Ageing parents in a world of migration

•  Talking to a 97-year-old mother and the quiet language of duty

As migration reshapes families across the world, many elderly parents now spend their final years far from their children. Drawing on personal experience with his 97-year-old mother, the writer reflects on how communication, dignity and moral responsibility are tested when ageing and distance intersect

Across the world, millions of elderly parents now spend their final years far from their children. Migration, modern work patterns and changing family structures have quietly reshaped how generations remain connected in old age.

I begin with a personal experience. In recent years I have been learning how to speak meaningfully to my 97-year-old mother after she was compelled by circumstances and age to enter an aged-care facility. What initially felt like a private struggle soon revealed itself as part of a much wider condition of our time.

In a globalised world shaped by migration, fractured proximity and distance, many families — particularly across South Asia and its diaspora — now confront similar challenges. This is largely because modern life has fundamentally altered how children and ageing parents remain connected, though in some cases individual moral failure also plays a part.

Like many in the diaspora, I belong to a generation whose character was shaped by witnessing the quiet, relentless labour of both fathers and mothers in raising children from infancy into adulthood. Only when parents reach extreme old age does the full weight of that sacrifice become unmistakable. By then, they no longer explain themselves. They simply endure.

The shrinking world of the aged parent

For elderly parents living in aged-care facilities, the world contracts sharply. Their universe becomes limited to a room, a corridor, daily routines, and the hope that a familiar voice might interrupt the sameness of the day.

Ageing often brings hearing loss, slower comprehension, altered perception of time, emotional vulnerability and unresolved grief. For parents who experienced neglect, harsh treatment or betrayal by their own children, this stage of life can reopen old wounds. Their suffering is rarely loud. It is more often expressed through withdrawal, repetition or quiet resignation.

Parents who experienced reassurance, continuity and respect from their children often retain a more settled outlook, even as cognitive faculties decline. The difference is not medical. It is relational.

Migration and the new geography of ageing

Today’s world is defined by movement. Children migrate for education, employment or security, while parents remain behind — often ageing in countries different from those of their children. Many elderly parents now spend their final years in care facilities far removed from family life.

Another dimension rarely acknowledged in migrant families is the stark difference in living conditions between countries. Many adult children live in developed societies with high standards of living and reliable healthcare systems, while ageing parents remain in developing countries where healthcare for the elderly is often limited — both in infrastructure and in social perception.

A child may live with the security of advanced medical care and longer life expectancy, while an elderly parent navigates ageing in a system that was never fully designed with the dignity and needs of the very old in mind. The moral tension becomes unavoidable when comfort and security are enjoyed in one part of the world while an elderly parent faces vulnerability in another.

Distance alters not only the frequency of contact but its meaning. Visits become rare and logistically complex. Time-zone differences reduce spontaneity. Phone calls replace presence. For a very old parent, the child’s world may feel abstract, unfamiliar and difficult to grasp. The gap is not merely geographical; it is emotional and cognitive.

Why phone conversations become difficult

Telephone conversations strip away facial cues, touch and shared context. For an elderly parent, a call can feel abrupt or disorienting. For an adult child balancing work, family and responsibilities, the same call may feel repetitive or strained.

When conversations feel difficult, many children gradually shorten calls, increase the gaps between them, or disengage altogether. This withdrawal is often explained as busyness. Yet frequently, it reflects discomfort with an asymmetrical relationship — one in which the parent can no longer offer stimulation, affirmation or reciprocity.

Learning what still connects

Over time, I learned that meaningful conversation with a 97-year-old parent cannot be measured by the subjects we once shared. I know I can no longer engage my mother in discussions about geography, politics or current affairs. Expecting that would only lead to frustration on both sides. Instead, I learned to meet her where she still stands.

I begin with simple, grounding questions — about the ambience of her room, what she is doing at that moment, whether she feels any pain, and whether she is comfortable with the staff around her. These questions are not trivial. They anchor her in the present, reassure her that her immediate wellbeing matters, and gently open the door to conversation without overwhelming her.

From there, I remind her of familiar people and moments — things she once did for us as children, relatives she loved, and shared family experiences. These memories are not abstract. They are deeply embedded. When touched carefully, they often surface with surprising clarity and allow the conversation to continue naturally rather than collapse into silence.

At times, I also use very simple arithmetic — nothing formal or intrusive. A question such as “What is 87 minus 3, plus 3?” gives me a quiet indication of her cognitive state on that particular day — her alertness, short-term memory and confidence. More importantly, it does so without undermining her dignity or turning the interaction into an assessment.

These small adjustments have taught me an important lesson: connection in extreme old age is not about intellectual exchange. It is about recognition. It is about preserving dignity while adapting expectations. When children learn to change the terms of engagement rather than abandon it altogether, conversation does not disappear — it simply changes form.

Who remains, and who withdraws

Children who remain emotionally present for ageing parents are rarely heroic figures. They are ordinary people who have developed emotional endurance — the capacity to remain present without reward or recognition.

It must also be said, however uncomfortable it may be, that distance and modern life do not explain everything. There are instances — deeply sad and troubling — where financially secure and well-educated children consciously distance themselves from parents who are no longer perceived as useful, productive or convenient.

Education and economic success do not automatically confer moral maturity. When elderly parents are discarded not out of necessity but indifference, what is revealed is not a failure of circumstance but a failure of humanity.

A quiet moral test

What began as an effort to learn how to speak to a 97-year-old mother across the silences of age and distance has become a broader reflection on responsibility in a world of movement and separation.

Migration and modern life may explain why connection becomes difficult, but they do not erase its meaning. Without assigning blame, we must still be honest: how we remain connected to our parents when they are no longer independent, articulate or able to give back is one of the clearest measures of maturity and humanity.

Complexity may shape circumstances, but it does not erase the quiet moral obligation that endures to the very end.

(The author is a Sydney-based professional senior engineer and a two-time Paul Harris Fellow (Sapphire Pin) of Rotary International, recognised for exemplifying the humanitarian objectives of the Rotary Foundation through his life and vocation, including service to people in need in Australia and internationally. He served as Editor of the Castle Hill Rotary Club Bulletin from 2013 to 2017)