My aging parents are in Hong Kong and I'm in LA. I recently dropped everything to spend 3 months caring for them, leaving my own family behind.

Two days before Christmas, my brother called me in a panic. Our 86-year-old mother had suddenly become erratic and verbally abusive, and he needed help caring for her.

"Can you come?" he asked.

Listening to the weary tone in his voice, I knew I had to say yes.

Later that night, I was on a plane to Hong Kong, 7,200 miles from my home in Los Angeles. It was my fifth such trip in 12 months, crossing the Pacific to help care for my aging parents.

This last visit was especially challenging. I was leaving my children alone for the holidays, and I had purchased a one-way ticket, uncertain when I would return. I ended up staying for more than three months.

My trips home have become more frequent

In many respects, Hong Kong is my home. I was born there. My parents, originally from India, have lived there for decades. I moved to Los Angeles in 2000 after getting married.

For many years, I maintained only tenuous ties with my birthplace. Given the importance of the joint family tradition in our culture, my parents are fortunate to live with my brother, his wife, and their children. Like many parts of Southeast Asia, domestic help is relatively affordable, ensuring my parents are well cared for. Under those circumstances, I rarely returned in the years after I left.

But as they have aged, everything has changed. My brother and sister-in-law travel frequently and don't like to leave my parents without a family member despite their paid caregivers always being nearby. My other siblings have work commitments that prevent them from flying back and forth to lend a hand.

I am widowed. My sons are young adults, and I am not bound to a demanding job. So the responsibility in recent years has largely fallen on me.

I quickly started to leave my mark

A few days after I arrived in Hong Kong, I took my mother to a neurologist. She was diagnosed with Alzheimer's, which explained her aggressive and abrasive behavior. She was prescribed medication.

As a relative outsider, I was able to observe certain triggers and mitigate them. Dinner in our house had traditionally been served at 8:30 p.m., followed by some TV watching until at least 11, by which time my parents' nerves were often frayed.

I implemented a new schedule: dinner at 7:15 and lights out at 9:30. They argued at first but eventually relented. The difference was profound. Combined with effective medication, our home life was transformed.

But the process was difficult. My mother fell twice while I was there. My father, wheelchair-bound and nearly blind, struggled alongside her. Both have lost their hearing.

The activities that once brought them joy and united our family — long Sunday lunches at new restaurants, visits to relatives, and travel— are now beyond them. Their world has narrowed, and all they have is each other. Watching their decline is, for me, heartbreaking.

My family needs me, too

Meanwhile, my boys kept asking when I was coming home. In addition to missing the holidays with them, I also missed one son's birthday, college visits for the other, evacuations during the horrific fires in California, and the daily rhythm of our lives. The 15-hour time difference meant they would absentmindedly call me at 3 a.m. my time, not realizing I had been up for hours managing my parents' care.

I have already booked two more flights to Hong Kong in the coming months. As long as my parents are alive, I plan to return every few months, staying for weeks at a time. Caregiving for older parents is inherently challenging. Doing it across continents is infinitely more so. There is also the aching reality that the next time I go back, my mother may not recognize me.

Yet, despite the exhaustion and the sacrifices, I wouldn't have it any other way. When I was leaving Hong Kong to return to Los Angeles, my mother, despite her haze of confusion and forgetfulness, hugged me tightly, tears in her eyes, and said, "Thank you for everything." That was reward enough.