Caring for My Parents: How Two Months Changed My Vision for 2025

It’s been a while since I last wrote anything here, but I’ve had good reason. I’ve been out of the country, doing what has probably been the most essential work of my life—caring for my parents. My dad, the man I once saw as indestructible, is in the grip of Alzheimer’s, and my mum can no longer walk.

My dad, the man who taught me so much about life, about integrity and resilience, didn’t know who I was a lot of the time. He referred to me simply as “the man.” At first, that reality was shocking. How could the man who molded me into the person I am not see me anymore? I wanted him to recognize me, to say my name, to see his son, but that wasn’t the reality we lived in.

And yet, in the midst of that heartbreak, there were moments of connection—small, quiet, fragile moments that I’ll carry with me forever. We bonded in ways that didn’t require names or memory. We connected over shared likes - I put on movies and played music he’s enjoyed “before”, over me helping him dress and function each day, and over some rare but profound moments of clarity when he would smile, and it felt like he was still in there. It wasn’t the kind of bonding I’d imagined having with my dad in his older years, but it was a kind of love that didn’t need words or recognition.

Those two months also taught me something else—about the fragility of strength. I’d always modeled myself on my dad. He was my hero, my guide, the man whose approval meant the world to me. He was the one who taught me to do the right thing even when it was hard, to lead by example, and to never back down from a challenge. Watching him now, trapped by a disease that had taken away so much of what made him “him,” was painful. But it also gave me a renewed understanding of what real strength looks like.

Strength isn’t just about being the man people rely on, the person with all the answers, or the one who gets things done. Real strength is showing up when it’s hard, staying patient when your heart is breaking, and continuing to give love even when you’re running on empty. It’s helping your mum get from the bed to her chair and back again, day after day, when the exhaustion becomes a constant hum in your bones. It’s finding grace when the man who raised you calls you a stranger but you love him anyway, because love doesn’t rely on recognition—it just is.

This experience has reshaped my approach to life and my intentions for 2025 in ways I’m still fully processing. But what I do know is this: I’m more committed than ever to doing good, to being better, and to leaving this world just a little brighter for others. I’ve learned that “doing good” isn’t always about grand gestures or public accolades. Sometimes, it’s in the small acts of kindness no one else sees, like helping a parent eat when their hands are too shaky to hold a spoon.

I’ve spent a lot of time reflecting on what I want to take with me into the year ahead. Caring for my parents was a reminder of my values, of what really matters. I don’t want to get caught up in the noise of life, chasing after things that don’t leave a lasting impact. My parents’ vulnerability showed me that, in the end, what we remember most isn’t what we achieve or how much money we make. It’s the moments when we feel loved, safe, and cared for.

It’s hard knowing that the man I always looked up to and modeled myself on is essentially gone. But in some ways, his legacy is even more powerful now. He showed me the blueprint for how to live with integrity, and even though he may no longer be able to live by that example himself, it’s my responsibility to carry it forward. His decline has taught me that life isn’t about holding onto what was but about embracing what is—and doing what you can with the time you have.

For 2025, my mission is simple: to do good, to do better, and to lift others up. My time with my parents has made me realise how much people need compassion, how easy it is to feel forgotten or unseen, and how a single act of kindness can be the thing that pulls someone out of the darkness. Whether it’s in my work at Walk It Out Consulting or in my personal life, I want to approach everything I do with empathy at the core.

I know I’m not the only one facing challenges like this. Many of you reading this may be in the thick of caring for aging parents, dealing with grief, or navigating difficult transitions. To you, I say: I see you. I know how heavy it can feel, how isolating it can be, and how hard it is to balance everything without losing yourself. But you’re not alone. If my experience has taught me anything, it’s that even in the darkest moments, there is strength in vulnerability and healing in connection.

So, as we move into 2025, I invite you to reflect on your own values. What drives you? What kind of impact do you want to leave behind? Life moves fast, and it’s easy to get swept up in obligations and deadlines. But take a moment to pause and consider: What truly matters to you? For me, it’s the knowledge that I did my best to leave the world a better place, to make someone’s life easier, and to honor the legacy of a father who may not remember me but whose lessons live on within me.

To do good, to do better, and to care for others—this is my vision for 2025. And I hope it inspires you to think about what yours could be.

Here’s to a year of compassion, resilience, and making a difference where it matters most. Let’s walk this path together.