Aging and Tough Decisions

This week has been one of the toughest of my life. A week full of heartache, the weight of responsibility, and the impossible task of deciding whether my mother lives or dies. It’s not a decision anyone prepares for, but it’s one I’ve had to face head-on.

Three years ago, my mom had a massive stroke that affected both sides of her brain, and that alone was life-altering. But on top of that, she also has dementia. The aftermath left her frail and stubborn, and any attempts at physical therapy or occupational therapy after the stroke felt like climbing a mountain with her heels dug in. She wanted no part of it. To her, any efforts to get stronger and build up her mobility were met with resistance, frustration, and a deep reluctance to change. All she wanted was her small joys: BBQ, chocolate, and ice cream. Her world became small, as if nothing else mattered but sleep and the comforting hum of the TV. The hard truth? That left me as her caregiver, responsible for her, without regard to the pieces of my own life that were already demanding all I had to give.

I’m already stretched thin, taking care of my husband and our niece in her last year of high school. Between two households, two yards, and three people who depend on me, I’ve often felt like I’m walking a tightrope, with no net below to catch me. I want to be there for everyone. But lately, it’s left little room to care for myself—and the constant pull from every side wears me down, stretching my patience and my energy thin.

And then, six days ago, everything changed. My mom suddenly took a sharp turn for the worse. She developed sepsis, and her disorientation grew, leaving her confused and unable to recognize me. She’s been fading in and out, unaware of who I am, and for the last few days, she’s drifted further into this disoriented state. Her wish was to stay home. She didn’t want the ambulance or the hospital, but I knew that if we hadn’t intervened, she might not be here now. Even in those small, tender moments with her now, I wonder how much more she’ll lose—and it breaks me inside.

Watching my mother’s slow decline has made me face some difficult realities. She never really took care of herself, and now, it feels like we’re paying the price for it. Every time I look at her, I realize how vital it is to do things differently, to care for my body and my mind, to keep my strength and health a priority. I want to make my own choices today, before age or illness takes those choices away.

Yet, it’s a hard path to walk, trying to balance my mother’s care with my own well-being, keeping my family intact, and being present for my niece as she steps into adulthood. There are days I feel as if I’m on autopilot, just trying to keep everyone above water, but I know I need to keep room for myself—to breathe, to care for my body, and to find my peace. This week—amid hospital visits, arranging sleeping areas for visiting relatives, double-checking that I haven’t forgotten anything important, and dealing with sleepless nights—has reminded me just how necessary that is.

Caring for an aging parent is hard. It’s painful to watch someone you love lose the pieces of themselves that once made them whole. But this experience has reminded me to care for my own body, to keep my bones strong, to keep moving, and to take moments of rest when I need them. My own health has to be a priority—not just for myself but for those who might one day take care of me.

If you’re reading this and you’re in a similar season of life, know that you’re not alone. Some days, the choices we make don’t feel like choices at all—they feel like burdens. But we’re still here, still making those hard calls, still showing up. And if we can find small ways to care for ourselves in the midst of it all, maybe that’s enough.

I need to remind myself to prioritize my own well-being—both physical and mental. It’s essential to eat nourishing foods, take the right vitamins, and focus on maintaining strong bones and overall health as I age.

There is still so much I want to do, and while I don’t feel 59, I can’t shake the feeling that time is creeping up on me, and I’m running out of time to accomplish everything I hope to. Do you ever feel like this? Right now, I worry about looking back with regrets, and there are moments when it feels like my life is slipping out of my control.

Be happy, healthy and safe!