I don’t have all the words—at least, not yet. But I can begin with how this started. There were signs as far back as 2007. Rewinding the movie too many times. Forgetting your train of thought mid conversation more than usual. But no one knew the full extent of the problem. 

In 2014, I graduated from Trinity College with a double major in Philosophy and Human Rights Studies. Before I even started my career in education, I was already stepping into a caregiving role, helping my father recover from neurological surgeries. At first, it was occasional—emergency room visits, recovery support—but by 2017, his condition had worsened, and the role became more constant. By 2020, caregiving for my father, now battling neurodegenerative disease, had become a full-time job requiring unrelenting vigilance.

Parkinson’s, compounded by his history with trigeminal neuralgia, made his world—and ours—an uphill battle. He resisted help at every turn, even as his body and mind turned against him. The skills I’d once used to support students with executive functioning now became essential tools for navigating the needs of someone I love. Every day was an exercise in patience, resilience, and grace, not only for him but for my mother, whose strength I leaned on constantly.