When the news broke about the deaths of Gene Hackman and his wife, Betsy Arakawa, my stomach dropped. It’s a deeply tragic story in and of itself, but as more and more information was released to the public, there was one thing no one seemed to be talking about: This situation is every family caregiver’s nightmare come to life.
Hackman, 95, and reportedly diagnosed with advanced Alzheimer’s, was found dead in his Santa Fe home seven days after Arakawa’s unexpected passing. The official cause was heart failure, but the reality is much more heartbreaking — he likely died because the person keeping him safe was suddenly no longer there.
Authorities suspect he may not have even understood Arakawa was gone, leaving him alone without essential care, medication, or even basic necessities for at least a week.
This isn’t just a devastating celebrity story. The truth is, this could happen to anyone currently caring for a loved one’s basic needs. This is especially true for my family.
When my father was diagnosed with early-onset Alzheimer’s, I was in my early 30s, building a career and living thousands of miles away from him. Overnight, I became his caregiver, but I wasn’t ready. The first days and months were pretty rough. I had no idea what I was doing. But I also knew that no one was going to be as motivated or committed to taking great care of him as I was.
There are millions of us out there in this position. We’re not experts — we’re family, friends and neighbors. And we’ll move mountains to ensure our loved ones get the best possible care.
At first, I failed spectacularly, missing bills, missing important deadlines, even prescriptions, while unused subscriptions stacked up. Eventually my dad and I found a rhythm. I built systems to start to bring some order back, though any family caregiver will tell you not to bother trying to get everything in order. It’s just not going to happen. We found ways to cushion the pitfalls. I got smarter. I set up daily FaceTime check-ins with my dad, hired professional caregivers, created digital records of his medications and medical contacts, and installed smart home devices to monitor his safety. I even started regularly monitoring the weather where he lives to know if there could be an emergency.
But despite all these measures, I still live with one terrifying question: What if I’m suddenly out of the picture?
A few months ago, my fear became dangerously close to reality. I was sitting at a red light when I got rear-ended — hard. My seat back collapsed, I was thrown forward, and the trunk of my car crumpled like an accordion. As I sat in a daze in the back of an ambulance getting checked out, my first coherent thought wasn’t about me — it was of my dad.
I’ve been taking care of my father for 13 years. I’m still the one who makes sure nothing falls through the cracks. It’s my role to navigate the ER, where he sometimes ends up, to ensure he’s seen on time and discharged before a shift change. I am the one on the phone pleading to get an appointment with a dermatologist to get that rash on his cheek looked at tomorrow, not six months from now. Yes, it turned out to be cancer, and the effort was worth it.
I have safeguards in place. There are people who help. But if I were to disappear — permanently — would they know everything I know? Would they fight for him the way I do? My dad’s situation is constantly changing due to his Alzheimer’s. Could someone else really step in? For me and too many others, the answer is no.
On most days, I like to think of myself as superhuman — strong enough to be a good mom, a good boss and a good daughter. Yet, I know I am one accident, one diagnosis, one natural disaster away from our house of cards collapsing. Each day, I face knowing just how fragile the system is and how close we live to a crisis.
This fear is not mine alone. More than 54 million Americans — mostly unpaid and untrained — juggle caregiving responsibilities every day alongside their own personal and professional lives. By 2030, when every baby boomer will be 65 or older, that number will skyrocket. And yet, most caregiving in this country happens in a fragile, makeshift way, held together by love and hope.
For the majority of people, their approach lacks structure, backup plans, or a system of what to do in an emergency. The Hackman-Arakawa tragedy is not an anomaly. It’s at many of our front doors.
During the Los Angeles wildfires, an elderly man and disabled son were left alone after his primary caregiver son was hospitalized the week prior. Without immediate care or anyone to step in, the two were not evacuated in time, which ultimately led to both of their deaths.
Hope is not a strategy.
Every family should have a contingency plan. Who steps in if the primary caregiver is gone? Who has access to medical records? Who knows the daily routines, the medications, the little details that keep a vulnerable person safe?
Technology can help. Smart home devices can detect movement — or the lack of it. Emergency check-in alerts can notify family if something seems off. Digital tools, like shared apps, can keep medical and financial information in one place, accessible when it’s needed most.
For me, setting up a system wasn’t just about making my dad’s care easier — it was about protecting him and others like me.
I don’t say this lightly, but if Gene Hackman had a shared emergency plan or even something as simple as an automated weekly check-in system, he might have been found much sooner. Someone could have stepped in.
We can’t afford to ignore this growing crisis within our own families. In just five years, the number of Americans needing long-term care will double. At the same time, professional help is only becoming more expensive and harder to find.
Families will bear more of the burden than ever before. We must stop treating family caregiving as an informal, individual family responsibility, and recognize it as a national priority requiring education, structured support, planning and investment. We urgently need better policies: better workplace accommodations for caregivers, financial support to ease the burden, and expanded access to professional caregiving services.
On a personal level, we need to stop pretending this can be figured out later. Later is too late.
To me, the deaths of Gene Hackman and Betsy Arakawa are a wake-up call. He was a two-time Oscar-winning legend. He had resources. He had family. But that didn’t save him.
Caregiving is a responsibility we all share — as families, as communities, and as a country. If we don’t act now, personally and systemically, the consequences will be devastating — not just for individuals but for an aging nation on the brink of crisis.
And, if you’re caring for someone you love, you’re already doing an amazing thing.
But please ask yourself: What if something happens to me first?
If you don’t have an answer, it’s time to make one.
Shauna Sweeney is the founder and CEO of tendercare, an AI-powered platform that helps families care smarter for aging loved ones. After her father’s early-onset Alzheimer’s diagnosis in 2014, Shauna experienced firsthand the challenges of managing his care from 3,500 miles away while working as a tech executive at Meta. This inspired her to create tendercare, which provides personalized care plans, a trusted services marketplace, emergency preparedness, and intelligent recommendations to answer crucial care questions like “What should I do?” and “Who can I trust for help?” Before launching tendercare, Shauna was an executive at Meta, and led a 3,000-member employee resource group focused on supporting aging parents.
Do you have a compelling personal story you’d like to see published on HuffPost? Find out what we’re looking for here and send us a pitch at [email protected].