While elbow deep in suds washing dishes at the kitchen sink of my parents home, I let my mind wander.

I’m at an age where I’m now looking after my parents more. We like to think that they’ll be strong, resilient and independent for a long time but after a while, you see little things that make you realise that they’re getting frailer and need more help than they let on.

Plus, I frustrate myself at times.

You see, I’m not the most caring and empathetic person and have to stop myself to expect too much from them or get short with them. If they struggle to do something that they could do quite easily in the past, I have to be patient.

I’ll get to that point too some time in my life.

“Unfortunately, I didn’t become a nurse. Otherwise I could have helped you more,” I said to mum as I handed over her tablets and a glass of water. She struggled to get up on her elbow in bed trying to grab the tablets and the glass at the same time and looking bewildered at the choice of what to take first.

“Why didn’t you?” she asked me.

“I faint at the sight of blood.”

She laughed.

I thought I wish I just didn’t feel so fucking clueless all the time.

I wish I knew what I was doing. I’m helping as much as I can. Sometimes I feel it’s not enough. To them, I know it’s more than enough.

However, most selfishly it’s making me realise my own mortality. My own situation.

Will I be like this in my old age?

Who will I call upon when I need someone?

Will Andrew and I be able to look after ourselves?

Will they find us dead in our house half eaten by our cat?

Then I feel bad thinking that way too.

But I snap out of it. At least this experience is giving me an indication of things to come as o age and I can prepare. The rest? Well that’s up to the gods.

For now, I realise I need to help my parents more and that’ll be my main role for now. To be the one who organises, co-ordinates, plans, makes appointments, reminds. The one to have notes on hand for their doctors, their scripts, their medications.

Guess that’s the circle of life.