When you're far away and can't see what's really happening

Your parent lives in Brisbane. Or Mumbai. Or Athens. You live in Melbourne.

Every phone call, you're listening between the words. Does Mum sound OK? Is Dad's voice different? They say they're fine, but are they really?

One in three older Australians comes from culturally and linguistically diverse backgrounds and many have adult children living interstate or overseas. Distance doesn't just make caregiving logistics harder - it makes knowing what's actually happening nearly impossible.

Phone calls lie. Your parent has twenty minutes to perform "fine" for you. You can't see the messy house, the empty fridge, or how they're actually moving. And you're left with this gnawing uncertainty: Am I overreacting, or am I missing something serious?

This article addresses what happens when you're trying to manage ageing parent care from hundreds (or thousands) of kilometres away. Because distance doesn't just make things harder. It makes assessment nearly impossible.

Rachel lived in Sydney. Her mother Margaret, lived in Perth: four time zones and a five-hour flight away. Rachel's brother Tom lived in London, even further removed.

Margaret was 79, living alone since their father died five years ago. Rachel called every Sunday at 11am Sydney time. Early enough, she hoped, to catch Margaret before she'd fully prepared her "I'm fine" performance.

For six months, Rachel had been noticing things. Small things. Margaret would forget Rachel had already told her something. She'd ask about Rachel's daughter's school - even though Rachel had explained multiple times that Emma was at university now. Sometimes Margaret seemed confused about what day it was.

But from 4,000 kilometres away, Rachel couldn't tell: Was this normal ageing? Early dementia? Or was the distance making her paranoid?

Then Margaret's neighbour Va,l sent Rachel a Facebook message.

"I don't want to overstep, but I think you should know - your mum's car has two new dents she can't explain. I've been bringing in her bins because they're not going out. And yesterday, when I knocked, she was wearing the same dress I'd seen her in three days earlier. I'm worried."

Rachel called Tom immediately. He hadn't visited in two years. Flights from London were expensive, and he had young kids. Rachel had visited six months ago, but that was Christmas, when Margaret had obviously tidied and put on her "daughter's visiting" face.

Tom's response: "Mum sounded fine when I called last week. You're probably overreacting."

Rachel felt that familiar frustration. The long-distance sibling who had opinions but no involvement. Leaving her to manage everything while working full-time and raising her own daughter.

"Tom, you call once a fortnight for twenty minutes. The neighbour is seeing her every da,y and she's concerned enough to reach out to me."

"So what do you want me to do about it from London? You're closer. You deal with it."

Rachel booked flights to Perth for the following week. Not a planned visit. An emergency assessment trip.

She arrived unannounced at 10am on a Wednesday.

Margaret's house looked like someone had stopped caring months ago. The kitchen had dishes in the sink. Not from breakfast, but crusted on, days old. The bathroom bin overflowed. Rachel opened the fridge: yoghurt three weeks past expiry, wilted lettuce, not much else. Five unopened bills sat on the counter. Two were final notices with over $800 owing.

Margaret had lost weight. At Christmas, the loose summer dress had hidden it. Now, in everyday clothes, her frame looked significantly smaller. She was wearing the cardigan Val had mentioned, stain visible on the sleeve.

"Mum, what day is it today?"

Margaret hesitated. Guessed wrong.

"What did you have for breakfast?"

"I... I'm not sure if I ate yet."

Margaret's small red hatchback that she'd driven confidently for years had two noticeable dents on the passenger side.

"Oh, those," Margaret said vaguely. "I think... was that the shopping centre? I can't quite remember."

That night, Rachel video-called Tom in London.

"See? I told you it was serious."

"Okay, yes, it's worse than I thought. But Rach, I can't just drop everything and fly to Australia. I have a job. Kids. You're four hours away, not twenty-four. You need to sort this out."

"I'm not asking you to fly here. I'm asking you to acknowledge this is a problem and help me figure out what to do. And maybe contribute financially since I'm the one using my annual leave to deal with this."

The reality Rachel accepted: She'd manage everything from Sydney. Tom would offer opinions from London and occasional money to ease his guilt.

 

Priya moved from Mumbai to Melbourne for work fifteen years ago. Her parents were in their early 60s then - healthy, managing fine. Now they were 78 and 76, still in their Bandra flat.

Priya's brother Raj lived in Pune, three hours from Mumbai. Her sister Anjali lived in Dubai. None of them close enough for daily oversight.

The cultural complication
In traditional Indian families, children (particularly daughters-in-law) provide parent care. Priya, unmarried and living abroad, wasn't fulfilling expectations. Her parents, especially her mother, made that clear.

"If you had stayed in India like Raj..." her mother would say, letting the sentence trail off with implied disappointment.

Raj, married with his wife's parents also needing care, couldn't take on Priya's parents full-time. Anjali had three young children and a husband working long hours.

The siblings had different views on what should happen:

Raj: "Appa and Amma should come live with me in Pune. That's what families do."

Anjali: "They won't leave Mumbai. All their friends are there. We need care at home."

Priya: "I'll pay for whatever they need, but I can't move back. My career is here. Can we hire full-time help?"

Their parents: "We're managing fine. We don't need help."

They weren't managing fine.

The triggering event
Their father fell in the bathroom at 2am. Couldn't get up. Their mother, frail herself, couldn't lift him. They lay on the bathroom floor for three hours until the morning helper arrived at 6am.

The building security guard called Raj. Raj called Priya.

Priya, in Melbourne, felt the sickening helplessness of being thousands of kilometres away while her father was lying injured.

The hospital visit revealed what none of the siblings had known: their father had been having dizzy spells for months. Their mother had significant memory problems she'd been hiding. The flat was in a state - their father's medications mixed together in one container, their mother couldn't remember the last time she'd cooked a proper meal.

The sibling argument that followed, conducted via WhatsApp across three time zones.

Raj: They need to move to Pune with me. I can't keep driving to Mumbai for every emergency.

Priya: But all their friends are in Mumbai. Moving would be traumatic. Can we arrange 24-hour home care?

Anjali: Who's paying for 24-hour care? That's 50,000 rupees a month minimum.

Priya: I'll pay. I earn Australian dollars, so I can afford it.

Raj: Of course you'll pay - you're not doing any actual caregiving. Money doesn't replace being there.

Priya: I'm 6,000 kilometres away! What do you want me to do, quit my job and move back?

Anjali: Maybe that's exactly what you should do. They're getting old. Family comes first.

The guilt Priya carried was crushing. She'd built a successful life in Melbourne. But the expectation - cultural, familial, internalised - was that she should sacrifice it all to return home.

What they eventually arranged after weeks of arguing.

Parents stayed in their Mumbai flat with a 24-hour live-in helper. Priya paying, Raj coordinating, Anjali providing emotional support via video calls. Raj visits monthly for medical appointments. Priya sends about $1,200 AUD monthly. She visits twice yearly from Melbourne - each trip costs over $2,000 in flights alone. All three siblings on WhatsApp group with a helper who sends daily updates. Building supervisor paid to check and report emergencies.

The ongoing tension
Raj resents doing all the hands-on work while Priya "just sends money." Priya resents the implication that money isn't also sacrifice - she's supporting them financially while building her own retirement. Anjali feels guilty that she can't do more, but has three kids under 10.

The cultural guilt
"In Australia, distance caregiving is accepted," Priya said. "In Indian culture, I'm the bad daughter who abandoned her parents. Every video call, I see it in Amma's face. She doesn't say it anymore, but I know she's thinking it."

And yet
"My parents are safer now than when they were 'managing fine' with no oversight. The live-in helper ensures they eat, take medications, and don't fall without help. Raj handles medical issues monthly. The watchman is extra eyes. It's not perfect. I wish I could be there more. But this is the best we can do with three siblings scattered across three continents."

Distance creates three fundamental problems.

Phone calls hide reality. You hear their voice. You don't see the kitchen with dishes piled up, the unopened mail, how they're actually moving, the weight they've lost that baggy clothes hide.

The "game face" effect amplifies. When you only visit quarterly or twice a year, your parent has days to prepare - tidy visible areas, put on clean clothes, rehearse their "I'm fine" script. Rachel saw this: Christmas visit showed Margaret's prepared version. Unannounced Wednesday showed the daily reality.

Pattern recognition becomes impossible. Is the messy house a bad week or six months of decline? Is the confusion because she just woke up, or is it happening daily? You can't tell from snapshots.

You need local eyes. Multiple people who can help provide regular reports.

For detailed guidance on building support networks, see:
Remember when you had a village to raise your kids? Your parents need one too.

Rachel's Perth network from Sydney:

• Neighbour Val: paid $80/week for daily check-in plus text

• Aged care case manager: coordinates services, $350/month

• GP reception: flags missed appointments

• Service providers: Meals on Wheels and the cleaner report concerns

Priya's Mumbai network from Melbourne:

• Live-in helper: sends daily WhatsApp updates

• Brother Raj: monthly in-person visits

• Building supervisor: paid to check daily, plus emergency contact

• Parents' close friends: check via phone, report to siblings

The principle: Multiple people, regular check-ins, specific things to watch for, easy way to report.

How to approach neighbours or friends:

Don't just say "let me know if anything changes." They won't know what matters.

Say this instead:
"I'm worried about Mum, but I live [distance] away. Would you be willing to let me know if you notice anything concerning? I'm not asking you to provide care - just to be my eyes. If bins aren't going out, she's wearing the same clothes repeatedly, she seems confused, anything changes - would you call or text me?"

Make reporting easy. "Text me once a week after you've seen her, even if everything's fine. Even just: 'Saw Margaret today, seemed OK.'"

 

Standard video call: parent sits in one spot, controlled environment, shows you what they want you to see.

Better:

Ask for a house tour. "Mum, can you walk me through the house? Show me around." Reveals home condition and how they're moving.

Ask to see the fridge. "What's for dinner tonight? Can you show me what's in your fridge? I need meal ideas." Shows the food situation without accusation.

Call at random times. Not the same day and time every week. Rachel's Sunday 11am calls showed Margaret prepared and at her best. Random Wednesday 2pm calls showed reality - dishes in background, confusion about the day.

Watch the background. Is the same clutter there every call? Can you see unopened mail? What's the condition of the visible surroundings?

Notice what they're wearing. Same clothes multiple calls? Clean and presentable?

This is hard. Your parent says they're managing fine. The neighbour says they're worried. Who do you believe?

Trust local observers when:

Multiple people independently express concern. If neighbour AND friend AND building security all mention worries - that's a pattern, not one person overreacting.

The concern is specific and observation-based. "She asked me the same question three times yesterday" is more credible than vague "doesn't seem right."

Your parent has known cognitive issues. Lack of insight is common with dementia. They genuinely can't see their own decline.

The observer has no ulterior motive. Val reached out to Rachel because she was genuinely worried, not because she wanted something.

Your own observations align when you check. Random video calls confirm what they're reporting.

Val's message to Rachel wasn't the first sign of decline. It was confirmation of what Rachel had been sensing but couldn't verify from Sydney.

The building supervisor who called Raj about the fall was right to call. That's what he was paid to do - be extra eyes when family can't be there.

 

This is one of the hardest calls. And it differs for everyone - there are so many variables to be considered. 

Regular scheduled visits

How often, if things seem stable:

• Interstate Australia: Every 3-6 months

• International: 2-3 times per year

Purpose: Quality time, relationship maintenance, important conversations when everyone's calm, and attend medical appointments if timing aligns.

Limitation: Your parent prepares. You see the best version.

How often if you notice concerning changes:

• Interstate: Every 2-3 months minimum

• International: 2-3 times per year minimum, but accept you'll need to rely heavily on local support

When to book immediately:

• Local person expresses serious concern

• Multiple people report worrying changes

• Major event: fall, hospitalisation, sudden confusion, safety incident

• Your gut says, "something's really wrong"

Purpose: Unannounced arrival shows daily reality, emergency medical appointments, immediate safety interventions, and assessment of true functional level.

Rachel's emergency Perth trip cost $800 last-minute flights plus hotel, used her annual leave, left her daughter with friends for a week. Worth it - revealed reality she couldn't see from Sydney, got interventions started.

Priya's emergency Mumbai trip cost $2,200 in flights, and took two weeks off work unpaid. Worth it - made decisions about live-in care, coordinated with Raj, ensured parents were safe.

Strategy: Book flights 1-2 weeks out. Tell your parent you're coming, but don't give them weeks to prepare. Arrive at a random time of day.

Purpose: More reality than planned visits, less shocking than completely unannounced.

 

Rachel's reality: Each Perth trip costs $600-800 plus time off work. She can't sustain monthly visits.

Her compromise: Every 6-8 weeks, as often as finances allow. Combines with work travel when possible. Tom sends money occasionally to help with flights - when Rachel explicitly asks.

Priya's reality: Each Mumbai trip costs $2,000+ and requires two weeks off. Can't do more than 2-3 times per year.

Her compromise: Twice yearly, but thorough two-week visits. Raj does monthly in-person. Heavy reliance on a paid live-in helper for daily oversight. Video calls three times per week.

When you genuinely can't visit more often:

• Maximise remote monitoring systems

• Rely on local family members or friends if available

• Invest in professional local coordination

• Accept that earlier formal services or residential care may be necessary

 

Here's what nobody wants to hear: Sometimes living alone + functional decline + distance = residential care is the safest option.

Not because you don't care. Because 24-hour safety oversight isn't possible from thousands of kilometres away.

The tipping point arrives when:

• Your parent is falling regularly, and you can't respond quickly to emergencies

• Cognitive decline means unsafe decisions, and no one is checking daily

• All services are in place - cleaner, meals, case manager, daily check-ins - but your parent is still not safe

• You're getting calls from neighbours, services, or police about incidents

• You can't sleep because you're constantly worried about what's happening

For Rachel, that point came 18 months after the emergency visit. Even with a case manager, cleaner, Meals on Wheels, Val checking daily - Margaret kept falling, kept getting confused, kept making unsafe decisions. Living alone in Perth with Rachel managing from Sydney wasn't sustainable.

Margaret moved to residential care in Perth. Rachel visits every 6 weeks. Val still visits weekly. Margaret is safe, fed, and supervised around the clock. Rachel can finally sleep at night.

 

 If you're managing parent care from Sydney to Perth or Melbourne to Mumbai, you're part of a large, mostly invisible community doing something incredibly difficult.

Distance makes knowing what's happening nearly impossible. Phone calls lie. Scheduled visits show performance, not reality. Your parent says "I'm fine" because they want to believe it, don't want to worry you, or genuinely can't see their own decline.

You need local eyes - neighbours, friends, paid helpers, family members closer by. Multiple people reporting regularly.

You need to visit more often than feels financially sustainable when a decline is happening.

You need formal services earlier than local families because you can't provide daily oversight or hands-on care.

You need to trust local observers even when your parent insists everything's fine.

And sometimes you need to accept: You cannot safely manage this from this distance anymore. That's not failure. That's reality.

Distance caregiving is exhausting, expensive, guilt-inducing, and lonely. The sibling dynamics often make it worse - unequal burden, distance siblings with opinions but no involvement, cultural expectations about who should do what.