You know when you just want a break? Like, a real one. Not a weekend where you're still on call, still answering texts about medications or doctor appointments. A *real* break. My parents are in their 80s now. My mom has pretty bad dementia, and my dad... he's just old. And tired. And he needs help with everything for her, and honestly, for himself too. And that help is me. Always me. I run my own business, which you'd think would give me some flexibility. Ha. It just means I work 80 hours a week trying to keep things afloat *and* manage their care. My siblings live out of state. They call sometimes. They send flowers. They ask if everything's "okay." Like I'm just supposed to say, "Yeah, great! Just spent three hours at the emergency room because Mom fell again, and now I'm trying to figure out how to pay for a new ramp, but hey, the petunias are lovely!" You just... don't say that. You smile. You say "fine." You carry it. Sometimes, late at night, after I've finally gotten my dad to stop calling because Mom keeps trying to turn on the stove, after I've tried to get some work done but my brain is just fried, I lie in bed. And I just... wish. I wish they needed less. Just a little less. Not that I wish them harm! NEVER. I love them. So much. But I wish Mom didn't forget who I was sometimes. I wish Dad could manage the bills without my help. I wish I could go a full day without a phone call that starts with "Honey, I need you to..." And then the guilt hits. Hard. How can I even THINK that? They took care of me my whole life. They sacrificed everything. And now it's my turn. And I'm just here, wishing for a few hours to myself. Wishing I wasn't so tired. Wishing I could remember what it felt like to not have this weight. You feel like such a horrible person for even having the thought. But it’s there. It’s always there. And it makes me feel like I’m breaking.