As an only child, I felt responsible for caring for my aging mom. I resented having to balance family life and caregiving.

• When I was pregnant with my second child, my husband invited my mom to live with us.
• I'm an only child and had no one to share the burden of caring for her.

"I asked your mom to come and live with us."

My husband said this and averted his eyes. He'd just returned from taking my mom — a widow of 10 years — to the airport to catch an early flight home.

I bristled. Wasn't this something you were supposed to discuss first with your spouse? We were preparing to move to our next overseas post for my husband's government job. I was also a busy mom with a 2-year-old and a new baby on the way. I didn't need any additional complications.

She moved in with us

I suspected my husband of acting the hero and alpha male. He always felt strongly that he knew what was best for everyone in the family, including me. Though we argued over it, his decision prevailed.

Mom joined us permanently years later. Her days were filled with the hustle of suburban life in a house with giggling middle- and high-school girls. She often greeted the kids, provided snacks, and served as a de facto supervisor.

But gradually Mom's chronic ailments took a toll. Diabetes meant routine blood testing and medication adjustment. Her eyesight — poor since her childhood — continued to fail.

Even more concerning was her history of falls; a broken bone meant a stay in rehab. Even as I juggled a demanding marketing career and my family's needs, I often went directly from my office to her room at the rehab center, delaying dinner to be with her.

Back home, on weekends when I helped her shower, I felt embarrassed by her nakedness. Though I was once the vulnerable child, now she was the vulnerable one. She pretended it was no big deal, but I could sense her discomfort.

As an only child, I was responsible for everything

When the girls were 14 and 18 and I was 46, I became a widow. In an instant I became responsible for overseeing the entire family.

When you're an only child like me, you often don't have anyone to call on to provide respite or help with shuttling family members to appointments, sorting through complex financial documents, or deciphering benefits applications.

I often lay awake worrying about the future and how I'd manage Mom's end-of-life care. I felt stuck, resentful, and exhausted. I learned I wasn't alone. An analysis conducted by Pew in 2018 found that multigenerational caregivers reported sleeping about 20 minutes less a day than parents who were not also caring for an adult.

Soon after another rehab stay, a blood clot formed in Mom's leg. I had to administer blood-thinner injections. "I'm not a nurse," I screamed internally, feeling squeamish each time the needle pierced her abdomen.

I moved her to a nursing home

Mom's memory began to fail, and she became incontinent.

It was an excruciating decision to move her to a nursing home. One evening as I left her room, a burly male aide arrived to help her undress, go to the toilet, and prepare for bed. My eyes filled with tears. I thought, "This latest indignity is all my fault."

As the end of her life neared, Mom began avoiding food. I had even more guilt. The nursing home's hospice team said these feelings were natural. Families can insist on extraordinary measures, such as placing feeding tubes, but often these measures don't significantly prolong their loved one's life.

My mother died peacefully a year after witnessing my remarriage to a man she loved dearly.

Over time my resentment at being her caregiver has softened, and my feelings of guilt have diminished somewhat. I take solace in knowing I did the best I could by including her in our family life and showing my mother love and compassion when she needed it most.