If You Don't Laugh, You'll Cry: Stories From a Family Caregiver

I’m going a little off-course this week. Instead of the usual resources and checklists, I want to talk about empathy, the real life of a family caregiver, and one small piece of advice I wish someone had handed me earlier.

Sometimes I wish I had a photo of my face in all the situations that come with being part of the sandwich generation. Doctor appointments. Parent negotiations. Home-maintenance FUBARs. Just when I thought things couldn’t get any more ridiculous… they did.

If you’re reading this, I’m guessing you’ve collected a few of these moments yourself. Looking back, it’s easier to laugh at the absurdity. In the moment? Stunning. Frustrating. Exhausting. At some point you realize the only real medicine left is laughter—even if you look like a complete crazy person while you’re doing it.

These are the two stories that still stand out the loudest in my mind. Pull up a chair.

1. The Saga of the Toilet Seat

My parents lived with us for five months when they relocated. The house was already pretty handicap-friendly… and then came the toilet seat that haunted us for days.

Do you know how many times I had to attach, un-attach, and re-attach their dang toilet seat?

(1) We needed handles so Mom could get on and off. They weren’t compatible with the existing seat. New seat required.  

(2) Then she wanted a cushy seat for her tushy. Bought one at Walmart. Incompatible with the handles. She used it anyway for a couple of days because, well, cushy.  

(3) Switched back so she could have the handles. She decided she didn’t like them, ordered new ones, and had Dad take everything apart. The new handles didn’t fit the toilet.  

(4) Re-attached the originals after a Home Depot run for the part Dad lost. I showed her handles that would actually work with a cushy seat. She wanted special old-lady fashion handles instead.  

(5) Another set arrived. Still incompatible. I had to demonstrate on the actual toilet because she didn’t believe me.  

(6) Re-attached the original setup. One. More. Time. Offered free-standing walker-style handles. Nope.  

(7) Finally she agreed to the original handles—but only with a compatible cushy seat. One last teardown. Dang original handles on the dang cushy seat.

Seven rounds. One toilet. Zero dignity left for any of us.

2. Dad Gets a Visitor

My dad’s dementia eventually progressed to the point that he needed memory care. It was a really good place—small, clean, kind staff, nicely decorated. The kids and I visited once a week.

One early morning, the head nurse called. You know that particular tone they use when they start with, “Your dad is fine, but I need to let you know…”  

Quick sidebar: if you haven’t lived with dementia, it completely rewrites the person you love. If you have lived with it, you already have your own collection of stories that still make you shake your head.

The nurse explained that a woman from another room (she lived there with her husband) had wandered into Dad’s room in the middle of the night and climbed into bed with him. Also worth noting: later in life my father had decided he preferred to sleep naked as a jaybird. She simply cuddled up next to him and went to sleep. He was apparently a bit surprised… but not upset.

(Insert the face I wish I could have photographed in the middle of that phone call.)

I share these stories for one simple reason: you are not alone. And sometimes you just need to laugh, or you’ll cry.

The seven years I spent helping my parents age in place, move through hospitals, and navigate every transition were a full-heart, full-exhaustion journey. I showed up determined to take care of the people who had always taken care of me. I’m sure they had their own gallery of shocked faces while raising me and plenty of situations they had to bail me out of. I just hope they managed to find a little levity with each other and laughed at the absurdity of what I put them through.  

Turnabout, as they say, is fair play.

If you’re in the middle of your own version of the toilet-seat saga—or the 6 a.m. nurse call—know that the chaos is normal, the frustration is real, and the laughter (when you can find it) really does help. And if the day ever comes when you need help with household management, care coordination, or just someone who has already lived the ridiculous parts… I’m here.

You’ve got this.  

And when you don’t, I’ve got you.