I spent two decades representing people with disabilities. In that time, I was consistently in awe of their caregivers — the depth of knowledge they had accumulated, entirely through trial and error. They knew the right doctors, the right language to use with regional center staff, the right way to calm a crisis at 2am. That knowledge lived entirely in their heads.

What kept me up at night was a simple question: when a non-disabled sibling takes over care of their disabled brother or sister, how do they learn everything their parent spent a lifetime figuring out?

What happens when the primary caregiver needs to travel for work, take a vacation, or tend to their own medical needs — and they're the only one who knows how everything works?

What happens to the families who don't have a sibling or partner to step in — and can't afford to hire the help they need?

What happens when the primary caregiver is gone — and the new caregiver inherits all the responsibility but none of the roadmap?

These weren't hypothetical worries. They were real families I had sat across from. And the answer, in too many cases, was chaos — avoidable, heartbreaking chaos.