There I was, quietly sobbing on a plane.

Exit row. No one beside me. Just a pile of damp Kleenex and the blur of tears clouding my view out the window.

I had just finished “When Cranes Fly South” on my flight home from visiting my son and his fiancée. It’s a tender, beautifully told story of an 89-year-old man named Bo whose life is gently winding down. Through his loss of independence, we witness the painful unspooling of a man who spent a lifetime doing his best — working hard, loving his family, and carrying unspoken emotions that now echo through his final chapter.

As Bo struggles with the indignities of old age, his only child Hans steps in, trying to protect his father. Their bond is complex and all too familiar: a child trying to do what’s right, and a parent trying not to lose themselves or their dignity. And then there’s Sixten, Bo’s loyal dog, the last companion of his fading world, who becomes a symbol of both love and loss.

Reading it, I couldn’t help but think of my own journey caring for my mother, now in her sunset years. That push and pull of wanting to protect her, to make things easier, while watching her fight for her independence, felt all too familiar. A painful reflection of what so many of us who care for aging parents hold inside, but rarely name.

There’s a slow ache that settles in as you watch someone you love grow old. You want to hold them close and keep them safe, but you know you can’t stop time. The choices we make for our aging parents often come with guilt, misunderstanding, and heartbreak. We act out of love, but it doesn’t always feel that way to them.
Still, caring for our aging parents is one of life’s deepest heartbreaks and greatest honors.

And yet, so complicated.

“When Cranes Fly South” captures this truth so beautifully — the fear of growing old, and the tenderness of those left to care, to watch, and eventually, to let go. It reminds us that aging isn’t just about decline. It’s about reckoning with who we’ve been, what we’ve loved, and what remains when everything else falls away.

For caregivers, children, and anyone walking beside someone in this stage of life, this book offers quiet companionship. It reflects the pain, tenderness, and grace that accompany the unstoppable passage of time.

In Bo, we see all of us: fighting to hold on to what matters, loving through loss, and learning that even in the end, life is both heartbreaking and beautiful.

So are the people we love.
So are our memories.
So are we.

If you’re in this season too, caring for someone you love, know that you’re not alone.

In the end, love is what endures.

Through the ache.
Through the loss.
Through us.