Caring for Aging Parents: When Your Parents Need You

When I was a kid, I watched my parents take care of their parents. I didn’t really understand it at the time, but looking back, I can see how much they sacrificed and how hard it was for them. My mom, especially, was in the thick of it. She was young—just 48—when her mom passed away at only 63. I remember how exhausted my mom was, her spirit worn down by the constant worry and endless care. Her mom—my grandma—had diabetes, and both of her maternal grandparents were really sick, too. My mom saw firsthand what that illness did to her family, and she made a promise to herself to take care of her own health. To this day, she hasn’t developed diabetes, and I know that’s no small victory.

Back then, I saw my mom as strong and unbreakable—still so young despite everything life was throwing at her. In my mind, she was frozen in time, perpetually that 50-year-old with an endless well of energy and determination. I couldn’t imagine her ever slowing down.

But now I’m 46, and when I look at my mom, I still see that fierce, capable woman. The thing is, reality doesn’t match my memory. She’s 74 now, and it hits me like a punch to the gut every time I remember it. I can’t help but realize I’m creeping closer to the age I’ve always seen her as—the age where she was balancing it all, caring for her parents and running herself ragged. And here I am now, noticing my own back pain and catching myself forgetting little things more often. It’s like I blinked and aged a whole decade.

When You Realize You’re Getting Older Too

It sneaks up on you, doesn’t it? One day, you’re young, and the next, you’re realizing that occasional back pain or catching yourself forgetting something for the umpteenth time. It feels unfair—like I just got the hang of adulthood, and now my body’s reminding me that I’m not a spring chicken anymore.

I’ll be honest—sometimes it’s a little unsettling. Like when I’m rushing out the door and can’t find my keys, even though I swear I just had them in my hand. Or when I read something and five minutes later, I can’t for the life of me remember what it said. It’s not just the little mental lapses either. I’ve noticed how my body doesn’t bounce back the way it used to. I used to be so much more flexible, and shedding a few extra pounds wasn’t such a monumental task. Now, even after a week of clean eating and exercise, the scale barely budges. And let’s not even get started on menopause—hot flashes, mood swings, and just feeling... off. It’s like my body and brain are playing tricks on me, reminding me that I’m not as invincible as I used to think.

It’s more than just the physical aches or the mental fog. It’s the realization that I’m getting closer to that phase of life my parents are in now—the phase where health is unpredictable and independence starts to slip away. I can’t help but wonder if this is how they felt when they first started noticing the changes—the little betrayals from their own bodies.

It’s a weird, bittersweet feeling. I still see myself as young, just like I still see my mom as that eternally strong, 50-year-old woman I grew up with. But I’m starting to see how fragile time really is.

Becoming Their Parent: The Role Reversal

The strangest part is the way roles begin to reverse. My mom, once the one in charge, now needs more patience and gentle reminders. I find myself guiding her in small ways—little things that feel so familiar, because they’re the same things she did for me when I was young. It’s hard. Sometimes it’s frustrating. And other times, it’s just sad.

One of the most challenging aspects is how the world keeps changing around us, faster than ever. Technology alone feels like a whirlwind—new devices, apps, updates, and features coming out every other day. My daughter picks up on it all so effortlessly, like it’s second nature to her. She swipes, taps, and navigates screens with the kind of confidence that comes from growing up in a world that never stops evolving. For her, change is just another part of life—something to adapt to without hesitation.

For my mom, though, it’s the complete opposite. Trying to explain how to use a smartphone, remember a new password, or figure out why the TV isn’t working the way it used to can feel like climbing a mountain. It’s hard not to feel a pang of guilt when I get impatient or when I have to explain the same thing more than once. Sometimes she’ll just give up and say, “I don’t need that anyway,” and I can see that hint of frustration in her eyes—the sense that the world has moved on without her.

It’s in those moments that I have to take a breath and remind myself that this is the natural order of things. They took care of us, and now it’s our turn to return that care—even if it means shifting how we see them and ourselves. It’s not just about guiding them through the physical challenges of aging but also helping them navigate a world that feels more confusing by the day.

Patience doesn’t always come easily, but it’s something I’m learning to practice. Because one day, I know I’ll be the one struggling to keep up, and I can only hope my daughter will guide me with the same kindness I’m trying to offer now.

Final Thoughts: Embracing the Sweet and Sour

There’s no denying that caring for aging parents while realizing your own age creeping up is a strange, sometimes uncomfortable experience. It’s sweet because it’s full of love, full of memories, and gratitude. But it’s sour because it’s hard to face the reality that our parents aren’t invincible—and neither are we.

Sometimes, it’s not just about the aches and pains or the memory lapses—it’s the way the world itself keeps changing around us. Technology is advancing at a speed that’s almost dizzying, and while my daughter adapts without a second thought, it’s so much harder for my mom to keep up. I can see the frustration in her eyes when the simplest things feel impossible. I know one day, I might be in her shoes, struggling to navigate a world that no longer feels familiar.

And that’s why I want to be patient. I want to be present. I want to guide her with kindness, just as she guided me when I was young and learning how to make sense of the world. I want to cherish this time while I still have it—because one day, it’ll be my daughter in my shoes, looking at me the way I look at my mom now. And I hope she sees strength, resilience, and a whole lot of love—just like I do.

Love, Fabi