The theme for this week that has been playing in my head like a smoke detector with a dying battery? “The Great Retirement Role Reversal.” Welcome to second parenthood.

Truly there comes a moment during our adult lives when we come into the sudden, unsettling realization that you have become the responsible one for your parents. The adult to the older, and certainly wiser, adult. The keeper of documents. The knower of passwords. The person who understands that the “cloud” is not only a floating sponge in the sky, but also a giant digital storage locker for all things the human memory cannot seem to access with ease.

Luckily, this role has landed with the youngest of my parents’ children in my own family. Since I am one of the “invisible” middle children, I am off the hook. I have been able to fly under the radar most of my life for this very reason. Not that I wasn’t an enthusiastic contributor to their elevated blood pressure and premature hair loss, but rather I was just strategic enough to color inside the lines while quietly redrawing the margins (and sometimes, not so quietly). In reality, they were likely onto me but just too exhausted to press formal charges. Either way, while I am relieved, I also feel a twinge of guilt when my youngest sister calls, narrating the raw, teeth-clenching frustration of managing it all in real time — as she recounts, in vivid, exhausted detail the skirmishes of patience, paperwork and parental stubbornness.

This does not happen in one day. It is not a sudden onset. Although sometimes it does come as a sudden realization. Somewhere between the retirement party sheet cake and the third phone call asking how to “get Facebook back,” our parents slowly, gently become the children. Certainly not in a disrespectful way. More in the way of having to explain to Mom, again, that she cannot refinance the house because the man on YouTube, whose office appears to be a folding chair, told you to.

It’s an adjustment to be sure. Let’s take housing for instance (since that is all I have any credibility to address anyway). For decades, our parents were the housing authorities of our lives. They chose what neighborhood we lived in. They took out the mortgage and signed the paperwork. They monitored the electricity and thermostat like a seasoned general in a war against kilowatt waste. Now they are asking questions such as; “Is this a good time to sell?” “What is a reverse mortgage?” “Do we need this much house?” And the best one: the one where they think the government has a personal vendetta out against them, “Why are my property taxes so high?”

We’ve talked about the emotional roller coaster that moving from the family home, walls scribbled with watershed moments from the history of immediate family, can be. But we also discussed the reality and the freedom that comes with that move. While it is almost physically painful to watch Dad argue with the moving company like he’s negotiating a hostage situation, or mom insisting that the 49-year-old dining table is far more valuable than Facebook Marketplace says it is, we sit back patiently and allow it. After all, this is what they allowed us as children. They watched while we argued. They waited patiently and painfully while we made our own mistakes and learned hard lessons along the way. We can really do no less for them now.

Housing in retirement isn’t just emotional; it is quantum mathematics with colossal consequences. Equity becomes a literal lifeline. Maintenance becomes a risk calculation. Property taxes continue to be the villains. We have switched roles. Rather than Dad asking us when if ever were getting our own place, we are asking Dad if he would consider moving in with us. The question feels wrong. Mom used to ask us if we packed a jacket. Now we are asking Mom if she would just let us go to the store for her.

The most recent moments that have somehow felt the most absurd included, teaching my stepdad how to use DocuSign, explaining “the market” is not a grocery store, and then having him explain why he texts in all caps (BECAUSE IT’S EASIER TO SEE). As adult children, we are the tech support, the financial consultant, the occasional therapist and the meal planner. And by “we” I mean my youngest sister. In all seriousness though, it is exhausting, humbling and oddly beautiful. Though they owe us nothing, we do kind of owe them.

Jen Fischer is an associate broker and Realtor. She can be reached at 801-645-2134 or jen@jen-fischer.com.