Caregiving

Sharing:

“To My Caregivers, My Children”

—You didn’t sign up for this.

Not for the slow unraveling of the parent you once knew,

not for the days that feel like watching me

fade in real time.

You didn’t sign up for the tremor in my hands,

the halting of my words,

the way I sometimes stare at the wall

because my mind has slipped somewhere you can’t follow.

You didn’t sign up for the smell of medicine on my breath,

for changing my clothes when I cannot,

for the endless cycle of pills, appointments,

and tears I try to hide.

And yet… here you are.

Not turning away.

Not running from the parts of this that are ugly,

or heavy,

or unbearably slow.

You see me—

not just the shell of me,

but the one who taught you to walk,

who stayed up in the night when you were sick,

who loved you before you even had a name.

And now,

you love me in the most unglamorous,

unphotographed way—

with hands that lift me,

with patience that holds me together,

with a steady presence that says,

“I will not leave.”

I know it’s hard to watch me

die by inches.

It’s hard to see me slip away

and still come back tomorrow,

ready to help me take another slow step.

But please know this—

every touch, every small mercy you give me

is not lost.

It is written in the deepest part of me.

And if I could,

I would gather it all into words

and tell you how much it means

that my last chapters

are being written in your hands.

Thank you—

for carrying me

through the part of life no one dreams about.

For showing me

that love doesn’t end

when the body begins to fade.