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Most weeks on Total Michigan, Cliff DuVernois sits down with dreamers and doers who are making our state brighter.
This week, the spotlight turns inward.
In this deeply personal year-in-review episode, Cliff reflects on 2025—a year defined by creative growth, unexpected limitations, and the heavy, sacred work of caregiving. As his mother’s dementia progressed, the life he had carefully built was slowly reshaped by responsibility, sacrifice, and hard decisions no one prepares you for.
What emerged from that pressure wasn’t the end of Total Michigan, but a clearer purpose, stronger storytelling, and a deeper understanding of what it means to slow down, let go, and trust God with what you cannot control.
This is a story about love, loss, resilience, and learning when to stop being the caregiver—and start being the son.
Year in Review: What Caregiving Taught Me About Slowing Down, Letting Go, and Telling Better Stories
Most episodes of Total Michigan are about other people—dreamers and doers who saw a need and chose to act. Builders, creators, volunteers, and neighbors who quietly make our state a little bit brighter every day.
This story is different.
2025 was the year the story turned inward.
Creatively, the year started strong. The show was growing. The interviews were getting better. I felt confident behind the microphone and more comfortable in front of the camera. Traveling Michigan, collecting stories, and sharing them with a growing audience gave me energy and purpose. Total Michigan wasn’t just a project—it was a calling.
At the same time, another responsibility was quietly reshaping my life.
I became a full-time caregiver for my mother as her dementia progressed. If you’ve walked that road, you know what it asks of you. Caregiving isn’t something you plan for or dream about. It slowly narrows your world. Your schedule tightens. Your energy drains. Your patience gets tested in ways you didn’t know were possible.
Dementia doesn’t improve. It only takes more—memory by memory, ability by ability. And as my mother’s world got smaller, so did mine.
Travel became limited. Interviews had to fit inside shrinking windows of time. Evenings disappeared. Eventually, mornings did too. I found myself exhausted, frustrated, and asking hard questions: How long can I keep doing this? What has to give?
For a while, Total Michigan became an escape—something I used to get out of the house, to breathe. But eventually, even that wasn’t sustainable.
Then something unexpected happened.
With only enough time for one interview at a time, I was forced to slow down. I couldn’t rush. I couldn’t stack recordings. If I was going to keep going, each story had to matter more. I spent more time listening. More time filming. More time shaping each episode with care.
What felt like a limitation became refinement.
That shift led to a new storytelling style—more cinematic, more intentional, more human. Influenced by long-form narrative and documentary storytelling, the videos began reaching more people than ever before. Viewership grew. Engagement grew. And most importantly, the impact grew—people weren’t just watching, they were responding.
At the same time, my mother reached a point where I could no longer safely care for her alone. She moved into long-term care. For the first time in years, I wasn’t her caregiver anymore.
I could be her son.
That transition was painful—but freeing. It taught me that love doesn’t always mean holding on. Sometimes it means trusting others and letting go.
As I look toward 2026, the lesson that defines this year is simple: slow down. When I did, the stories got better. The mission got clearer. And the work became more meaningful.
Total Michigan moves forward—not in spite of this year, but because of it.
