More than a year ago, our mother was almost eighty, and she told us she didn't want to live on her own anymore. She had earned her rest. What she hadn't planned for, and what none of us had planned for, was everything that came next. Where she would go. Who would help. What happens to a house she had lived in for decades, the one full of a lifetime.
We downsized it. We sold it. We moved her across state lines. On paper, it was a to-do list. In real life, it was one of the hardest years of mine.
There was the logistics of it, which never seemed to end. There was the money, which nobody wants to say out loud. And underneath all of it, there was the grief. Watching my mother say goodbye to the home she had made, and realizing the roles had quietly reversed.
I'll be honest about the part most people don't say out loud. It strained relationships I thought were unbreakable. Big decisions, made fast and under pressure, have a way of pulling a family in different directions, and some of that we're still healing.
It took distance, and honestly some time in therapy, to see clearly what that year had really been. And when I did, one thought wouldn't leave me: this is happening to families everywhere, right now, and almost no one is ready for it.