Honoring My Mom and Celebrating Hispanic Heritage Month
My mom was a ‘sandwich caregiver.’ While raising three kids and working full-time, she also cared for my grandmother, who battled multiple chronic conditions—a common situation in Latino households across America. She took on this care out of deep love and commitment to her mom and family, but also because she had no other choice. She showed me both the harsh realities and the joy that come with caregiving. Today, I recognize that the care that my mom provided for my grandmother and the care that I provide for my 3-year-old son are part of a continuum of care that is undervalued and underinvested in. It’s my life’s work to change that.
The toll on my mother was profound. Her dreams took a backseat to her caregiving responsibilities. For as long as I can remember, she talked about her dream of becoming a certified public accountant, but she couldn’t finish college because of her caregiving duties. This meant she earned less over her lifetime, which gave us fewer opportunities. Care had ripple effects for her and our family.
My mother’s story isn’t unique. According to new data from Caregiving in the US 2025, there are 10 million Latino caregivers like her providing more hours of high-intensity care than other groups, often supporting multiple generations simultaneously. They skew younger and face disproportionate financial strain—a reality I witnessed firsthand as my mother juggled work around doctor’s appointments, medication schedules, and the daily needs of both her children and her mother.
The systemic barriers my mother faced persist today. Latino caregivers often work in jobs without paid leave or flexible scheduling, making every hour spent caregiving a potential financial crisis. When my grandmother needed complex care after surgery, my mother had to choose between her paycheck and her mother’s health. There was never really a choice.
My mother found herself drowning in red tape. The healthcare system seemed designed for people with time, money, and connections we didn’t have. Every insurance denial meant hours on the phone. Every new specialist required stacks of paperwork. Finding affordable home care felt impossible. But my mother persisted, learning to decode medical bills, memorizing insurance codes, and becoming an expert in a system that never wanted to include her.
This Hispanic Heritage Month, as I care for my own young son, I see how little has changed. The 63 million family caregivers across America need more than recognition—they need action. We need stronger access to Medicaid and Medicare benefits, flexible financial support, and workplace protections that acknowledge caregiving as essential work. We need culturally responsive services that partner with our communities, not just translate brochures.
My mother’s sacrifice shaped who I am today. Her caregiving was an act of love, cultural tradition, and necessity. But no family should have to choose between dreams and duty, between economic stability and caring for loved ones. Family caregivers sustain our families and communities through their undervalued labor. It’s time our systems delivered on their promise to them.
