Dr. Synthia Michelle Doaks
Kweku’s Korner
By Dr. Synthia Michelle Doaks
There is a silent, soul-wrenching burden that often falls on one child when aging or ailing parents begin the process of end-of-life care. It is the “responsible” child who is appointed power of attorney, executor of the will, trustee, or healthcare surrogate. On paper, these roles seem like honors—symbols of trust and responsibility. In reality, they are overwhelming positions that demand more time, emotional labor, financial precision, and moral fortitude than most people prepare for.
Being the “appointed” child means being on call for every decision, from medical emergencies to property sales, funeral arrangements, navigation of a trust, and financial settlements. It means learning legalese overnight, interpreting your parents’ wishes through confusion, and making choices no child wants to make—about DNR orders, or when to sell the house and cars to fund nursing home expenses.
The paperwork alone is staggering: coordinating lawyers, opening and closing bank accounts, tracking down life insurance policies, settling debts, managing monthly bills, listing/showing real estate, liquidating vehicles—all while holding a full-time job and raising children. And if your parent is still living, you may be simultaneously juggling their pharmacy runs and doctor visits.
But what makes the job nearly unbearable is not the work—it’s the betrayal.
The siblings and or family members who were not appointed often become the loudest critics. Some question every decision. Others sow seeds of doubt. They whisper accusations. They challenge authority. They twist concern into control, and involvement into invasion. And worst of all, they do this while doing nothing—offering no help, no time, no support.
You try to hold it all together—every receipt cataloged, every document filed, every call documented. You work with lawyers and doctors. You play by the book. But somehow, you’re still the villain.
I know this because I’m living it. I was appointed by my father for all of these roles. I’ve managed his bills, kept his house in order, recorded every transaction, and organized the sale of his home and vehicles. But now, in my opinion, with manipulations of idle hands at play, I am the transgressor. It is pathetic that their (family members’) projection of me is a reflection of their conniving and manipulative nature. The heartbreak is indescribable.
Being the responsible one is lonely. It is exhausting. And when you realize your integrity isn’t enough to shield you from blame, the pain cuts deep. Like an absentee parent who walks away from a newborn, I have had to step back—not out of abandonment, but for self-preservation. Sometimes, to protect your mental health, you must remove yourself from the insanity.
To those who bear this burden: you are not alone. Managing a parent’s estate and final wishes is a noble task—but it is not for the wary. It takes grit, grace, and unfortunately, a thick skin to withstand the wounds inflicted not just by time or duty—but by those you once called family.