My mom nicked her finger cutting an apple once because her hands were trembling. She pretended she didn’t see me notice, and I pretended not to be concerned. After all, it’s a fine line between being intrusive and being well-informed, especially when it comes to parents. No matter our ages, they’re always the adults, and I’m the kid. Do I really need to know about every ailment? Every medication? What’s private, and what’s public? The answer comes more easily when I think about the reverse: What do I share with them? Several times, my parents have told me about problems only after the fact, when everything’s fine. One time, my dad was shuffling into the hospital for an appointment, and he tripped over a doormat. He fell forward and injured both wrists, which turned purple with bruises. That was the day before my husband and I were leaving the country, but they told us about it after our vacation. They just want to protect me, just as I shield my own kids from unpleasant news. But the truth is, I worry anyway. I worry when the phone rings before 7am or after 9pm. I worry when my dad’s cell number pops up on the caller ID rather than my mom’s. I worry when I hear an ambulance siren in my neighborhood. Just recently, what my dad described as a biopsy, my mom explained would be surgery to remove an unknown mass between my dad’s heart and lung followed by a two-night hospital stay. And that’s if all goes well. I’m worried. BrightStar Care is honored to feature Leah’s unique story, an experience shared by many adult children as their parents grow older and caregiving roles begin to reverse. All names, including the author’s, have been changed to protect identities, and Leah has no affiliation with BrightStar Care.