If you’ve been wondering why I’ve been quiet these past few months, this is why.
On April 1, 2025, my mom had a serious fall. She broke her femur and was rushed to the hospital. She underwent surgery and, for a brief moment, it looked like she might stabilize. But just days later, we moved her into hospice care. Thirty-six hours after that, she passed away.
That sentence is easy to type. Living it was something else entirely.
What I’ve come to realize during these past few months—and, really, the past few years—is that all the leadership skills I developed throughout my career in the hospitality industry were suddenly called into question. Not because they weren’t useful, but because the stakes had changed.
Leadership skills like communication, conflict resolution, empathy, and decision-making? They’re powerful in the workplace. But when you’re sitting beside your mom’s hospital bed, trying to unite six siblings, manage raw emotions, and make irreversible decisions—those skills are tested in a very different way.
And sometimes, they break.
The Pressure of Leading a Family Conversation
Years ago, we had a family meeting to acknowledge what we could no longer ignore—our mom was struggling with memory loss and early dementia. That meeting was the start of us learning how to communicate as a family. Before that, we operated in silos. It wasn’t natural or easy, but it mattered. It laid the groundwork for what was to come.
Fast forward to January 2024: my mom landed in the ER with congestive heart failure. She was frail and barely able to walk. At discharge, we were faced with a tough decision—should she go to a nursing facility for rehab, or should we initiate home hospice care?
It fell to me, as the successor trustee, to guide that conversation. But I didn’t want to steamroll my siblings. I gave everyone space to read my mom’s healthcare directives and come to their own conclusions.
That wasn’t just a leadership tactic—it was a survival strategy. I knew we couldn’t get through this unless we all felt like we were being heard.
We agreed to send her home for hospice. But, in a surprising turn, she got better. We even joked that she’d been “kicked out of hospice.” That miracle gave us one more year with her—until the fall that changed everything.
The Leadership Decision That Broke Me
After her April fall, we faced another fork in the road: rehab, assisted living, or hospice.
I had long conversations with my siblings, one by one. One sister was holding tight to the hope that rehab could get our mom walking again. Her wish wasn’t unrealistic—it was full of love. But when one of my younger sisters started second-guessing the rehab plan the very next morning, I paused.
I returned to something a palliative care nurse had told us months earlier: Always know who you’re making the decision for.
Was I choosing rehab because it was best for Mom? For me? Or because I didn’t want to disappoint my sister?
The truth? I was making the decision for my sister. And once I saw that clearly, I knew what needed to change.
We shifted the plan. My mom went to in-facility hospice. She passed away two days later.
It was the hardest decision I’ve ever made—but in hindsight, the right one. She left this world in comfort and peace, surrounded by care.
The Emotional Reality of “Leading” Your Family
Let me be clear: I was not perfect in any of this.
I lost my patience. I had a full-blown argument with one of my siblings. We yelled. I swore. I said things I probably shouldn’t have said—but also, things that had been building for three years.
And yet, this is real life. Real leadership. It’s messy. You’re trying to protect your mom’s dignity, honor your siblings’ emotions, manage logistics, and also somehow remember to eat, sleep, and breathe.
It’s not a polished team meeting. It’s an emotional rollercoaster.
There was one moment, after getting my mom into hospice, when my sister texted me about next steps and I just replied, “I can’t make another decision.”
I was done. Mentally, emotionally, spiritually—I had nothing left.
Decision fatigue is real. And no book, title, or training manual prepares you for that.
The Leadership Lesson That Came After the Funeral
After she passed, I thought maybe I’d feel relief.
But the stress simply shifted. I went from navigating healthcare to settling financials. Her house. Her bills. Her estate. Her trust.
I’ve learned more about what it takes to settle a trust and mold remediation than I ever wanted to. (That’s another story for another time.)
Leadership didn’t end when my mom died. It just changed forms. I had a lot of support from my siblings, but I still felt the weight of what came next.
What I’d Tell Anyone Going Through This
If someone came to me right now and said, “My parent fell. They’re struggling with memory. I don’t know what to do,” here’s what I’d say:
- Don’t carry it all yourself. Build a support team.
- Recognize that what’s “right” depends on many things—your parent’s wishes, your finances, and your emotional capacity.
- Ask for help. Lean on resources. If your employer offers EAP (Employee Assistance Programs), use them.
- And above all else, take care of yourself. You cannot care for your family if you don’t protect your own physical, emotional, and mental health.
The Loop We Leave Behind
I’ll leave you with this:
My mom was brilliant—PhD, highly educated. But she never really rewrote the story she told herself about her life. And once the dementia took hold, she got stuck in that loop. She lived in a mental space of unresolved pain, doubt, and loss.
I’ve thought about that a lot. What mindset are we leaving on repeat?
Because when you can no longer reframe your story, your story starts replaying you.
Why I’m Sharing This Now
This isn’t just about grief. It’s about real leadership—the kind that shows up in hospitals, hospice rooms, and family group texts at 2 a.m.
The kind that breaks you down—and builds you back up.
I’m sharing this now because I know I’m not the only one who’s had to step off the stage and into the role of caregiver. And if you’re there—or if that day is coming—I want you to know you’re not alone.
Let’s talk about the leadership that matters most when it’s least convenient.
Let’s talk about how we care, connect, and make peace—with each other and ourselves.
I’m back. And I have more to say.
This is not only an emotional story but one so many of us hide from because its so painful. Your words brought me to tears remembering my own challenges with my mom – it was all too familiar. I appreciate your perspective and the way in which you shared your heartfelt story!
Thank you for your kind words. I sincerely appreciate you!