My parents were residing in our home country when they started to need a family caregiver. Their daily lives were a tableau I could only sketch in my mind, filled with brief phone calls and second-hand accounts.

The lack of a tangible support network in their vicinity was a constant source of anxiety. The absence of family, friends, or even reliable service providers to call upon in times of need meant that every crisis, big or small, felt like a mountain too steep to climb. 

“Our fridge is not working, so dad has to go to get fresh meat and vegetables daily, since it is 109 degrees here.” said mom on the phone one day.

“How long has it not been working?” I said with concern.

“It’s been two weeks, and the mechanic has postponed his visit I think 20 times.” My mom said in a matter-of-fact tone. This was funny because my mom was not trying to exaggerate, and I was sure it wasn’t a mechanic that dad had called for the service of a refrigerator. 

“I am concerned about dad going out every day to the open-air market in such heat. Why don’t we just get a new fridge?” I responded by getting into fix-it-mode, rather than trying to challenge my mom about the inaccuracies in her statement.

“You will have to convince your dad. He tried fixing it himself and he thinks the mechanic can fix it. I didn’t tell you this to worry you, my daughter.” She responded in a kind and loving tone.

I called again that day to convince my dad about buying a new Fridge. His first response was no it’s not needed. I convinced him that it was my Father’s Day gift to him, and I would not take a no for an answer. I knew that my dad did not have it in him to say no to his girls, let alone when the request was more like a command.

Now finding someone to deliver the fridge quickly and install it was a Herculean task that I was not ready for.

One day I got a phone call I had always dreaded. My mother’s voice, laced with fear, reached me across the miles, and my world came to a standstill. “Your father just had a heart attack and was taken to the hospital. He is going into triple bypass surgery soon,” she said, her words heavy with the weight of impending uncertainty. The palpable need for my presence, for the comfort that only a daughter could provide, was a clarion call that transcended all barriers.

I could clearly sense that she wanted and needed me there by her side. Unfortunately, I had just put my passport in the mail for renewal the previous Friday. 

To top that off, I had slipped while on a steep hike the previous weekend and I was in an ankle brace and crutches. I did not know how I was going to pull it off, but I felt I had no choice but to get there as fast as I could. 

I went to the passport office in Los Angeles the next morning and six hours later I hobbled out with a temporary passport. I was on a plane less than thirty hours after the call. All meetings were canceled, all parties postponed, and all arrangements for help at home with kids were put in place. I do not know how that trip came together, but when there is will there is a way.

On that trip I convinced my parents that they needed to move to the country their daughters now called home, and their home at this age should be where their daughters are.

Through the years there were times that I did not talk to my parents for weeks and I would successfully become an ostrich. In those moments, the stark contrast between the ostrich’s solace and the relentless guilt that gnawed at me in the quiet hours of the night laid bare the complexities of caregiving from afar. 

Each decision, each frantic journey, and every sleepless night spent wrestling with worry, was a testament to the invisible threads that bound me to my parents, a relentless reminder of the depth and breadth of love that knows no boundaries, geographical or otherwise.