This is just an anecdote, take what relevance from it that you will.
When MIL finally had her formal diagnosis of Alzheimers and mixed dementia, some months after she moved in with us, late DP and I were invited to go on a locally run "Carer's course".
On the first day, we joined a mixed bag of fellow Carer's, in a typically institutional room, you know the sort, painted piss yellow in an attempt at cheer, enhanced by a cacophony of posters and leaflets, all with the relentless and vaguely threatening undertone of making sure your loved one "lives well" with dementia.
We sat round with cups of weak tea and a plate of digestives. The course leader, a pleasant middle aged woman, with the resolute air of a battle hardened veteran, asked us to introduce ourselves and tell everyone a little bit about our loved one, and our situation.
Every single person managed to say their name, say who they were caring for, and then the tears started. Every single person just broke down. I had wondered what the several boxes of tissues were for. Obvious really.
My point is - at some point, most people will find themselves in a difficult position with seemingly impossible choices. Feelings of responsibility, fear, sorrow, and living grief underpin the exhortation to "keep calm and carry on" dealing with systems that promise - on paper - but don't deliver. Dealing with a million bureaucratic hoops around money, appointments etc etc. Trying, always to find "the happy medium" between "laissez faire" and "martyrdom", apparently.
And often with a backdrop of a terrified relative looping suicidal ideation because they have just enough cognisance of their diminishing capacity to appreciate the horror that is consuming them. And their Carer's are powerless and bull dozed through it with suggestions of twiddle blankets and distraction techniques, and fear of failure because despite every intervention, an organic brain disease is chewing through neurons and being regarded as a social inconvenience.
So, I suppose I'm appealing for those in the same boat - whatever the reason behind a need for care, because it's not always dementia, it could be cancer or any other debilitating disease - to take a breath and stop judging the oars people have to use to keep paddling. It's a race to the shore while the boat is leaking. And then when you reach the shore, you're alone, because Death has relieved you of the burden. And the combination of guilt, regret, and yes, trauma, because the twilight years became a perpetual dark night of the soul never leave you completely.
We do what we can. That is all.