On the unconditional love of the informal caregiver

 




English Translation: 

"At that table, he would gather us
And happily tell us what he did that morning
And in his eyes there was so much brightness
That more than his son, I became his fan
[…]
Now there's only one table left in the room
And today nobody talks about his mandolin anymore
At that table, he's missing
And the longing for him is hurting me”
Nelson Gonçalves


Portuguese society bases a large part of its response to dependency and old age on a silent, almost invisible pillar: the informal caregiver. In most cases, this caregiver is a close family member, almost always a child, who provides daily, continuous, and demanding care, often at the expense of their professional, personal, and emotional life. Despite the formal recognition of this role, the system continues to function as if this care were an inexhaustible resource: always available, naturally assured, and morally obligatory.

This expectation is reflected in Portuguese legislation, which establishes a legal duty for children to care for their parents. It is a rule rooted in a strongly family-centered conception of the welfare state, one that shifts into the private sphere a responsibility that is, in essence, collective. In a context of rapid ageing, longer life expectancy, and growing clinical complexity, this transfer becomes particularly burdensome. The legal obligation exists; the material, technical, and human means to fulfil it often do not.

The current legal framework reveals clear cracks when it comes to people without descendants. Who cares for those who have no children? In a model that assumes the availability of family ties to provide informal assistance, such individuals become structurally more vulnerable. The absence of these bonds exposes a gap that the state is rarely able to fill, revealing the fragility of a system that depends heavily on the family as the primary provider of care.

It is within this context that the gesture of children who care for their parents – beyond what the law can mandate – becomes especially visible and morally compelling. Children who push their professional and personal lives into the background and endure emotional strain to care for their parents on a journey they refuse to accept as one with no return. Children who care out of love, driven by a deep sense of ethical responsibility and, above all, by a bond that, in maturity and fragility, returns the same unconditional love they once received from parents long seen as eternal.

When the informal caregiver realizes that they are no longer caring for a mother or father, but instead caring for their final days, a wound opens and bleeds without protection. The damage is no longer “only” emotional; it is structural, intimate, and measured in exact proportion to the love that sustains it.

These caregivers go far beyond what can reasonably be expected. They preserve the dignity of those who depend on them and, above all, affirm the humanity of care. They do not simply extend lives; they give them meaning, presence, and continuity. In practice, by caring for those they love, they step in where the state falls short, compensating for the insufficiency of public support and the absence of a truly collective responsibility for care – a structural shortcoming whose effects reach across society as a whole.

When the journey comes to an end, a sense of emptiness and failure settles in. One question lingers, suspended in a broken heart: if he gave me life and cared for me, why weren’t my care and my love enough to keep him alive? All that remains is the hope that, deep within, the child can hear a calm, reassuring voice saying, “You did well, son.” And that, in time, he may finally make peace with life.


    Priscila Ferreira & Pedro Sousa Basto
Revista SIM, February 2026
https://revistasim.pt/arquivo/315/#p=76

https://revistasim.pt/arquivo/315/#p=78

https://revistasim.pt/arquivo/312/#p=50 




Credit: Photographer Stephen DiRado, from the series With Dad, Title: Gene, Nursing Home, Marlborough, MA, February 23, 2008
There is also a film and a book about this work. 
Many of Stephen's photography projects spanning 40-plus years are based on long-term photography essays. Visit his website: www.stephendirado.com


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