Ad copy

My parents were a beautiful contrast. My Dad was Italian. My Mom is German. They both immigrated to Canada at the age of eight, chasing the classic Canadian dream. Fate brought them together when my Dad started working for my Opa, my Mom’s father. He went on to become a pharmacist. She trained as a graphic designer and lifelong artist. My Mom was drawn to the unknown mindset work, psychics, the magic of the universe. She had a lightness to her. My Dad? Serious, steady. He loved tennis and the stock market; things he could study, predict, understand. When we were sick, we’d joke that the nightstand held both pills and healing crystals. Somehow, it worked. They worked. When my mom was diagnosed with Alzheimer’s, it was no surprise that my Dad became her caregiver. He cooked, he cleaned, and he cared, fiercely. But when he became ill again, we knew we were losing both of them. And it broke our hearts. These years, being sandwiched in the middle, are messy and raw. You're pulled in every direction, and it can feel like no one sees it. But I promise, you're not alone. And one day, you'll find yourself on the other side of it. It might feel unmoored. Quiet. A little surreal. I still don’t know who to call when I land in a new country. I still miss my birthday song. But I’m grateful I got as much time as I did. Grateful to miss them. A neighbour once gave me the advice to record my Dad’s voice. At first, it felt awkward, even a bit morbid. But one day I did, and I’m so damn glad. When I’m really low, hearing his voice lifts me up in a way nothing else can. If you’re deep in it right now, just know: your feelings are valid. The push and pull is real, and exhausting. But don’t forget to honour your boundaries. That’s how you stay present for those who need you most and for yourself. You won’t carry it forever. But you will carry it with love. 💕