I’m Caring For My Aging Father. It’s Taken Over My Life.

As for me?

My current state is “burned out with occasional rage.” I wish my dad had made more of a plan for himself. He kvetched bitterly for years about taking care of his own father and aunt, so you’d think it may have occurred to him to do something in advance. I wish he wasn’t so change-averse all his life that moving into a nice care home wouldn’t be a betrayal that I’d get to live with. I wish we — as a society — had figured out a better way to age. I wish medicine had better treatments to offer. 

I have kids of my own, a dog who sleeps on my legs, and two cats of no distinction. I have a spouse and a house in the D.C. suburbs. I also have a pretty challenging full-time job. I have recently committed a totally avoidable exasperation-based error at work that may have professional implications. I have no hobbies and very little social life. I haven’t had a mammogram in a little too long. My personal leisure time is spent with Wordle and wine, usually not at the same time. I have both morning and evening antidepressants.

“There is a new cohort of women who are in the sandwich generation; they find themselves working, taking care of their children at home and, at the same time, taking care of their elderly parents,” Dr. Harita Raja, a psychiatrist who specializes in women’s mental health, told me. “This generation of women bears a unique burden of events that adds significant distress and can lead to mental health issues.”

So, like, I’m not alone, I guess. 

In fact, I know I’m not alone. A 2021 Pew Research Center survey found that 54% of people in their 40s are “sandwiched” between their own children and aging parents.

Anecdotally, one friend is living about 600 miles from her own family to care for her mother who refuses outside help. Another has parents who crawl up and down the stairs of their townhome rather than make any changes. Someone else’s father has given more than $100,000 in gift cards to scammers because he’s lonely and they talk to him. 

And with all that we’re managing, our family is supremely lucky. Dad has the means to pay for his care, and years ago he bought long term care coverage with no lifetime cap. Thanks to the miracle of automatic bank payments, he hasn’t missed a premium. I couldn’t get a policy like that today. The insurance companies mathed it out and as people live longer with acute (and costly) illnesses, it just isn’t as viable a business model. 

What am I going to do when it’s my turn to draw clocks? Look on Facebook Marketplace for a spot on an ice floe, and drift out to sea? All I know is I don’t want to do this to my kids. Independence is overrated. I’d rather maximize the life I have than cling to one that no longer serves me. Maybe we’ll sell the house after the kids are launched and move into a senior living community with stages of care. Be the youngsters again for a while. Travel as long as we can, and — hopefully — leave things tidier than we found them. 

As for Dad, I can’t cure his dementia. I can only relieve distress in this moment. He keeps thanking me for being there, and I mean it when I say, “Always.” 

Thea Joselow is a digital communications director, writer and editor. All opinions, omissions and offenses herein are entirely her own. Thea lives in Bethesda, Maryland, with her long-suffering spouse, brilliant children, and a small menagerie of rescued animals. She makes a nuisance of herself on LinkedIn, where she pretends to know stuff about things. 

This article oroginally appeared on HuffPost in Novemeber 2025.