You're carrying something that most people around you cannot fully see or understand. The decisions no one prepared you for. The phone call in the middle of the night. The countless hospital visits. The grief that arrives long before any loss.  The exhaustion of being the one who holds it all together. The guilt of never feeling like it's enough. The love and anger and the loneliness — sometimes all in the same hour. 

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And through all of it, you are still expected to show up professionally — as if none of this is happening. 

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I see you. Not because I studied this. Because I lived it.

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For ten years, from 2015 to 2025, I cared for aging parents through cancer, strokes, and Alzheimer's — as the primary, the secondary, and the supportive spouse. After my mom passed in 2025, I knew what was calling me. 

 

This photo is from one of countless car rides to the cancer center. She is gone now. And I am here because of her. For you. 

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