Mary Ellen Geist has returned home. She has surprised everyone—colleagues, neighbors, family members, and perhaps even her former self. At age 49, this woman, who seemed to have achieved everything she wanted in the workplace, has decided to put her career on hold and return to her parents’ home.

Her story, although not unique, is extraordinary enough to have rated a front-page lead in a recent New York Times. Ms. Geist was known to be an active and ambitious woman. She was earning an excellent salary, and her career was full of promise. She lived in a lively and interesting city. She has left all this in order to return to a small, quiet town and  help to care for her 78-year-old father, who has been stricken with Alzheimer’s disease.

Obviously, this step represents a break from an agreeable and affluent lifestyle. We might wonder if Ms. Geist’s decision was taken reluctantly, perhaps motivated by guilt. By her own account, this is not the case. “Nobody asked me to do this, and it wasn’t about guilt,” she has said. In contrast to her former career, this is a situation in which she can make a real difference. She adds, movingly, “And it’s expanded my heart and given me a chance to reclaim something I’d lost.”

As I read these words, my reactions are somewhat mixed. As a father, would I want my daughter to do this? I would be pleased and flattered, and would want to honor the impulse. But I would feel scruples about blocking her professional life, and maybe her personal relationships as well. At the same time, I would honor my daughter’s recognition that professional rewards and economic success are not everything. Such a decision would be a confirmation of her upbringing and of the values we have tried to pass on to her.

Finally, though, I am reminded that my own daughter is much younger than Mary Ellen Geist. A decision that is heartfelt and rewarding for a 49-year-old could be unbearably burdensome for a 25-year old. I believe that there are times in life for certain things. In his book Aging Well, Harvard psychiatrist George Vaillant points out that life has its seasons, and that youth is the time to create something new, to see what you are capable of. To disrupt this rhythm is a violation.

Some cultures have certainly been guilty of this abuse. I have known Irish families, for example, in which the oldest unmarried daughter was expected to devote herself to the care of her aging parents, carrying heavy responsibilities without ever developing a life of her own. If her only role in life was to be a daughter, she was denied a certain autonomy to which we are all entitled.

In the case of Mary Ellen Geist, however, these reservations do not seem to apply. Her role was not imposed on her by others. She made her decision freely. She had proven herself in the professional world, and achieved independence. The word “daughter” is not sufficient to describe her.

At the same time, the daughter’s role continues. Her mother has to restrain herself from commenting on her driving, or asking when she will come home in the evening. But both mother and daughter seem to be able to laugh at these impulses. And I cannot fail to be moved by Ms. Geist’s tender relationship with her father as he moves into the twilight of dementia.

To what extent does Mary Ellen Geist’s choice provide a model for our society? The New York Times article cites a number of cases in which daughters have returned home to care for their parents. One is tempted to detect a significant trend here.

But letters from some readers indicate that the situation of such caregivers is not always easy. Affluence helps. Ms. Geist, with her successful career, has a measure of economic security; and her mother is able to provide her with a modest salary that doubtless bears symbolic as well as monetary value. But what of the daughter who faces the loss of income, job security and health insurance, and the risk of a deprived old age? Her situation is not much better than that of the unmarried women whose caregiving responsibilities were imposed on them in youth.

So the decision made by one generous woman does not really show us a universal solution. It does, however, point out one path that is full of spiritual possibility. I reflect that the German word “Geist” means “spirit,” and think how revelatory this name is in this case. Mary Ellen Geist spoke of reclaiming what she had lost. It is heartening for us to realize that a responsibility that might be seen as burdensome is, rather, the means of retrieving something immeasurably precious.

Richard Griffin