
No one quite prepares you for this phase of life. How could they? You want to help your parent(s) transition to their next phase, without encroaching on their autonomy nor seeming like you are selfishly agnostic to their needs.
You may be at a peak moment in your career/life, and you don’t want to squander the lead … but you also don’t want to become a careerist egomaniac and ignore the needs of loved ones.
You’d like to take a minute and pursue personal interests (read a book, watch a movie, take a nap) yet you feel riddled with guilt that you aren’t giving 110% of your energy to everything previously described. I don’t have children, but I can’t even fathom what complexity that adds to the mix.
Yet, here we are.
And then you have a meta moment like this: a poem your grandmother wrote in 1961 (about JFK), cross stitched by your cousin in 1985, the framed version of which resided in your parents’ home for nearly 40 (!) years … now hanging on a wall in your own home after a visit with your father where you strived to help him transition, struggling with your own emotional reaction to seeing your childhood home disappear piece by piece, wanting nothing but happiness for him, and fretting that you aren’t doing enough.
And then you read your grandmother’s words, and you marvel at how perfect they are. For us all. And you sigh contentedly in a moment of fleetingly relaxed gratitude.






