The A La Carte

When I said I was going on vacation, what I really meant was: I was taking my aunt to San Diego for Parkinson’s treatment and research.

Not exactly margaritas and sightseeing.

There were moments of sunshine, yes. Palm trees. Warmer weather. A hotel pool. But underneath all of it was the weight of something much heavier. Hope. Fear. Exhaustion. The kind of emotional juggling act that comes with caregiving and loving someone through something you can’t fix.

The purpose of the trip was a research study. My aunt wanted to participate not only because she hoped something could help her, but because if nothing could help her, maybe what doctors learned from her experience could help someone else someday.

And honestly, there’s something deeply heartbreaking about that kind of hope.

After all the work of getting her there, we found out she didn’t qualify for the full study. There was disappointment in the room that nobody quite knew what to do with. Not dramatic disappointment. Just quiet heartbreak. The kind that sits heavy in your chest while everyone tries to stay practical.

Thankfully, it wasn’t a total loss. The researchers still found value in what they were able to learn from her. It mattered. It just wasn’t the outcome any of us had imagined when we packed our bags and boarded the planes.

And if you’ve ever cared for someone who is slowly losing pieces of themselves, you know how emotionally complicated those days can be.

Watching someone struggle with things that once came naturally is painful. Watching them realize it is worse. Sometimes frustration spills over onto the people nearby. Sometimes grief comes out sideways. There were moments of tension. Moments where I could feel all of us running on empty.

Caregiving is strange because you are constantly balancing compassion with exhaustion. You love the person deeply while simultaneously wanting five uninterrupted minutes where nobody needs anything from you.

Somewhere in the middle of the week, our plans shifted unexpectedly. My aunt and cousin decided to visit her brother for the day, and I realized I had absolutely nothing left in the tank mentally. So I did something I almost never do.

I took the day off.

Not “worked remotely from a prettier location” off. Not “checked emails occasionally” off. (Ok maybe I checked my phone a couple of times, but definitely not the computer.)

Actually off.

I walked to a bookstore. Bought myself lunch. Sat by the pool and read for a couple of hours. Didn’t solve problems. Didn’t manage emotions. Didn’t organize logistics. Didn’t open my computer every five seconds.

For a week’s vacation, most of one day didn’t feel like quite enough.

But it was enough to breathe again.

Enough to remember that constantly carrying everything for everyone eventually catches up with you. Enough to realize I had been functioning in survival mode for longer than I wanted to admit.

I also got to see my dad briefly while we were there, which mattered more than I expected it to. We visited an aquarium together. I’ll be honest, my Pacific Northwest loyalty remains intact because nothing beats my local aquarium, but I still loved the moment of simply doing something normal together.

And while the aquarium was good, everyone insists the San Diego Zoo is the real star of the city, so apparently I’ll have to go back someday under slightly less emotionally complicated circumstances.

The best part of the trip came at the very end.

On the drive home, I made a detour and surprised my best friend in her tiny town. I finally got to make it to one of her boys’ birthdays, which feels nearly impossible between life, sports schedules, work, and the fact that somehow I only ever make it down there in the fall.

There was something healing about ending the week there.

No caregiving role.
No coordinating.
No medical conversations.
No pressure.

Just people who know me fully and let me exist exactly as I am.

It filled my cup in a way I didn’t even realize I needed.

Sunday I picked up my dog from his own vacation at Nana and Papa’s house, reopened my laptop more than I probably should, and slid back into regular life.

Back to normal.

Whatever that means anymore.