened and oddly calmed, as though the book had made room for death without making it pretty. Visiting is best for readers who appreciate reflective memoirs about aging, caregiving, mothers and daughters, dementia, and the messy, intimate comedy of family life. I’d especially recommend it to anyone who has sat beside a loved one and wondered whether “just being there” is enough, because this book answers, gently and without fuss, that sometimes it’s everything.
What I loved most was the book’s refusal to tidy anything up. Blakemore doesn’t pretend caretaking is noble in some glowing, greeting-card way. It’s exhausting, smoky, repetitive, bodily, sometimes gross, often funny, and frequently boring until suddenly it isn’t. I found myself moved by the way love here arrives through small maintenance tasks: fixing a loose door handle, bringing candy, rubbing a back, watching Food Network, sitting beside a bed while language thins into echo. The book understands that grief can coexist with irritation, curiosity, appetite, logistical competence, even relief. That honesty gave the whole thing a deep steadiness.
The writing has a wonderfully vibrant texture, dry and observant. Blakemore has a sharp eye for the comic absurdity of decline, like trying to make a “safe-smoking protocol” for someone on oxygen, or treating a car trip for burgers as both outing and ordeal. But she also knows when to let a sentence soften. Her descriptions of her mother’s hands, her grandmother’s calendars, the orchids and peace plants, the final season shifting toward fall, all carry a quiet ache. The ideas in the book felt strongest when they circled memory and identity: how a person can become unrecognizable and still remain intensely themselves, how children only ever know part of their parents, how a life gets reduced and preserved through objects, habits, foods, phrases, and other people’s recollections.
By the end, I felt both saddened and oddly calmed, as though the book had made room for death without making it pretty. Visiting is best for readers who appreciate reflective memoirs about aging, caregiving, mothers and daughters, dementia, and the messy, intimate comedy of family life. I’d especially recommend it to anyone who has sat beside a loved one and wondered whether “just being there” is enough, because this book answers, gently and without fuss, that sometimes it’s everything.
July 28, 2026
I read Visiting by Polly Walker Blakemore.
Ms. Walker Blakemore shares over 2 years of journal entries during the time her mother entered hospice care for dementia. Her mother also suffered from depression.
Having been a Hosice RN myself for years, it is certain that a dementia diagnosis is one of the most challenging, emotional and draining on the patient and families. Unlike more swift moving terminal illness that generally have a recognizable pattern of decline, dementia’s hospice journey is usually much longer. It can be years, as it was for Polly’s mother. It comes with setbacks and rallies, inconsistent behavior and cognitive changes, and the drawn out lessening of physical health. It’s a hard hard road to travel.
Dementia is like losing our loved ones twice. Once when their mind goes and we lose who they were…and then again when their body catches up.
Polly’s journal shows absolutely, thoughtfully and painfully what that life looks like. For her mother, for the family. And all the mixed emotions needing to be carried and processed. The grief…and the relief.
The book contains precious humor, touching memories and difficult experiences. Poignant and beautiful. It is a powerful statement of love in the circle of life.
Definitely recommend.
Thank you to the author and NetGalley for providing me with an advanced reader copy. This is my voluntary and honest review.
Ms. Walker Blakemore shares over 2 years of journal entries during the time her mother entered hospice care for dementia. Her mother also suffered from depression.
Having been a Hosice RN myself for years, it is certain that a dementia diagnosis is one of the most challenging, emotional and draining on the patient and families. Unlike more swift moving terminal illness that generally have a recognizable pattern of decline, dementia’s hospice journey is usually much longer. It can be years, as it was for Polly’s mother. It comes with setbacks and rallies, inconsistent behavior and cognitive changes, and the drawn out lessening of physical health. It’s a hard hard road to travel.
Dementia is like losing our loved ones twice. Once when their mind goes and we lose who they were…and then again when their body catches up.
Polly’s journal shows absolutely, thoughtfully and painfully what that life looks like. For her mother, for the family. And all the mixed emotions needing to be carried and processed. The grief…and the relief.
The book contains precious humor, touching memories and difficult experiences. Poignant and beautiful. It is a powerful statement of love in the circle of life.
Definitely recommend.
Thank you to the author and NetGalley for providing me with an advanced reader copy. This is my voluntary and honest review.
Review of advance copy received from NetGalley
i gobbled up polly’s book, visiting. it is written in a diary entry format, which is an absolute favorite of mine.
visiting chronicles the two and a half years leading up to the death of her mother. her observations during time spent at her mother’s home. the conversations they shared. the conversations between others in the same space - caretakers, polly’s children, nurses and doctors, her brother. her thoughts and feelings. the exhaustion of being a daughter whose mother is slipping away. the existential questions that come up as life comes to an end.
if i ever write a non-fiction book, i’d like it to be just like this one - honest and raw with a few bits of humor sprinkled throughout.
books like visiting are glimpses into the wild journey we call life. we are privileged to have a look behind the curtain.
thank you to atmosphere press for providing this book for review consideration via netgalley. all opinions are my own.
visiting chronicles the two and a half years leading up to the death of her mother. her observations during time spent at her mother’s home. the conversations they shared. the conversations between others in the same space - caretakers, polly’s children, nurses and doctors, her brother. her thoughts and feelings. the exhaustion of being a daughter whose mother is slipping away. the existential questions that come up as life comes to an end.
if i ever write a non-fiction book, i’d like it to be just like this one - honest and raw with a few bits of humor sprinkled throughout.
books like visiting are glimpses into the wild journey we call life. we are privileged to have a look behind the curtain.
thank you to atmosphere press for providing this book for review consideration via netgalley. all opinions are my own.
June 2, 2026
Visiting by Polly Walker Blakemore is a deeply intimate and moving memoir that I read with great interest. Presented in a journal format, a style the author frequently uses on Substack, the narrative immerses the reader in a personal, daily account of the two-and-a-half years leading up to the author’s mother’s death.
In these entries, Polly shares the quiet, often difficult moments in her mother’s home: gentle, sometimes funny conversations, exchanges between caregivers and family, and the silent heaviness in the air. What stands out most is her honesty. She faces the emotional exhaustion of losing a parent and the big questions that come as life ends.
Even though the topic is heavy, the book has warm and funny moments that feel even stronger because of the sadness around them. Polly’s voice is raw, thoughtful, and very real. This honesty is what makes the memoir stay with you after you finish reading.
In these entries, Polly shares the quiet, often difficult moments in her mother’s home: gentle, sometimes funny conversations, exchanges between caregivers and family, and the silent heaviness in the air. What stands out most is her honesty. She faces the emotional exhaustion of losing a parent and the big questions that come as life ends.
Even though the topic is heavy, the book has warm and funny moments that feel even stronger because of the sadness around them. Polly’s voice is raw, thoughtful, and very real. This honesty is what makes the memoir stay with you after you finish reading.
June 20, 2026
A memoir about caring for a mother in hospice - I felt like she was writing about my life. What shines through is the waiting, and taking it day-by-day - there will be good days and bad days. The details were exquisite and made me feel like I was there with her. I was emotionally definitely in the same place but the writing also made me feel as if I ws physically there too. It was refreshing to read a memoir like this that sines a lense on the mundane and challenging realities of an aging parent. I guiltily too look around my mother's place and try to figure out what we will donat and what I would want. This book spoke to me and it was not a "tips" about caregiving --I have read many of those. Thank you for writing a book that just lets us be in the moment = very consoling to me.
Thank you to Netgalley and Atmosphere Press for an ARC and I voluntarily left this review.
Thank you to Netgalley and Atmosphere Press for an ARC and I voluntarily left this review.
June 29, 2026
I follow Polly Walker Blakemore on Substack. She observes the daily moments in life that many of us miss and paints a picture of life in our times that I hope historians 100 years from now will turn to to understand what our lives were like. "Visiting" brings the same empathetic and observational powers to the story of her mother's last years. We owe her our thanks for capturing it all.
Displaying 1 - 7 of 7 reviews