I Prepared My Whole Life to Become My Mother’s Caregiver

For many in the Black community, having multiple generations of family living under one roof is nothing new. But for this Gen X single mother and grandmother, caring for an aging parent has presented as many gifts as it has challenges.

I knew the day would come that I would be solely responsible for my mother’s care. It’s a duty I have always dreaded, not because I’m the type to shirk responsibility—like many people in my generation, Generation X, we tend to be responsible for far too many things, far too early in life. 

Many in our generation got a head start on adulthood: A lot of us raised ourselves and our siblings. Some of us began working as early as our freshman or sophomore years in high school. Maybe we even partnered early and became parents young, which meant growing up with our kids. Whatever our experience, the work ethic we witnessed growing up with our Baby Boomer and Silent Generation parents wasn’t lost on us. Hustling and grinding was hardwired into our DNA. Much like our “polyjamorous” taste in music, growing up listening to pop, R&B, soul, yacht rock, the emergence of hip-hop and grunge on the radio and on our turntables and tape decks, we embody the generations before us and absorb generations that have followed us. We are formidable.

I was a kid when I began to grasp that I was going to be an only child, and imagined life well into the future of what that might look like. And, despite all that I did in my attempts to prevent what I worried might happen, I’m living it five decades later. I prepared for the possibility that my father, who had sickle cell anemia, would not be around to be a partner to my mother in her later years, so I remained within an hour’s drive from my mother in Southern California.

From the age of 10, I wanted a sibling, someone with whom I could share life. And later, but more imploringly, someone with whom I could share the responsibilities of elder care. But I don’t, so today I’m treading water in this sea of life: I am a 53-year-old mother of four children. I am also a grandmother, and, as the only child of my now-octogenarian mother, a sole caregiver to her. If that sentence is a lot to get through, think about living it daily as I, and many Gen-Xers do. No matter that I am an adult, I can still feel like a perpetual teenager bearing the weight, concern, and reality of caring for my mother, which is as terrifying to me today as it was when I imagined it as a kid. I say this as an educated, employable person with the ability to pivot, recalibrate, and continue in the direction that best suits me. But the fact is, getting older can suck, because caring for your parents as they age and lose their independence is truly hard to bear. 

These are the countless things that Gen-Xers are navigating on a daily basis living sandwiched between our parents and our children—and, in my case, yet another generation: grandchildren. According to Pew Research in 2013, nearly half (47 percent) of adults in their 40s and 50s have a parent age 65 or older and are either raising a young child or financially supporting a grown child (age 18 or older). And about 1 in 7 middle-aged adults (15 percent) is providing financial support to both an aging parent and a child. I would imagine that this is happening on a national level much in the way it has transpired for me. At least one or both of our Baby Boomer parents are living longer, and in many cases, are not financially prepared to do so, which leaves us to fill in the gaps, all while we are also still providing housing and/or financial support to our school-aged, and in some cases, adult children.

Fifteen years ago, I thought I had it figured out. My then-65-year-old mother became ill with mononucleosis—once known as the kissing disease, and to some treated as a bit of a joke. I can assure you, it is no laughing matter because this infection almost killed my mother, who has never fully recovered. The infection became quite severe, and eventually her doctors and I believed it was best that she moved in with me and my family. My mom, however, was a young 65, and was not ready to give up her independence. 

It took a lot to convince my mom to move in with us in West Point, N.Y.,  from South Carolina, after she relocated there from Southern California. While it involved a lot of maneuvering, I was able to breathe a lot more freely knowing we were all under one roof and I would be there for her day-to-day care. Although her move was motivated by her illness, her presence in the home made me feel more secure. You are never too old to make peace with a parent, and in my case, my mother is one of my greatest gifts and making others feel peaceful is one of hers. 

We are a multigenerational family experiencing all the highs and lows that come with having four generations living under one roof. Growing up as my parents’ only child in Southern California, I longed for a home filled with family—I fantasized about Sunday family dinners that resembled those in the 1997 movie Soul Food—but most of my relatives lived on the East Coast and in the South, so I only saw those who could afford to visit. For a lot of us in the Black community, having so many generations under one roof is not new and in many cases preferred. Our elderly are our true north. They center and guide us whether they are in our homes, churches, schools, or community. We were raised to respect and protect our elders. Although my mother was not elderly when she moved in with us, culturally speaking, she was right where she was supposed to be.

In the end, unfortunately, my household was too chaotic for my mother’s comfort level: My marriage was unhappy and my husband and I were living separate lives, only coming together for our children. After six years of living with us, it proved to be too much for her in her compromised state, and my attempts to shield her from the unpleasantness didn’t work; my therapist reminded me that it’s nearly impossible to have secrets in a home. And being that my mother raised me, she recognized how miserable I was—no smile I put on for family photos could mask it. 

Still, nothing could have prepared me for the day my mother, at 71, told me she was moving out. Those were words I expected to hear from my children when they grew up. As adults, we may not be fully prepared for our parents to move in with us, but we are even less prepared for them to move out, especially after the lengths we went to move my mother in with us. Morbid as it sounds, I expected our family matriarch to live with us until she drew her last breath, which, for my sake, I hoped would have been well into the future. 

But judging from our family’s history, that wasn’t likely: My maternal grandmother—beloved Mom Mom, who called me her precious angel—died at 67. My maternal great-grandmother died at 68, although in her day, that wasn’t considered as young as it is now. So I worried. Especially since my mother, in her early 70s, made the decision and nothing I could say would stop her from moving, alone, one thousand miles away to the state in which she chose to retire. One thousand miles away from me.

My mother exhausted her savings to move back into her home. At 71, she had to start over. I was struggling with a few battles of my own: raising one child on the autism spectrum, another in the grips of  anxiety, and older children experiencing growing pains while I attempted to  separate amicably from my husband and grapple with my own depression. At least I had some experience with the latter—I was diagnosed with depression in my teens, though back in the 1980s, mental health issues weren’t as openly discussed as they are now. I attribute that in part to our children, who have been much more forthcoming. I can understand why: They’ve had to pivot so much in recent years, especially during the pandemic.  

But for as flexible and adaptable as we are, after we care for our parents and children, what we haven’t figured out is, who will be there to care for us when we can’t care for ourselves? 

Will that be left for us to do ourselves, too?

Since my mother left and my marriage broke up, I regained my independence, but that brought additional challenges. My parental responsibilities and the immense distance from my mother made assisting and managing her healthcare, health, household, finances, and emotional wellbeing more taxing on my financial and emotional wellbeing. All the problems I thought I’d already solved over a decade ago resurfaced and magnified tenfold because now we were both older but not necessarily wiser. We didn’t talk things through as we should have before it was too late. Life-altering decisions were made that would impact the both of us. For example, my mother decided to do a reverse mortgage on her home at a time I was too distracted to advise her against it. Now we’re both feeling immense regret—me for not stopping her, and her for going forward with it. I know we are not alone in feeling this way. Yet here we are in our 50s and 80s still facing the consequences of some ill-advised choices, trying to make the best of them and teach ourselves, each other, and our children to do better.

While I sometimes tease the millennials, I have learned a lot from them by way of self-advocacy, self-care and doing what’s best for me while maintaining the responsibilities I have as a caregiver of many. The thought of my mother being alone during the pandemic was too much to bear, and I was one of the fortunate employees that was allowed to work from home while my children attended school remotely. This allowed us to travel to my mother’s often, and stay with her for long periods of time. It enabled me to research and work with healthcare professionals to utilize the Family and Medical Leave Act (FMLA) leave to assist my mother and maximize time with her over a few years. Ultimately I made the difficult decision to move closer to her— it’s not a choice available to everyone, I realized but it was one I had to make for my family’s situation.  

This decision does not come without its own set of challenges and sacrifices, but those of us who will be most affected are in the best position to absorb the impact as to best preserve and protect our matriarch. 

With aging parents, contemplating our own mortality and still being in the thick of raising and/or supporting children, and, for some, grandchildren, Generation X will be the one to redefine the idea of multigenerational living. Perhaps our focus needs to switch from moving out of our parents’ home as a developmental stage or rite of passage, and instead examine the realities and necessities of our growing and aging families.

Millennials, who lived through the financial crisis of 2008 and the Covid-19 pandemic, are the generation most likely to struggle with purchasing their own home. And renting, while appealing for some, offers very little housing security and is guaranteed to continue to rise. There is no real American Dream if the largest generation can’t afford to sleep because they’re forced to work long hours, for years, in hopes of qualifying for a home loan and then have to compete for the few affordable housing options available.

So let’s start conversations by pooling and combining resources, income, and ideas to secure property, larger homes with more bedrooms and space to house multiple generations under one roof. Early discussions should include estate planning and generational wealth instead of the system we currently accept as normal—saving, buying, and moving out to our small piece of the so-called American Dream. If we do all this with the goal of bringing our loved ones as close in proximity to us as they are in our hearts, perhaps we can recast the American Dream for ourselves into something more attainable and viable—and make life more livable for us all. 

Of course it took a Gen-X’er to solve it for you because that’s how we roll.