My parents have dementia. Should I put my life on hold for them?

MMy brother, Rob, is wearing a pair of cheery rubber gloves and has one of his arms up to his elbows in our parents’ clogged toilet. The last time I let him do this, his fist emerged triumphantly, clutching a pair of soggy Y-fronts. This time, the cause of the blockage is purely organic, and I wish him luck from a foot away, where I am on my knees watching the culprit, my unwitting father.

I’m about to wash his hair, an experience he doesn’t enjoy and finds unnecessary and cruel. We’ve developed a routine where I tease him, he protests, I take a firmer line, he resists, I tease him (a little, not too much — a fine line, and one I have often

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