Shannon Bumgarner’s son is twenty-five years old and frustrated.
He’s in the UK for the second year of a two-year program, but has completed two other programs before this and still hasn’t found a career he loves. Most twenty-five-year-olds at this point would be panicking about their professional future, feeling pressure to settle into something permanent, worrying about falling behind peers who’ve already established careers.
But Shannon’s son made a different choice.
His father is ninety years old. His brother is blind and has developmental disabilities. At this point in their lives, they really can’t be left alone.
So Shannon’s son stepped up. He spends at least fifty hours a week with them—cooking, cleaning, providing care that would otherwise require professional help they can’t afford or don’t want from strangers.
Shannon wrote about it publicly because she wanted people to understand what she was witnessing: “It has been heart warming to watch my son and father truly bond. They have become best buddies.”
The photo shows them together—the twenty-five-year-old and the ninety-year-old, sitting side by side on a couch, both smiling. The young man’s arm rests protectively near his grandfather. They look comfortable together. Happy.
Not just caregiver and patient. But friends. Companions. Two people who’ve found unexpected closeness because one decided that time with family mattered more than career advancement.
Shannon’s son could be focusing entirely on his career trajectory. Could be networking, interning, building the resume that society tells twenty-five-year-olds they need to be building. Could be prioritizing professional development over personal obligations.
Instead, he’s prioritizing his ninety-year-old father and his brother who needs care. He’s chosen to be present for the people who need him most, understanding something profound: the career can wait, but this time with family can’t.
His grandfather is ninety. These years, months, maybe even weeks are precious and numbered. And his son has decided that being there matters more than any job title or career milestone.
Shannon’s post concludes with a line that reframes everything: “The career can wait.”
Because it can. Twenty-five feels old when you’re living it, feels like you should have everything figured out already. But in the scope of a lifetime, twenty-five is young. There’s time for careers. Time for professional success. Time to find the work you love.
But there’s not unlimited time with a ninety-year-old father. There’s not endless opportunities to provide care for a brother who needs it. Those moments are finite. And once they’re gone, no career success can bring them back.
Shannon’s son understands this in a way most twenty-five-year-olds don’t. He’s frustrated about his career uncertainty—that’s valid. But he’s not letting that frustration pull him away from what matters most right now.
He’s cooking meals. Cleaning houses. Spending fifty hours a week providing care. And in doing so, he’s built a relationship with his grandfather that neither of them expected. They’ve become best buddies. They’ve found connection that transcends the caregiver dynamic.
That’s not time wasted. That’s time invested in the only currency that actually matters—love, presence, relationship.
The career will come. Eventually, Shannon’s son will find work he loves. He’ll build professional success. He’ll achieve whatever goals he’s set for himself.
But he’ll also have these memories. These years when he was twenty-five and chose to spend fifty hours a week with his ninety-year-old grandfather. When he became best buddies with someone who won’t be here much longer. When he learned that sometimes, the most important thing you can do with your time isn’t advancing your career—it’s just showing up for the people who need you.
The career can wait. Family can’t.
At twenty-five, frustrated about professional uncertainty, Shannon’s son is learning that lesson earlier than most people ever do.
And someday, when his grandfather is gone and his career is established, he’ll look back on these years and know: he made the right choice.