Ten Years Later: From 60 to 70

 

Now, it’s the “Oh $hit, I’m almost 70” phase.

—70. A milestone that once felt impossibly far off is now here, present, lived-in. I still feel young in many ways, but the truth is undeniable: I am in the phase of life where you can’t pretend there’s still plenty of time to get everything in order. The runway is shorter now.

I’ve been reflecting a lot lately. Ten more years of love, worry, planning, fatigue, advocacy, joy, and fear. Ten years watching Lauren grow, shift, surprise me, and need me—still. Ten years of doing my best to hand off pieces of the puzzle, bit by bit, without letting the whole thing fall apart.

And ten more years of quietly, painfully asking myself:

• Is it enough?

• Will it hold when I’m gone?

• Who will catch her if she falls—and will they see her, the whole her?

I’ve lived with these questions longer than I care to admit. I speak to families every week who are just beginning this journey, or who are stuck in that loop: “I know I should plan, but it’s just too hard.” I tell them gently: I get it. I am you. I've done the work, and I still wake up in the night with my stomach in knots.

Because here's the truth: Even when everything looks in place—legal documents, trusts, support teams, communication tools, circles of support—your heart doesn’t get the memo. It still races with the "what ifs."

Watching my mother’s final years unfold—with all the vulnerabilities and dignity of aging—I see more clearly how finite this all is. I know I likely have 15–20 more years to be a voice for Lauren, to reinforce the foundation, to smooth the transitions. But now I also know how quickly that time can slip away.

Here’s what the last decade has taught me:

1. Planning isn’t a one-time act—it’s a living process.

We don’t just write a trust or create a care plan and call it done. We live it. We revisit it. We test it. We make sure that the people around our children can actually follow what we’ve left behind.

2. Teaching Lauren to advocate for herself is still my number one job.

It’s no longer about just saying what she wants, but about others taking her seriously—listening to her preferences, honoring her boundaries, understanding her way of communicating, her humor, her rhythms. That kind of legacy doesn’t come from documents—it comes from building culture.

3. No system will ever be as good as a loving, attuned parent—but we can get close.

I ran my own small supported living agency for Lauren 14 years. One of the changes was to find an agency to take over while I’m still here. I still do the schedule and am highly involved. The staff, the routines, the one-page profiles, the person-centered practices—it works. It’s not perfect, but it’s designed around her, not around convenience or compliance.

4. Aging gracefully requires boundaries and self-care.

I’ve learned—sometimes the hard way—that I cannot do this well if I’m running on empty. I must rest, laugh, move, eat well, take my meds., even an antidepressant when I notice I’m feeling hopeless, and spend time with people who fill my soul. If I’m to be strong for Lauren, I have to protect my own energy like it's sacred. Because it is.

5. Sharing the path helps others find their way.

This blog, my presentations, the stories I share—this is part of the legacy too. So that the next generation of parents knows they’re not alone, not broken, not failing. Just human. Trying. Loving. Hoping. Planning.

 

So, if you’re reading this and feeling overwhelmed—maybe you’re 40, or 60, or 75—here’s what I want you to know:

Start where you are.

Do one thing.

Then another.

Then rest.

Then laugh.

Then try again.

Talk to your child about their wishes. Capture their routines in writing or pictures or voice memos. Build relationships with their support team. Make your health a priority. Go to that estate planning appointment. Write the messy draft of the “When I’m Gone” guide. It doesn’t have to be pretty. It just has to exist.

Leave the trail.

Because one day, someone else will need to find it.

And because—whether we want to admit it or not—we are the bridge between now and what comes after.

Unsure where to start? Have a look at  this list of things to consider. https://docs.google.com/spreadsheets/d/1YDsrWgVcYzANtUWOffSk-W24enmbnfuOLG5hu_5AY-o/edit?usp=sharing 

With love and solidarity,

Trudy, nearly age 70, still learning, still worrying, still hoping—and still building the road for Lauren.

The Missing Link: California's Failure to Include Families in Person-Centered Care Education

California has made significant investments in person-centered care, allocating substantial funding to train providers and agencies in this transformative approach that prioritizes individual preferences, choices, and quality of life. Yet there's a glaring oversight in this well-intentioned effort: the families who provide daily care and maintain 24/7 responsibility for their loved ones are being left out of the education process.

The Provider-Focused Approach

State funding flows generously toward professional development programs, training workshops, and certification courses for service providers. Agencies receive resources to restructure their programs around person-centered principles. Care coordinators attend seminars on implementing individualized planning processes. This professional education infrastructure is robust and comprehensive.

But person-centered care isn't just a professional methodology—it's a philosophy that should permeate every aspect of an individual's life, including the family relationships that often form the foundation of their support network.

The Family Reality

Families face a unique challenge. Even when their adult children reside in residential care facilities, parents and siblings often remain the primary advocates, decision-makers, and emotional anchors. They navigate complex medical systems, attend care planning meetings, and make countless daily decisions that impact their loved one's wellbeing. They carry the weight of 24/7 responsibility, even when they're not providing direct physical care.

These families desperately need to understand what person-centered care truly means—not just as a buzzword or policy requirement, but as a practical framework for honoring their child's autonomy while balancing health and safety considerations. They need tools to advocate effectively for their loved one's preferences and to collaborate meaningfully with professional care teams.

The Knowledge Gap

Without family education, person-centered care remains incomplete. When families don't understand the principles, they may inadvertently undermine person-centered goals. They might prioritize safety over choice, or fail to recognize opportunities for their loved one to exercise meaningful control over their daily experience. Conversely, they might struggle to communicate their child's unique needs and preferences to care providers who claim to be person-centered but lack deep understanding of the individual.

This knowledge gap creates friction between families and providers, reduces the effectiveness of person-centered planning, and ultimately shortchanges the individuals who should be at the center of their own care.

The Cost of Exclusion

California's investment in provider training will yield limited returns if families—often the most consistent and committed members of the care team—remain uninformed about person-centered principles. The state is essentially funding half a conversation.

The result is a system where professionals speak the language of person-centered care while families operate from a different framework entirely. Care planning meetings become exercises in translation rather than collaboration. Individual preferences get lost in the gap between professional knowledge and family understanding.

A Call for Inclusion

True person-centered care requires a coordinated approach that includes all stakeholders. California must expand its educational investments to reach families directly. This means funding workshops designed specifically for parents and siblings, creating accessible resources that explain person-centered principles in practical terms, and supporting family advocacy organizations that can provide peer-to-peer education.

Families need to understand that person-centered care doesn't mean abandoning their protective instincts or ignoring legitimate safety concerns. Instead, it means finding ways to honor their loved one's choices and preferences within a framework of necessary supports. It means recognizing their child as the expert on their own experience while acknowledging the family's continued role as advocates and supporters.

Moving Forward

The path forward requires recognizing families as partners in the person-centered care revolution, not obstacles to it. California's investment in this approach will only reach its full potential when every stakeholder—professional and family alike—understands and embraces the principles that put individuals at the center of their own lives.

Our most vulnerable citizens deserve nothing less than a coordinated effort that includes everyone who cares about their wellbeing. It's time to close the gap and ensure that person-centered care truly means person-centered—with families equipped to be full partners in that vision.