We call your aging parent each day for a gentle conversation. By lunch, you'll have a thoughtful note about how they're doing — so you can stop worrying in between your own calls.
Caller: Good morning, Margaret. It's Sarah, your morning check-in. How did you sleep last night?
Margaret: Oh, hello dear. I slept pretty well, thank you. Got up around six, like usual.
Caller: That's lovely to hear. Six is early — were you up to feed Biscuit?
Margaret: [laughs] You remembered. Yes, she's already had her breakfast. Sitting in the window now.
Caller: Have you had a chance to eat something yourself?
Margaret: Just toast and a bit of coffee. I'll have something proper at lunch.
Caller: That sounds like a nice morning. Anything on your mind today?
Margaret: Not really. The weather looks nice. I might sit outside for a bit.
Caller: That sounds wonderful. I'll talk to you tomorrow, Margaret. Have a beautiful day.
Caller: Good morning, Margaret. How are you feeling today?
Margaret: Oh… I'm alright, dear. A little tired, I suppose.
Caller: A little tired — did you sleep okay last night?
Margaret: Not really. I was up two or three times. I don't quite remember why.
Caller: That's okay. How about breakfast — have you had something to eat?
Margaret: I think I had some tea. I don't really feel like eating today.
Caller: Alright. And how's your knee feeling — any different than yesterday?
Margaret: A little stiffer. But I'll be fine.
Caller: Thank you for telling me, Margaret. I'll let Jen know we chatted. Take it easy today, okay?
You call when you can. Maybe Sundays. Maybe twice a week if it's a good week. And every call, you ask the same questions — are you eating? are you sleeping? how's the pain? — and every call, the answer is some version of I'm fine, dear.
But you're not sure they would tell you if they weren't.
Their name, their phone, the time of day they like to chat. A few things they care about — the cat's name, the surgery coming up, the friend who calls on Wednesdays. Takes about four minutes.
You introduce us to your parent first — usually with a quick three-way call. We explain who we are, ask if they're comfortable, and let them know they can stop anytime.
A short, friendly conversation around the time they prefer. By lunch, a thoughtful summary lands in your inbox — what they ate, how they slept, anything that stood out.
The call is unhurried. About five minutes. We speak slowly, give your parent time to think, and ask the kind of questions a thoughtful neighbor would — how they slept, what they had for breakfast, whether anything's on their mind.
We learn the small things over time. The cat's name. The bad knee. The friend coming over Tuesday. Calls feel familiar after the first week.
And when something seems different — a few mornings of poor sleep, an unusual mention of pain, a memory slip that wasn't there before — you're the first to know.
"She'll tell us things she won't tell you. Not because she's hiding — but because she doesn't want to be a burden."
Sleep: Slept well, about 7 hours. Up around 6.
Breakfast: Toast and coffee. Said she'd have something proper at lunch.
Mood: Warm and chatty. Mentioned Biscuit was sitting in the window.
What she brought up: The weather. Thinking of sitting outside. Looking forward to seeing Karen on Wednesday. No mention of the knee today — first time in four days.
Nothing concerning. Full transcript available if you'd like to read it.
Between your own calls, you'll know they're okay. No more checking the clock and wondering if you should call again.
Subtle changes — sleep, appetite, mood, memory — show up over weeks, not days. We notice when they drift, so you can act sooner.
The constant low hum of worry — the thing you carry into meetings and to bed — quiets down. You can be present in your own life again.
No. We introduce ourselves clearly on the first call, explain who we are, and ask permission. Most parents find the calls familiar and warm within a few days. If yours doesn't, we'll stop — no questions asked.
The opposite. Calls are short, gentle, and at the time your parent prefers. They can skip a day, change the time, or stop entirely whenever they want. We work on their terms.
If we hear something that needs attention — a fall, sudden confusion, anything urgent — you'll get a text within a minute. For true emergencies, we can dispatch a wellness check with your prior consent.
Three weeks in, the summary said Mom had mentioned dizziness twice that week. I called her — turns out she'd been skipping breakfast. We caught a UTI before it became something worse. I would have missed it.
I used to wake up at 4am wondering if Dad was okay. Now I read the morning note over coffee and that's that. I didn't realize how much I was carrying until it lifted.
My mother is private. She wouldn't tell me she was lonely. But she'll chat with Sarah every morning and look forward to it. The notes I get back are honest in a way our calls never were.
We're opening to a small first group of families soon. Add your name and we'll let you know the moment your spot is ready.
No credit card. No commitment. We'll only email about Tellie.