Spoiler Warning: This newsletter discusses major plot points in “Crying in H Mart” by Michelle Zauner.
For some reason, whenever I am always picking up books that intersect with elder law. I don’t do pick them up on purpose, but they seem to call to me. Some of these books teach me about aging; some about grief; some about family dynamics. And some, like Michelle Zauner’s memoir “Crying in H Mart,” teach about all three.
Summary
When I picked up Crying in H Mart, I expected a story about food, culture, and the complicated relationship between a mother and daughter. I did not expect it to provide such a thoughtful examination of what happens when the roles between parent and child begin to shift.
Zauner, best known as the musician behind the band Japanese Breakfast, writes about growing up as the daughter of a Korean mother, Chongmi, and an American father. Chongmi practices tough love. She’s demanding, proud, particular, and often times critical of Michelle. Their relationship is loving, but often difficult, particularly during Michelle’s teenage years. They clash over expectations, identity, independence, and what it meant to be a good daughter and mother. During difficult times where they don’t see eye to eye, food connects them.
The memoir begins when Zauner’s mother is diagnosed with terminal cancer, when Zauner is only twenty-five. As Chongmi’s illness progresses, Zauner returns home and becomes one of her caregivers. This transition is one of the most powerful and painful parts of the book because it captures something many families experience but few are prepared to discuss: the moment when a child begins caring for the person who once cared for them.
Freaky Friday: Parent Child Role Reversal
When we are young, our parents make decisions for us. They protect us, guide us, and often sacrifice for us. The relationship has a natural hierarchy. The parent provides care and the child receives care. As our parents age, that hierarchy can begin to change, especially in the face of illness. Adult children may help with appointments, prepare food, manage medications, provide transportation, assist with finances, or eventually make decisions when a parent can no longer do so independently.
But this transition is not simply a practical one. It is an emotional and psychological shift for everyone involved.
For many parents, accepting help from a child can feel like losing independence or their identity as the parent. The person who once fed you, drove you to school, and told you what to do is now the person who needs help preparing meals, getting to the doctor, or understanding medical instructions. That reversal can be uncomfortable. For many it feels like a loss of independence, privacy, authority, or dignity.
One of the things I found particularly moving in Zauner’s memoir was her recognition that caring for her mother did not erase their established relationship. Even as her mother became physically weaker and more dependent on others, she remained the same strong-willed woman who had raised her. She still wanted to maintain control over aspects of her life, including who cares for her. This sometimes leads to conflict and hurt feelings between Zauner and her mother. Zauner wants to be her mothers caregiver, while her mother would rather rely on other peers she is more comfortable with.
Who should be the caregiver?
This is something I see in practice. Families may assume that because an adult child loves a parent, that child should naturally become the primary caregiver. Sometimes that arrangement works beautifully. A child may feel honored to provide care, and a parent may feel most comfortable receiving assistance from someone who has known them their entire life. But that is not always the case.
Some parents do not want their children to help them bathe, dress, manage their personal hygiene, or witness the most vulnerable parts of their aging process. There may be nothing wrong with the relationship. A parent may simply want to preserve the role they have always held in their child’s life.
Likewise, some children desperately want to provide that care because they view it as an opportunity to repay a parent’s sacrifices. Others may love their parents deeply but recognize that they are not emotionally, physically, or practically suited to be a primary caregiver. No perspective is wrong, but when a parent and child’s perspective don’t match up, it can lead to hurt feelings all around.
So what should you do?
Talk about it. Conversations about aging, caretaking, and illness should happen before there is a crisis. Too often, families wait until a hospitalization, diagnosis, or decline in health forces them to make decisions quickly. In those moments, assumptions can replace conversations. The best plans are not created in the middle of an emergency. They are created during ordinary moments, when everyone has the ability to speak honestly.
A parent should consider not only who they trust to make financial and medical decisions, but also who they want to provide day-to-day care. Those may be the same person. They may not.
The child who is the most organized and financially responsible may be the ideal person to serve as an agent under a financial power of attorney. The child who lives nearby and has a nurturing personality may be the person best suited to coordinate daily care. A spouse, another family member, a close friend, or a professional caregiver may ultimately be the person a parent feels most comfortable allowing into their most private moments.
Good elder law planning recognizes these distinctions. Documents such as powers of attorney are incredibly important because they allow us to identify who will make decisions if we are unable to do so. But legal documents are only one piece of a successful plan. Families also need to discuss expectations, boundaries, fears, and wishes.
In Conclusion
One of the great strengths of Crying in H Mart is that it refuses to simplify the relationship between parent and child. Zauner loved her mother deeply, and caring for her was both a privilege and a profound source of pain. The memoir reminds us that caregiving is not merely a list of tasks. It is an intimate exchange that can bring families closer while also exposing complicated emotions.
Sometimes the greatest gift we can give our families is not simply a well-drafted legal document. It is a conversation. It is telling our children what we want, listening to what they are willing and able to provide, and recognizing that the people who love us most may have different ways of caring for us. The goal of planning is not to force anyone into a role they do not want. It is to create a path that allows aging to occur with as much dignity, autonomy, and compassion as possible.