The Ancient and Beautiful Work of Caregiving

“Restoration hang thy medicine on my lips…”
—Cordelia, King Lear

Caregiving is not new. It's not novel, trendy, or even uniquely modern. It is ancient—woven into the very structure of human life. Anthropologists have found evidence that early humans tended to injured and disabled tribe members, even when it meant slowing down or sacrificing resources. Care was not peripheral to survival. It was survival (Vitaliano, 2014). But that doesn't mean it gets easier. In fact, caregiving remains one of the most emotionally, spiritually, and logistically demanding roles a person can step into. Each generation must learn it all over again—not just the mechanics of tracking appointments and managing medications, but the deeper transformation of spirit that caregiving can provoke.

As a clinician, I see the toll caregiving can take. As a daughter, I've felt it. As a community health advocate, I believe we need better structures to support it. And as a lifelong reader, I’ve found surprising resonance in characters centuries old—characters who, in their own time and context, cared for someone else with heartbreak and grace. These stories don’t solve the problem. But they remind us: we’re not alone.

Cordelia: The One Who Comes Back

In Shakespeare’s King Lear, the youngest daughter, Cordelia, is banished for refusing to flatter her father. When his mind and power have crumbled, and no one else remains, she returns. She returns not to scold, but to heal. Her words are few, but unforgettable: “Restoration hang thy medicine on my lips.” She kisses Lear awake, offering not just care, but dignity. There is no guarantee of outcome. Her care does not save him. But it matters. That’s the part of caregiving that hurts: when love is not enough to stop decline (cognitive, emotional, or psychological). And yet, we show up.

Today, millions of caregivers in the U.S. show up every day. Many for elders. Many while balancing full-time work or raising children. According to the Center to Advance Palliative Care, over 24 million Americans were caregiving for older adults in 2022 (CAPC, 2025). Many don’t even call themselves caregivers. They say, “I’m just helping my mom.” Or, “It’s what anyone would do.” But that quiet, consistent return—like Cordelia’s—is care of the highest kind.

Joe Gargery: The Steady, Silent Strength

In Charles Dickens’s Great Expectations, Joe is not the hero of the story. But he is its soul. As Pip’s brother-in-law, Joe quietly tends to him through illness, disappointment, and pride. He never seeks praise, but remains constant, forgiving, and present. His kindness is not always appreciated. But it is unwavering.

Modern caregiving often looks like Joe: the family member who stays through the night, the one who makes coffee before the nurse arrives, the one who doesn’t correct memory lapses but gently repeats answers. The burden is real, but so is the bond. Research shows that caregiving can trigger enormous psychological stress. But, it can also unlock profound purpose and meaning (National Alliance for Caregiving & AARP, 2020). About half of family caregivers report that caregiving gives their life new significance. Joe would understand.

Beth March: Tenderness in the Small Things

Beth, the quietest of the Little Women, may be the character most transformed by care. She is both giver and receiver. She nurses others during scarlet fever and eventually succumbs to illness herself. Her family’s love surrounds her. Her mother, Marmee, is a kind of caregiver archetype: patient, wise, emotionally attuned. What Beth and Marmee model is what so often goes unnoticed in today’s fast-paced healthcare system: the power of presence. Not procedures, not prescriptions—presence. Sitting with someone. Making broth. Brushing hair. Holding space.

That is sacred work, though the healthcare system rarely reimburses it. At Storyline, we believe presence matters. We make time for it. And we help you build a plan so that others (providers, loved ones, hired caregivers) can show up with the same intention and attention.

Jean Valjean: Redemptive Labor

In Les Misérables, Jean Valjean is redeemed not through religion or reputation, but through caregiving. When he takes in Cosette and raises her as his own, he becomes not just protector, but parent. He rearranges his entire life around her needs.

Many caregivers know this shift. You become an amateur expert in wound care, or insulin dosing, or dementia. Your calendar is no longer yours. Your meals aren’t either. You start thinking in someone else’s needs. Sometimes caregiving is born out of guilt, or desperation, or accident. But it often becomes redemptive. It changes who we are. Research supports this: while caregiving can lead to depression, it can also lead to post-traumatic growth, especially when caregivers are given adequate tools and support (Vitaliano, 2014).

Samwise Gamgee: Carrying the Load

Tolkien’s character Samwise Gamgee is a deeply classic caregiver figure. As Frodo’s journey becomes too hard to continue, Sam does what many of us have done for those we love: he carries the burden himself. “I can’t carry it for you, but I can carry you,” he says.

So many caregivers I know has had a Samwise moment. Not just the adult child driving to yet another appointment, but the home health aide who cleans wounds with respect, or the friend who organizes a meal train after surgery. These are the unseen acts of love that carry others through the impossible.

Telemachus: Growing into Care

In Homer’s Odyssey, Telemachus is a boy left behind. As his father Odysseus fights to return home, Telemachus grows into manhood; this is not through conquest, but through caretaking. He defends his mother, organizes their home, and eventually plays a key role in restoring his father’s life.

Many young people today are thrust into similar roles. The so-called “sandwich generation”, those caring for both children and parents, now numbers in the millions (Lei, Leggett, & Maust, 2023). Some are in their twenties, navigating the dual responsibilities of their own development and their parents’ decline.

Storyline was built for them too. Because keeping track of your own health story is hard enough. Keeping track of someone else’s—appointments, histories, med lists, specialist notes—is something no one should do alone.

It’s Beautiful. And It’s Hard.

Caregiving asks more of us than we think we can give. It’s emotional, logistical, financial, spiritual. It demands love, but also memory, discipline, flexibility, and persistence. Some days are deeply rewarding. Some are profoundly lonely. Caregivers often face difficult conversations: how to talk about driving safety, or cognitive decline, or care transitions. They face surprising emotions: guilt, relief, grief, resentment, deep joy. None of this makes you a bad caregiver. It makes you human.

We created Storyline to support the people doing this work—the silent backbone of families and communities. We’re here for those managing their own care, and we’re here for those managing someone else’s too. Whether you need help organizing records, preparing for a doctor visit, or planning what’s next, we’re ready to help.

This work has always been with us. Cordelia did it. Joe did it. Beth did it. Sam did it. Jean Valjean did it. And Telemachus learned to do it.

Now it’s your turn. You don’t have to do it alone.

References

Center to Advance Palliative Care. (2025). Number of family caregivers helping older adults increases by nearly 6 million.
Centers for Disease Control and Prevention. (2024). Caregiving. U.S. Dept. of Health and Human Services.
Global Coalition on Aging. (2021). Building the caregiving workforce our aging world needs.
Lei, L., Leggett, A. N., & Maust, D. T. (2023). A national profile of sandwich generation caregivers providing care to both older adults and children. Journal of the American Geriatrics Society, 71(3), 799–809.
National Alliance for Caregiving & AARP. (2020). Caregiving in the United States 2020.
Vitaliano, P. P. (2014). Does caregiving cause psychological stress? University of Washington News.