Last week presented an interesting sort of life lesson for me. We're all fairly young around here, and for the most part, so are our parents. Since I am the youngest of five kids, my folks may be a bit older than most. But certainly at 58 my father has not yet joined the ranks of the ancient. That's why the events of the last week were so hard for me to handle.

Aren't I the kid? Haven't I always been the baby of the family? That's certainly what I'm used to! I couldn't get past this obstacle of logic as I dressed and fed my father; made phone calls for him; conducted his business and ran the house. I've heard often enough of the disheartening role reversal that occurs as our parents age, but I was entirely unprepared for it.

Mine is not a heart-wrenching story, really. Luckily, my father did not suffer a stroke or other misfortune that would severely alter his capacities for the rest of his life. No, my dad was just a clutz and slipped on the ice, breaking his left wrist (he's left handed) and spraining his right wrist and shoulder. We can laugh about it, blaming the family dogs or lack of sunshine or poor quality of our shovel for the fall. The cast isn't permanent; though the doctors say some of the damage may be.

For him, the injury has proven frustrating and terribly inconvenient. He can't use silverware, write, or even button his own pants. I guess we tend to take some things for granted. The situation was equally frustrating for me, but that's just because my dad is horribly stubborn. Rather than ask for my help with something, he'd try it himself, fail, get flustered and yell at me for not offering help. In his anger, he would invariably manage to further injure himself.

All frustrations aside, though, these events honestly made me contemplate the future. What happens when our parents are no longer capable of caring for themselves on their own? I can't imagine stuffing my father away in some nursing home. But I know that I can't stop my life to sacrifice the amount of time and effort necessary to care for him. It was hard enough to take this last week off classes and work to help him temporarily. And even now as I sit here typing, I can't help but worry about him.

So whose responsibility is it to care for our parents? My father seems pretty alone to me. He has no wife. His mother certainly isn't capable of aiding him. His younger brother has already passed away. His sisters have their own families with which to concern themselves. That leaves my siblings and myself. Four of the five kids in my family are still in college. Somehow I just don't think my dad can stay in my sister's dorm room during his convalescence. My question remains unanswered.

I've watched my dad struggle to care for his elderly mother and aunt over the years. Though I tend to label my pops a curmudgeon, it takes tremendous patience and genuine concern to handle gracefully what most would consider a burden. I could never do it. And for my father, I still wonder who will.

• Parenting our parents