I’m stuck. I’m being held hostage. I know there is a way out, but I sure can’t see it.

Before you keep going: This is a raw one. I talk about losing parents, navigating hospice, and being the default caretaker in a family that leans hard on one person. If you’re already carrying a lot today, read gently.

I’m the most important unimportant person in my family. It’s like I don’t matter. At all. And yet, they rely on me for so damn much. I’m the cook, the cleaner, the driver, the errand runner, the ass wiper (literally), the caretaker. I do it all. And because I do it all, getting a job to make any money of my own is basically impossible. I’ve tried. I had a job offer the year before last. I ended up having to turn it down because my family responsibilities didn’t allow me to work within the schedule the job needed from me. Which really didn’t surprise me.

Today we opened the boxes of Justin’s stuff. You know, the boxes we’ve been waiting eight months for. I was on the outside looking in. As usual. And not a single person thought to include me in any way. I just sat there, in the foyer, watching them look through photos, letters, and other keepsakes, and cried. I guess, since I married into the family, he shouldn’t matter that much to me.

Going through losing Justin last June, and through my in-laws’ illnesses, I’m realizing that no one in this family helped me when it was my brother, my parents. That isn’t completely fair. I did have some help when my brother took his life. Not much, but some. For both my brother and my mom, it was my dad’s family that helped the most. Well, them and Christina. Honestly, if it wasn’t for Christina, I don’t know that I would have made it through the aftermath of losing my brother. She really took on a lot of the grunt work needed. I only had one kid when he died, and he was 3, not really old enough to help in any way. I had two when my mom died 18 months later, but again, one was only a few months old, and the other was only sixish. My husband didn’t join me at the hospital while I made the decision on whether my mom would have a surgery that might save her life, or if we were going to just let her go. And yes, my dad, her husband, was there. And yes, even then, it was up to me to make the choice.

When my mom was lying in that hospital bed, brain-dead and waiting on me to decide her fate, my in-laws were caring for my children. So there is that. I was not alone. Not even a little. I had my sisters, the ones that are not blood or even marriage related, but had been in our lives for years. My dad’s brothers were there with their wives. For that, I’m eternally grateful. My husband didn’t come. I made that choice, I said goodbye to my mom, the family went to dinner, and after that, I went home while my dad went to sit with my mom until her body finally gave up.

Just over a year ago, my dad’s health started declining. He required much more care than previously. Again, his brothers helped where and when they could. But it was mostly left to me. In January of 2025, when I went to talk to my dad about some financial things, to get him into an assisted living place of some kind, I found his house a disaster area, like a tornado had gone through it, and him mostly unresponsive. I called 911 and had him taken to the hospital. The paramedics had to walk over tables, trash, spilled coffee, and who knows what else. They were great. I stayed at the house to document everything. I did not clean, because, when he recovered, I wanted to be able to show the social worker or case worker what his place looked like and why he absolutely could not live alone any longer. I went to the hospital and stayed as long as I could. But my kids needed to be picked up, and life needed to keep going. And I had no help for any of that. So, I had to leave my dad there, without any support. I warned the nurses that he would likely become rude and combative when he came to. My uncle went later and sat with him until they transferred him to a room. He went downhill from there very quickly. There was a lot of paperwork to try to figure out. Please understand that my dad was not a good person, at least not to me. Because of this, my family assumed that I had no feelings, at least no bad ones, about his declining health and imminent death. So, I handled this with my friend by my side when she could, and no one else. That isn’t true. My bookends, the oldest and youngest, came with me to say goodbye when he transferred to the hospice, and my uncles visited with him a few times. One of those visits was because I wanted to have a family meeting about how they would like to handle things going forward, but they left it all up to me. Then he died. February 1, 2025. And I had SO much that needed to be handled. My youngest did his best to help me when he could. My husband did nothing. He didn’t come with me to try to sort through the mess that was my dad’s home. He didn’t help me with paperwork. Last month, he called the holding yard where my dad’s truck had been towed. Once, and at my request.

All of that to say this.

In December of 2024, my father-in-law had surgery to remove his kidney and the attached cancer. I was at the hospital with my sister-in-law and youngest child. I was there the next day, and the next, and the next. I went almost every day. I checked on him, I sat with him so he wasn’t alone, I talked to doctors (as much as I could), and I did everything I could for him and the family. I did all of this while running everyone else around and getting them where they needed to be. When he moved to rehab instead of coming home, I ran needed items to him a few times a week, I visited, and I made sure he was handled. Now, my husband did too. Not as much because he couldn’t miss work. My fil came home, and got better for a while, but then the cancer came back, in his spine. He’s needed various levels of help for a year or so. My middle child and I are usually the ones handling that.

My mother-in-law is confined to her bed and chair. She doesn’t really move from that spot unless she needs her hair washed (every 3 weeks or so) or has a doctor’s appointment (which she usually just cancels so she doesn’t have to). That means that she also needs a lot of help throughout the day, and my middle and I are handling a majority of that too.

Earlier this year, my mil woke up unable to breathe well or move at all. We called 911 and had her taken to the ER. My fil had a treatment at the same hospital, so the youngest and I bundled him up and took him to his appointment. We then ventured to the ER to find mil. Shit hit the fan, and I ended up with BOTH of them in the ER in different rooms, and my middle kid with a video visit with her Dr. My husband was at work and “couldn’t leave” until 4 pm. So, I had to leave the youngest to bounce back and forth between rooms to try to keep up with what was happening with each of them while I went home to do the video call with the Dr.

You know what. This is a lot. A major mind dump. And it isn’t done yet, except that I’m going to stop dumping it out to y’all. If you made it this far, thank you.

I don’t need applause. I don’t need a medal. I need a partnership. I need someone to see the weight before it crushes me. If there’s a caretaker in your life, understand this: they are tired in ways they don’t talk about. They are grieving while functioning. They are holding systems together with hands that are shaking. Don’t wait for them to break before you step in.

Stop calling her strong. Start making her life lighter.

Edited to add that my children do step up more than they should have to, especially the middle. I couldn’t do this without them, even if I hate this for them.