I am my parents' son

It was good to see my parents last night.

I should clarify. It was good to see my parents more relaxed last night. More than they've been in a long while, anyway. The Cuban air definitely did some good. But I think being away from Nonna had even more to do with it - as difficult as it would be for my mom to admit.

It's a terrible thing to call anyone a burden - let alone your own mother. And I still can't bring myself to even consider my grandmother being that to anyone in our family. My uncles might act like it and may even agree with their wives in the privacy of their own homes. But I know they all care in their own ways. They all sympathize with my Mom but no one is willing to do anything more about it. Everyone's got their own problems, it seems.

And so my Mom (and my father, by proxy) has shouldered the heavy brunt. My Nonna was always difficult when it came to her health, but the Alzheimer's - although still in its relative infancy - has made living with her and caring for her even more frustrating and stressful.

So last night at the supper table, with Nonna still sitting in a hospital bed in Room 658B, the three of us had a very frank and honest conversation about how to help my Mom avoid having another nervous breakdown over this. And being a reasonably fair split between the two of them, I really feel like for the first time in a long time I was able to find a way to reconcile their very different approaches without stoking any of the old fires.

I felt like a judge and psychologist. I heard both sides. I translated viewpoints and gave my own when it was relevant. And I couldn't help but think of Don Corleone in the Godfather, doing his best to manage a generally unsolvable situation that is only likely to deteriorate.

It made me appreciate both of them so much more. And understand myself a little better.