Nearly 20 years ago, when my children were toddlers, my mother came to live with us. She was retired and in good health, but it was no longer feasible for her to live alone in her neighborhood. I thought, “How bad could it be? She’s a gourmet cook, a talented pianist. It will be good for the kids. Maybe it will be good for all of us.” And so she moved. We gave her our master bedroom and turned the third floor office of our Victorian house into our room. Two weeks later, she had a massive stroke and lost much of the movement on her right side. And now I had another role: wife, mother, professional and caregiver.