Becoming our parents’ parents

A New York Times opinion video features over a dozen interviews of middle-aged men and women tackling what they describe as “stepping into one of the hardest roles they’ll ever take on.” Viewing the clips felt like driving a specific cohort of the most powerful country in the world into helplessness, if not despair. The interviewees expressed vulnerability over the burden and responsibility of caring for aging parents.

The opinion video suggests, “the US currently relies on unpaid caregivers… often at an extreme cost to the caregivers’ own well-being, finances and future.” On one hand, a study by UN Women acknowledges that “care is the backbone of life,” a kind of work that could be physically and emotionally demanding and requires a great deal of skills.

It kept me thinking of how the phenomenon rings on me, my siblings and people in a similar situation as we are. We are in a stage of our life when we are inevitably becoming our parents’ parents. We are dealing with a reality that a 2025 ADB study terms as “care crisis,” which many “aging populations in Asia are facing.”

Fortunately for my siblings and me, our elderly parents are still physically agile and mentally active. Quite unfortunately for my parents, none of us live near them. Not being with them most of the time could be frustrating and heartbreaking, particularly when they need immediate attention.

While I was consumed with emotions after watching the unfiltered interviews and reading literature about the elderly, I also thought of how important it is to dwell on the present and how we could profoundly treasure our time with them. As a mother to my children and a daughter to my parents, it is sensible to mull over my dual role in their parallel worlds.

As I look back to my children’s infancy, toddler years, their school age and teenage years up to young adulthood, the resemblance between those stages in their life to a phase in my aging parents’ life is obviously interesting.

Perhaps all parents had to deal with a picky child. The same could be true with our elderly now. A doctor friend opines that when old people start to become picky it may be not out of whim but could be a reaction to dietary restrictions or avoidance of certain foods that cause them discomfort. It would be helpful to ask them why. While my parents practice healthy eating, they sometimes feast on bagnet chicharon (resulting in blood pressure spikes) or ice cream (causing sore throat, elevated glucose). Nothing different from when I served vegetables and fruits to my children who secretly ate bags of chips and sweets far from my prying eyes.

There were instances when I wished I could wean my parents off from their gadgets. For kids, positive reinforcement works but for parents, cajoling won’t. But igniting a conversation about yesteryears could instantaneously take the phone or tablet from their hands.

My parents are natural storytellers. My father delights us with anecdotes of his post-war childhood, his teenage life as a soccer player, a working student or his life as an incorruptible public servant. My mother amuses us with tales of growing up in a farm and how she and her cousins foraged for guavas, balimbing, makopa, balig-ang, aratilis and fruits that now sound extinct to me. One of my favorite stories is how she and her girlfriends clandestinely practiced for their high school prom by the clearing of a coconut plantation because they wanted to surprise their classmates with the latest dance steps they learned from a relative who just arrived from Manila. In a small town in the early 1950’s, dancing to a new beat and moves was a big hit. When they remember the bygone years, I could sense how rivers of memories flow from the magic of nostalgia. I used to have this kind of conversations with my kids, each exuberantly taking turns in regaling me about a mundane school day or an extraordinary time with friends.

A friend related how her 70-something mother had a bad fall that left her wheelchair bound. She now bathes her with gentleness while remembering the times she used to bathe her firstborn with the same tenderness, with a squidgy toy and stories in between. On a recent family reunion, a cousin-in-law excused herself to bathe her bedridden mother. My mother asked if I would do the same for her. I blurted an assuring yes then deflected her question that it wouldn’t be soon for an 85-year-old like her who remains active and sociable. But I warned her to refrain from taking the tricycle alone, running errands or attending her activities on her own. It felt like echoing the same reminders to my adventurous kids to protect them from danger.

In the video commentary, subjects emotionally talked about how one is “never feeling 100 percent good at what you’re doing” or “extremely overwhelmed, scared” or how “it felt very lonely.” Specifically, they tell of doing tasks like changing diapers, clipping toenails, feeding, giving medicine or bathing their parents, acknowledging that “caregiving is a full-time job.” These are tasks our parents lovingly did for us that we did for our young children. As it comes to a full circle, we must do the same for our aging parents.

Those like us who live far from home, for siblings physically apart due to temporary or permanent migration, such realities feel disconcerting yet are expected. In our absence, the role of taking care of our aging parents is delegated to a trusted caregiver, usually a relative. In our society, we have a reliable network of support groups to depend on. We don’t consider taking care of our elderly as the hardest role. For me personally, I believe it is a gift, a filial responsibility, especially in our culture where family relations are held sacred.