9 min
Parenting Your Parents: The Stuff We Don’t Say at Dinner
Every family has an elephant it keeps meaning to talk about, and in my family, that conversation always seemed to circle back to dessert. Someone would work up the nerve to raise something serious, and right on cue, someone else would ask if anyone wanted more pie. The elephant would quietly slip out of the room again. Dessert was sacred in our house, which is probably why my dad ate his first. We could talk about the weather, the traffic, Aunt Carol’s hip, almost anything except who would be in charge if Mom’s memory got worse or where Dad would live if the stairs ever became a problem. Here’s the thing about elephants. Silence only makes the room darker, and everyone ends up bumping into more furniture while trying to avoid the thing nobody wants to name. Instead, turn on the lights and look at it together, out loud, as a family, preferably before an emergency forces the conversation to happen at full volume in a hospital hallway. Part one of this series was about the everyday chaos of parenting your parents, the cordless phones, the clumpy milk and the mystery meals from the freezer. This part is different. These are the conversations nobody brings up willingly, the ones that involve lawyers instead of laughs. But they come from exactly the same place and matter just as much, maybe more, because they’re the ones that keep a family from falling apart the moment something goes wrong. The Power of Attorney Huddle Start with a power of attorney, the single most practical and least romantic gift you can give your family. Most people assume it is one document that covers everything. In Ontario, it is two separate things. A Continuing Power of Attorney for Property covers money, bills, and anything linked to a bank account. A Power of Attorney for Personal Care covers health decisions, housing, and day-to-day well-being. Other provinces use slightly different names for the same idea, so check your own, but the concept holds everywhere in Canada. One person can hold both roles, or you can split them between two people, whichever fits your family better. Nobody wants to picture a parent developing dementia or Alzheimer’s, but that is precisely why these documents exist. The time to set them up is now, while everyone involved is still sharp enough to have an opinion. Once capacity is gone, the chance to choose is lost. Families who skip this step often end up applying to court for guardianship instead, which costs more, takes longer, and does nothing about the emergency sitting in the hospital bed. Do not let AI draft these documents. This is the kind of paperwork that needs to hold up at two in the morning in an emergency room, so it needs a legal professional who knows your province and your family’s particular version of complicated. Have the conversation as a family first. Ask Mom and Dad honestly who they want making these calls, then take that to a professional who can build something that will hold up when it is needed. Splitting the Shift, and Supporting Whoever Carries It If you are an only child, feel free to skip this part, mostly because you never had a choice in the matter to begin with. Every ounce of this responsibility lands on your shoulders alone, and if there is a special corner of heaven reserved for those who carry it entirely by themselves, I hope it comes with better snacks than the rest of us get. For everyone with siblings, the question of dividing the work is really a workload question, and workload questions go sideways fast when nothing is written down. I know it sounds painfully formal, like drafting a treaty instead of helping your mother, to put who calls the doctor, who handles the finances, and who takes the overnight shifts into an actual document. But clarity is the entire point, because when something goes wrong, and it always eventually does, families get frenetic, pointing fingers or freezing instead of deciding anything. There is an old line about the best time to negotiate a prenup being on the honeymoon, when everyone still likes each other and no crisis is pulling at the conversation. The same logic applies here. Do this work while everyone is calm and well-rested, not standing in a hospital hallway, because the alternative is doing it during the worst week of the year, with all the extra tension thrown in for free. Even with the fairest split, the person carrying the heaviest share still needs support of their own. Caregivers have a real talent for arranging support for everyone except themselves, scheduling pills, appointments, and grocery runs for someone else while quietly running their own tank down to empty. I did plenty of that myself. The exhaustion was never a badge of honour, just a warning light I mostly ignored. Support in Canada varies by province, but it is available. The Ontario Caregiver Organization offers free counselling, peer support, a helpline for when you need someone to talk you down, and help finding respite care. Caregivers Alberta provides resources, mental health support, and education for Albertans caring for family members or friends. The Canadian Centre for Caregiving Excellence tracks support nationally and points you to programs wherever you live. Eligible individuals may qualify for Employment Insurance (EI) Caregiving Benefits. There is also a federal tax credit worth asking an accountant about, since most people qualify and never claim it. None of this replaces an actual break, and a break is not optional, no matter how capable you feel. Respite care exists so you can sleep, see a friend, or sit in a coffee shop without your phone buzzing about a missed pill. Asking for it isn't a weakness; it's what keeps you able to show up for your parent at all. Feet First or in a Box Somewhere in every family, a parent eventually announces their exit strategy. I’m not moving. You can’t make me. The only way I’m leaving this house is feet first or in a box. It’s delivered with total confidence, usually while standing on a knee or hip that clearly objects to the plan. Here is the distinction that matters most in this conversation. The children don’t get to decide where Mom or Dad lives. They get to help their parents decide, and that difference changes everything about how the conversation should go. Instead of announcing a verdict, ask open questions. How do you picture your retirement? Where do you see yourself in five years? What would need to change for you to still feel safe here? Then sit with the answers instead of rushing to fix them. For those of you with a difficult relationships with a parent, a complicated family tree or a family with illness or any form of abuse, my heart is with you. Thank you for even reading this far. I know this is an even more delicate topic and I don't have solutions for you. I do know that the same questions and conversations would apply but perhaps would be better delivered by a neutral 3rd party individual, trusted friend of the family or local pastor. Patience matters here more than almost anywhere else in this series, because older Canadians have earned the right to be stubborn about their front door, and pushing too hard usually only produces more stubbornness in return. What matters is that you talk about what happens if the stairs become a problem, the garden becomes too much, or living alone starts to feel isolating. Sometimes the answer is small: a gardener, a chairlift or safety bars in the bathroom. Sometimes it is a little sneaky with a housekeeper once a week, who conveniently expands to caregiving assistance on additional days. Sometimes it is bigger, such as moving in with a family member or trading the family home for a one-level apartment that does not require a hip replacement just to reach the mailbox. Whatever shape it takes, it works best when the whole family writes that next chapter together rather than one person handing it to the rest. Wishes and Wills The last set of conversations covers what your parents want if they get sick, what they want when they die, and what kind of care setting they would choose if they ever needed one, as well as which community they want to be part of and what matters most when choices become hard. These are not questions you settle in one sitting over coffee. They build slowly, over several conversations, and some of it needs time to sink in before anyone can respond honestly. If a conversation stalls, let it stall. Somewhere in all of this, the subject of a will comes up, and it is worth asking plainly whether one exists, where to find it, whether it is up to date, and whether it is legal. Sometimes parents want to walk you through every detail. Sometimes they would rather keep the specifics to themselves, and that is entirely their right. It is their money, their wishes, their life, and being an adult about it means respecting the boundary even when you are curious. What matters is that the conversation happened at all, not that you know every line of it. There is also a very modern wrinkle to all of this: passwords. A will can name exactly who gets the rocking chair, but it says nothing about who can unlock the phone to find the photos in the first place, or access the email, or access online banking once nobody remembers the password to the password manager. Write down the important logins somewhere real, not just in someone's memory, and tell a person you trust where to find them. I have friends in their fifties and sixties who found a genuinely clever way through all of this. They told their adult kids about their wishes and what was in their wills via a family group text, agreeing to save the real questions for when they were together at the cottage for the family vacation. Nobody had to maintain composure across a formal dinner table. They just laid it out in writing, then filled in the details around campfires and silly card games. Then, at the next big family gathering, actual Post-it notes started appearing on furniture around the house. Someone had written their name on artwork. Someone else claimed the good armchair. What could have been a heavy, tense conversation turned into a full-blown Post-it war, with siblings calling dibs on Grandma’s lamp with the same energy usually reserved for calling shotgun on the front seat. Turns out you can talk about who gets what without anyone needing a box of tissues in the room. Same Family, Different Kind of Love None of this is easy, and none of it should be. If it were simple, someone would have written the manual I was looking for in part one. But easy was never the goal. The goal is to show up for the people who showed up for you, with enough light in the room that nobody has to keep pretending the elephant is not there. Part one was about the everyday chaos, the stuff that makes you laugh even as it drives you slightly insane. This part is about the quieter, harder stuff: the paperwork and the conversations that do not come with a punchline. But it all comes from the same place. Every bit of it, the freezer-burned shrimp and the power of attorney alike, is really just love wearing a very inconvenient disguise. So have the conversations, write things down, and get a real lawyer to make it official. Ask the open questions, then listen to the answers. And when it is done, or as done as these things ever get, go ahead and have dessert first. Life is too short and far too unpredictable to save the best part for last. Warmly, Sue My Book is Available for Pre-Order I hope you will consider pre-ordering a copy of Your Retirement Reset for you, a friend or loved one. It's available September 29, 2026 published by ECW Press - You can now order at Indigo or Amazon. And if you love supporting Canadian booksellers, please also check with your local independent bookstore. Most can easily order it for you.
