The Hard Truths I Learned While Looking After My Mother at Home.

January 3, 2026 by youssef

So I brought her home.

People warned me. They said it would be exhausting. That she might never know what I gave up. That love without recognition eventually turns into resentment.
I listened—and stayed.

Caring for her slowly dismantled the life I had built.
Work hours shortened. Then the job vanished altogether.
Money drained away into prescriptions, modified meals, safety rails, and quiet solutions for loud problems. My world narrowed to her routines, her moods, her fragile calm.

Some days were almost gentle. She hummed melodies from decades ago, her eyes soft as sunlight spilled across the floor.
Other days, she was restless, frightened by things she couldn’t name.
My siblings called now and then. Visits were rare.

Still, I reminded myself: love is not proven by being remembered.
Even when she forgot my name, she relaxed when I held her hand.
She felt safe.
And that had to be enough.

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