I knew I was inching toward simultaneously caring for my young kids and aging parents. Suddenly, I was squarely in the sandwich generation. I now had to deal with the terrifying reality that my parents did not have a plan for how to spend their retirement years - especially where they plan to live.
A little more than two years ago, I woke up in my childhood bedroom for the first time in more than three decades. I wasn't home just for a visit. In fact, I wasn't even back with my parents. At 41 years old, I moved in with my 88-year-old grandmother to take care of her. (I call her Mamaw as any good Texan kid would.)
