I will never forget the moment when I walked into the hospice home for the first time to see my dad. A palliative care doctor recommended hospice care the day before and he was transferred to this hospice home from a rehabilitation facility. I had been his primary caretaker throughout his rapid decline—navigating the hospital scene, confronting doctors, and aggressively advocating for his care. This situation was without a doubt my comfort zone—having concrete things to fix and fixing them. I was confident in my abilities, and due to an extensive history of trauma, seemingly thrived in the chaos and intensity of the situation.