When the Adult Child Becomes the Parent: My Caregiving Journey

If you've ever found yourself juggling work, children, and the care of an aging loved one, all at once, then you already know that caregiving is one of the hardest things a person can do.

I know, because I've lived it. Before I ever filed a guardianship petition in a Richmond-area circuit court, I was a caregiver for my great-aunt and my mother. What I learned in that season didn't just shape me as a person. It permanently changed how I practice law.

Caught in the Middle: The Sandwich Generation

There's a term for people in the position I found myself in: the sandwich generation. We're the ones caring for aging loved ones while still raising children at home, all while holding down a job and trying to hold ourselves together.

That was my life. I was working full time as an attorney, still had a child at home, and within the span of a few years, I became the primary caregiver for both my great-aunt and my mother. There were days when I didn't know where to turn or where to begin. But I began, and I kept going, because that's what love required.

My Great-Aunt: Physically Frail, Fiercely Sharp

It started with my great-aunt. She never married and never had children, and in many ways she was like a grandmother to me. She took me to get my ears pierced when I was a teenager. She bought my debutante gown. She was there for me after I had my first child, steady, loving, and deeply present in the way that only certain people in your life ever are.

She had spent her career as a nurse, decades of showing up for others and meeting their needs without complaint. By the time I became her caregiver, her body had grown frail, but her mind was still very much intact. She was alert, engaged, and fully aware of what was happening around her.

Her appetite had faded, and she didn't have much interest in food. My dog benefited from that more than once, quietly collecting whatever she slipped under the table. But when I made fried catfish for dinner, she ate every drop.

What she needed was someone to help manage the practical and legal dimensions of her life, to make sure her wishes would be honored and her affairs would be in order.

For her, a durable power of attorney was exactly the right tool. Because she still had full mental capacity, she was able to participate meaningfully in the process, to say who she trusted, what she wanted, and how she wanted to be cared for. That document gave everyone peace of mind. And it gave her something equally important: a sense of control over her own life, even as her physical abilities faded.

I am so grateful we acted while we still could.

My Mother: A Battle on Two Fronts

A couple of years after my great-aunt's passing, my mother needed me too, and her situation was far more complex.

My mother was a bookish introvert, fiercely independent, deeply intelligent. She spent most of her career as a school librarian, and books were the fabric of our household. Growing up, I always had four sets of books at any given time: books from my mother's school library, books from my school library, books from the public library, and the books that belonged to our family. She cultivated in me a love of reading that I carry to this day.

Like my great-aunt, my mother was deeply involved in caring for my first child. She was capable and strong, and she was able to live alone well into her late seventies.

Then came the diagnoses: breast cancer and dementia.

My mother had also been preoccupied with her weight for most of her life, and, I'll say it, slightly more preoccupied with mine. It was her particular way of showing she cared, even when it didn't feel that way. But dementia has a way of dissolving certain preoccupations. In her later years, she no longer worried about any of that. I would take her out for ice cream and milkshakes, and she could enjoy every spoonful without a thought for the calorie count. There was something unexpectedly sweet about that, a small, quiet gift tucked inside an otherwise heartbreaking time.

Because of the progression of her dementia, my mother no longer had the mental capacity to execute a power of attorney. That window had closed. What I needed, was guardianship and conservatorship: a formal legal process through the courts that would give me the legal authority to make decisions about her care and her finances.

Due to family dynamics, I had to pursue that process in two states, Virginia and Georgia, simultaneously, while I was still living in Florida.

I was navigating two court systems, attending hearings in two states, overseeing the work of two separate attorneys, coordinating my mother's medical treatment, managing her assets, and doing all of it while managing every other aspect of my life. It was the most physically and emotionally exhausting chapter I have ever lived through.

And I would do it all again.

The Most Rewarding Thing I've Ever Done

Caring for my great-aunt and my mother was also the most deeply rewarding experience of my life. To be trusted with someone's vulnerability. To be the person who shows up. To know that the women who had loved me and cared for me were safe, protected, and treated with dignity, there is nothing that compares to that.

For years after my mother died, I would wake up some mornings and instinctively start thinking about what I would be doing with her that day. Grief doesn't follow a schedule. But neither does love.

In the last couple of years of her life, one of my mother's simple pleasures was watching me dance to Motown music. She also had a firm opinion that I looked good in the color red. So when it came time to plan her homegoing service, I knew exactly what to do. I wore red. And at the gathering afterward, we played Motown.

It was the most fitting tribute I could offer, not flowers or formality, but the things that had made her smile. I think she would have approved.

What I Carry Into Every Case

Those experiences gave me something no law school class or courtroom ever could: a cellular-level understanding of what families face when they call me to discuss guardianship and conservatorship.

I know how it feels to hear that a mother's dementia has advanced. I know how it feels to wonder whether you've taken care of everything — and to lie awake not entirely sure you have. I know what it feels like to love someone fiercely and still feel completely overwhelmed.

That understanding shapes everything about how I practice law. When a client walks through my door carrying the weight of a parent's declining health, I don't just see a legal matter. I see a person doing her best for someone she loves, and I treat her accordingly.

What Every Family Should Know

My experience with my great-aunt and my mother illustrates something I now tell every client: the earlier you plan, the more choices everyone has.

Because my great-aunt still had mental capacity, we were able to put a power of attorney in place on her terms, and she had a voice in every decision. That process was relatively smooth and deeply meaningful to both of us.

With my mother, that window had already closed by the time the full extent of her illness became clear. Guardianship was the right path, and I am grateful the law provides for it, but it is a more demanding process in every way: more time, more expense, more emotional weight, and far less input from the person who needs protection.

If your parent is aging, if a loved one has received a difficult diagnosis, if you've noticed changes and aren't sure what to do next, please don't wait for a crisis to force your hand.

If You're a Caregiver Reading This

You are not alone.

If you are in the sandwich generation right now, caring for a parent while raising kids, working full time, and trying to keep your own life intact, I see you. What you are doing is hard. It is also priceless, and it matters more than you may realize in this moment.

Whether you're just beginning to think about what the future might hold, or you're already in the middle of a situation that feels overwhelming, please reach out. Let's talk about what your family needs and how I can help, not just as an attorney, but as someone who has walked this road herself.

Connie Clay is an experienced family law and guardianship attorney serving clients throughout the Greater Richmond, Virginia area. Call 804.238.7737 to schedule a consultation.