Ep. 01 - Mark Steven Porro on Becoming the Caregiver: What Happens When Life Hands You the Role You Never Rehearsed

Mark Steven Porro never planned to move back home and become a full-time caregiver for his 89-year-old mother but when “the call” came, everything changed. In this heartfelt episode, Mark shares his honest, humorous, and award-winning journey of role reversal, writing his debut memoir A Cup of Tea on the Commode, and what caregiving taught him about trust, legacy, and unconditional love.

A must-listen for anyone walking with aging parents, grandparents or carrying stories they’re still figuring out how to tell.

About Pk:
Pratyush has been a designer for more than 6 years. He started creating content to share his knowledge and establish a connection between design and business. He believes that knowledge grows by sharing and he wants to do just that. He is in a journey to help fellow freelancers and content creators make a profitable career.

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Transcript

[Podcast Intro]

Hey, and welcome back to The Underdog Protagonist, the podcast for those navigating the hustle phase of their lives. Today, I’m joined by someone whose story grabbed me instantly.

Mark Steven Porro is a designer, director, and now an award-winning author of a book that is part love letter, part comedy, and all heart. It’s titled A Cup of Tea on the Commode, and it tells the story of a moment when Mark received a phone call that completely changed his life. His mother was on her deathbed.

But she didn’t die. She lived. And Mark stepped into one of the hardest yet most beautiful roles anyone can take on: that of a caregiver. Today, we talk about the unexpected journey, the trust, the tension, the tea, and what it means to love someone enough to hold them through the end. This one's deeply real.

So let's get into it.

Hi Mark, welcome to the show.
MARK: Hi. I'm glad to be here.
HOST: Yeah, likewise. So, where are you recording from?
MARK: I’m in the South of France.
HOST: I'm in India.
MARK: So we’re quite a distance apart.
HOST: Yeah, but isn't technology amazing?
MARK: I think this is so cool.

HOST: Yeah. I’m in the south of India right now, originally from the east, but I shifted here about four years ago. It’s been going well.

MARK: Good. I’m really fascinated by your story, your book, and your journey. I know what you went through wasn’t easy. It was a surprise for you—being thrust into that role. And the situation you faced isn't one that everyone experiences. It's unique. Most people aren’t prepared for something like that.

I’d love to start from the beginning. Let’s talk about how it all began—how that one phone call, when you were enjoying your bachelor life, changed everything. I’d love to get to the book as well, but let’s give the listeners some context first.

MARK: Okay. So, like you said, I was enjoying my carefree bachelor life in Los Angeles. At that point, I’d been there for about 25 years. I was acting and had also started a number of businesses. I often joked that I started five nonprofits—but none of them were supposed to be nonprofits!

But I never really saw those as failures. I took the lessons from each experience and used them to make the next attempt better. The last venture was a snack food company that my brother and I started to honor our father. He came up with a snack concept when we were kids in 1963, and we decided to bring it to life.

By then, my acting career had slowed down. Hollywood is a young person’s business, and unless you’re a big star, opportunities dwindle with time. So acting wasn’t my main focus anymore. I’d never married. I didn’t have children. I was just living my life.

Then, in 2011, it all changed. Nine days after my mother’s 80th birthday, I got a call from my oldest brother. He lived near her—she was still living in the house we all grew up in, in New Jersey. At the time, she could walk and mostly take care of herself, but we had someone in the house to help with meals, errands, and personal care like sponge baths.

But one particular day, she was visiting a senior center, which she did several times a week to stay active. They called my brother and said, “Come get your mother. She just shut down.” There was no fall or injury—she just shut down.

My brother brought her home, put her to bed, and called her doctor. Without even seeing her, the doctor told him, “She’s going. Call hospice. Cut off her meds and food and let her transition.” That was it.

We’re six siblings, and all of us rushed home. A priest came to perform the last rites. By the time I got there the next morning, hospice had arrived. She wasn’t speaking, barely opened her eyes, and was largely unresponsive—but she didn’t seem to be suffering. I called it a “semi-comatose” state.

My younger sister and I didn’t know how long she had, so we stayed with her and began learning from hospice. We learned how to change diapers, sponge bathe, and handle her care. Even changing the bedding with a non-mobile person was something we had to master.

Then, a few weeks in, a hospice nurse came in—a bit of a rebel. She greeted us and said she understood our instructions: no food, no meds, don’t tempt her. But then she walked right into my mother’s room and said, “Mrs. Porro, would you like something to eat?”

My mother’s eyes popped open for the first time in weeks—like someone rang a dinner bell.

My sister and I wanted to strangle the nurse. She’d broken the rules! Then she had the audacity to accuse us of trying to starve our mother. We were stunned.

Thankfully, her supervisor backed us up and told the nurse to leave. But that incident got us thinking—maybe the original diagnosis was wrong.

So I went to my mother and asked, “Do you want something to eat?”

She looked right at me and said her first words in weeks: “What do you got?”

I said, “Anything you want.”

She replied, “How about some pumpkin pie?”

Now, it wasn’t pumpkin pie season in the U.S., but my brother went out and somehow returned in half an hour with two fresh pies. We tried one spoonful—it didn’t go well. She spit it out. But the second one went down, and she ended up eating half the pie.

She came back to life.

MARK: It might’ve been the sugar rush, or maybe just sheer willpower. But the color came back to her face, her eyes were open, and she was fully present. It was incredible.

So my sister and I kept caring for her. Since she was now eating but still bedridden, we gave the hospice nurses a bit of a break. And here’s something we noticed—each nurse had their own way of doing things. One of them later came in and told my mom, “You’re getting up and having lunch in the kitchen like a normal person.”

We were away when that happened, and when we came back, there she was—sitting in a wheelchair, eating at the kitchen table. It was amazing. The nurse said, “This woman is not ready to die.” And she was right.

HOST: Breaking the rules turned out to be a blessing in disguise, don’t you think?

MARK: Absolutely. And I gave her credit in the book. I called her a “rebel nurse.” Sometimes these nurses just know. They’ve seen enough to recognize when someone still has life left in them.

Another example: I had moved away years earlier and hadn’t been visiting often. The last few years before all this, my mom had become quite grumpy and depressed—she wasn’t pleasant to be around. So I stayed away, though I’d call her now and then.

When she got sick, I felt guilty. I think that guilt played a big part in why I chose to stay and become her caregiver. It may not have been the most noble catalyst, but it was powerful. I wanted to make things right.

HOST: That’s honest—and relatable. Now, let’s talk about the book. *A Cup of Tea on the Commode* is an award-winning memoir. When did you decide to write it? Was it during the caregiving or afterward?

MARK: I’d been writing for years in Hollywood—screenplays, jokes, even stand-up. Writing was second nature to me. When my dad passed away 14 years earlier, I only had eight days with him, but I took lots of notes. I was present for conversations my siblings missed, and I wanted to capture them.

With my mom, it was a three-and-a-half-year journey. Again, I started taking notes—not knowing if it’d become a book or a screenplay. I filmed videos, took photos, and recorded the small, beautiful moments. At first, I just wanted to remember them. I didn’t want these things to be forgotten.

Then a friend of mine was going through something similar with her parents, and I shared some of my experience. She found it helpful. That’s when I realized: maybe this story should be a book.

It would be easier to finish and publish than a movie, and I’d have more control over how it was told.

So I studied memoir writing, took classes, worked with a teacher, and read a ton of other memoirs. But I also needed emotional distance. I’m a very emotional person, especially when it comes to family. So I didn’t start writing until a couple years after my mom passed.

By that time, I had moved to France. In fact, I wrote the book in the room I’m sitting in right now. I had distance—emotionally and physically—which helped me write honestly and openly.

Every time I started writing, memories would flood back—some as far back as age two. Many of those made it into the book. That’s what I love about writing—it unlocks memories and emotions that you didn’t even know were still with you.

HOST: I’ve read parts of your book, and thank you for sending me a copy. Would you mind reading a short excerpt from the first chapter here on the show?

MARK: Sure. There aren’t many laughs in this part—it’s more serious—but I’d be happy to read a bit from Chapter One: “The Call.”

[Reading]

“My mother’s first attempt at dying—first that I knew of anyway—occurred on 02/05/2011, nine days after her 80th birthday. I was working at my sister’s design firm in East Grand Rapids, Michigan, making extra cash to keep my struggling Los Angeles snack food business afloat. My carefree bachelor life made traveling between the Pacific and Lake Michigan easy, even for weeks at a time. I didn’t have children and few responsibilities outside of work. But everything changed when I received the call.

‘Seniors Connection said Mom just shut down. They didn’t know what to do. Told me to come get her,’ my brother Michael said.

I held my breath. Seniors Connection was the activity center where my mother spent her weekdays. Michael’s voice trembled as he continued: ‘I carried her limp body into the house and just put her to bed. The doctor cut off all meds, food, and drink. Hospice is on the way.’

My pulse spiked. Hospice comes only when the end is inevitable. I’d gone through this scenario fourteen years earlier with my father. Two days later, he died.”

HOST: I—I’m just speechless. This hits so deeply, especially for anyone with aging parents. Listening to your story makes you wonder: what if I have to go through this one day? It’s humbling.

MARK: Yeah. And I’ve had friends who know about the book but haven’t read it. I think they’re afraid. Afraid of seeing something they can’t unsee. Some of them are dealing with aging parents, and I truly believe the book could comfort them. But I also understand—it’s emotional. It’s a big ask.

HOST: Absolutely. And it’s not just the fear—it’s also how real it all feels. That’s what makes it so powerful.

You mentioned humor earlier. Despite the heaviness, there’s a lot of humor in the book. I think that’s what helps it resonate so well.

MARK: Definitely. Humor was a big part of our family. My parents were funny, and they passed that on to us kids. My goal during caregiving was to make my mom laugh at least once a day. And funny enough—she ended up making me laugh more than I expected. She was sharp and witty even in her condition.

HOST: That kind of humor, especially during dark moments, teaches you a lot, doesn’t it?

MARK: Yes. For example, there was a moment when she looked at me and asked, “Why do you treat me so good?”

I told her, “Because you’re my mother and you deserve to be treated like a queen.”

She burped.

I said, “But queens don’t do that.”

And she replied, “How do you know?”

These little moments were priceless. She had this dry, practical sense of humor, and it carried us through some very hard days.

HOST: I’m really enjoying how naturally that humor flows into your caregiving journey. But I want to dive deeper into something more emotional now.

You wrote a chapter titled “Do You Trust Me?” That line struck me hard. From a son, a caregiver, a narrator—it carries weight. What did that trust look like in action for you?

MARK: That line came from a moment when I looked my mother in the eyes and realized: her life is literally in my hands.

She gave me permission to take over—to care for her in the most intimate and vulnerable ways. And that meant everything. She trusted me to be her protector, her advocate, her voice. But it wasn’t just about her trust—I had to earn and maintain the trust of my five siblings too. If something went wrong, if I made a mistake, it would reflect on me.

There was one moment that tested everything.

I had just finished renovating her upstairs bathroom and installed a big new bathtub. I asked my mom if she’d like to be the first to try it—with a bubble bath.

Now remember, she hadn’t had a proper bath or shower in years—just sponge baths. So this was a treat.

She loved it. I took a picture of her in the tub, all bubbles and a huge grin. But then, suddenly, she passed out.

I didn’t know if she was joking at first—she had a wicked sense of humor—but no, she was out. I pulled her from the tub, dried her off, and carried her to bed. I called a nurse, and they explained: “She fainted. You left her in hot water too long.”

Thankfully, she woke up 30 minutes later, totally fine. She didn’t even remember fainting—just that she loved the bath.

So I gave her this joyful, spa-like experience… and almost killed her in the process! (laughs)

HOST: That’s terrifying—and hilarious in hindsight.

MARK: Exactly. And I never told my siblings until after she recovered. (laughs)

But it made me realize how serious the responsibility was. I wasn’t just keeping her company—I was keeping her alive. And I had to stay calm, stay present, and keep humor in the mix.

HOST: I can relate to your experience as a caregiver through my own journey with my grandparents. We tried everything—medications, special diets, long trips to deliver supplies. But there were also family members who didn’t treat them with the same love and care.

We eventually brought my grandfather home and took full responsibility. It wasn’t easy. We weren’t always prepared. And when the end came, I was there. I had the chance to speak, to say things—but I froze. I still carry that guilt.

MARK: That’s powerful. And I understand.

Even in my situation, I made mistakes. There were times I got frustrated or didn’t respond with the patience I should’ve. But the important thing is that we showed up. We were there. That presence matters more than perfection.

HOST: Let’s talk about that role reversal—you, the son, becoming the parent. You wrote about how she could be difficult, stubborn, even grumpy at times. How did you manage that dynamic? What did she resist the most?

MARK: At first, the hardest part was seeing her naked—literally and emotionally. As a son, that’s not something you expect to ever face. But I had to get over it quickly. There was work to do.

My background in industrial design helped. Designers must practice empathy. You have to understand the end user, step into their shoes. I did the same here. And my acting experience also helped—I stepped into the role fully. I became the caregiver.

I never showed hesitation or discomfort in front of her. I didn’t want her to feel embarrassed or guilty. I wanted her to feel safe and loved. And she trusted me completely.

As for what she resisted most? Honestly—control. Losing control. She didn’t like being told what to do or relying on someone else. She’d been independent her whole life.

And of course, there were moments I wasn’t proud of. Like one night—I made a beautiful dinner for her. She went into a depressive silence and refused to eat. I lost my temper, flicked the kitchen light off, and stormed into the basement to do laundry and cool down.

When I came back, she had eaten the entire meal in the dark.

She didn’t say a word—just sat there with her hands folded. And I just leaned down and said, “Thank you,” and kissed her forehead. That moment wrecked me. It was humbling.

She didn’t complain. She just reminded me with her actions that I needed to be better.

HOST: Wow. That’s such a profound moment. And she didn’t have to say a thing.

MARK: She had a great way of guilt-tripping, let me tell you. (laughs)

HOST: (laughs) Parents have that superpower.

MARK: There was another time I gave her her morning juice and she looked at me and said, “Now what is it I call you again?”

I said, “You’re kidding, right?”

“No.”

“Name your children.”

She goes, “Laurel, Michael, Carol, David, DC, and…” Nothing.

I said, “Mark. I’m Mark.”

She said, “Oh, Mark with a K?”

“Yes, with a K. You named me!”

Then she said, “I don’t have favorites.”

And I said, “Well, you have a favorite to forget.”

That became a chapter title in the book: *Does Wiping a Loved One’s Butt Cause Amnesia?*

HOST: (laughs) That’s golden.

HOST: That trust, humor, and compassion—it’s woven throughout your entire story. One part that really stayed with me was “Day of Beauty.” Can you tell us more about that?

MARK: Sure. As a son stepping into this role, I think I brought a more romanticized touch. My mom had worked full-time while raising six kids, but she always treated herself to a weekly beauty parlor visit. It was her one indulgence.

When she used to visit me in Los Angeles, I’d take her to my friend’s salon in Beverly Hills and she’d get the full movie star treatment. She loved it.

So one day, I created something I called “Day of Beauty.” While she was sitting on the commode, I’d soak her feet in Epsom salts. Then I’d shampoo and rinse her hair. After that, I’d give her a full sponge bath and massage her with lotion.

She’d pick out her clothes from the new wardrobe I got her, and then I’d blow-dry and braid or ponytail her hair. I painted her nails—she had beautiful nails; she was once a hand model. Then I’d apply a little red lipstick to match the polish.

Afterward, I wheeled her past a large mirror in the dining room. She looked at herself and just beamed. That look—that joy—was everything.

HOST: That is such a beautiful image. Like you reminded her that she was still a woman, not just a patient.

MARK: Exactly. People forget that wanting to feel beautiful doesn’t fade with age. For men, it might be feeling strong or useful. For women, it might be feeling seen. That moment showed me how little gestures—tiny things—can bring huge joy.

And it wasn’t just for her. Seeing her that happy lifted me, and everyone else around her.

HOST: You also mentioned that you used to write screenplays. What made you choose to tell this story as a memoir instead of a film?

MARK: Good question. Originally, I didn’t know what it would be. I just took notes like I always did. I thought maybe it would become a screenplay, but the emotional weight was so personal—and I had so much control over the narrative as a book.

Also, movies take years. A book, I could complete and publish more directly. Plus, I’d shared some of my experience with a friend who was also caregiving, and she found it genuinely helpful. That’s when I realized this story could be more than a family document—it could serve others too.

I took memoir writing classes, studied the format, and eventually found my flow. It was emotional. Often I’d write something and just break down. But I had to get the story right—for my mom, and for everyone who might need it.

HOST: Now that you’ve written it and lived through it, how did that chapter of caregiving feel when it ended? Was it a release? Or more like a loss of purpose?

MARK: A little of both. There was relief, yes. But also this sense of, “What now?” She was gone. The house was quiet. There was no one to care for.

I didn’t grieve right away. I had responsibilities—handling the funeral, the logistics. I even filmed the funeral because I wanted to document it all, though I don’t know if I’ll ever use that footage.

But once everything settled, I sat alone in her bedroom, looked at the empty bed, and let it all out. That’s when it really hit.

Writing the book helped me process that grief. It gave me a way to stay connected to her memory and to share something meaningful with others.

HOST: What part of your parents do you carry with you today?

MARK: Oh, so much.

From my dad, a sense of duty to others. His favorite prayer was titled *Others*. It’s about caring more for others than yourself. That stuck with me.

From my mom—her love of animals. She wanted to be a veterinarian, but her father told her it was “a man’s job.” That always stayed with me. Now, I live in France with my partner, and we’ve adopted three rescue dogs—one American and two French. I wasn’t always a dog person, but now animals just gravitate toward me. And I love that.

HOST: Final question. What does legacy mean to you after all this?

MARK: Legacy, to me, is about living in a way that leaves something lasting—not just a name, but a feeling. A lesson. A piece of love that continues.

This book is part of my legacy. But more than that, it’s about how my siblings and I continue to carry our parents’ humor, kindness, and values forward. We do the right thing because we watched them do it.

I hope my nieces and nephews carry that on too—especially the humor.

HOST: And lastly, for those listening—what’s the one thing you hope they take away from this conversation?

MARK: Just this: find the joy.

In caregiving, in chaos, in heartbreak—seek it. You’ll find it if you’re looking. Negativity is always available, but joy can change everything.

And honestly, saying goodbye to someone you’ve truly cared for makes that goodbye easier. There’s peace in knowing you gave them love, comfort, and dignity until the end.

HOST: That’s powerful. Thank you so much, Mark. I hope we get to continue this conversation in future episodes. This one will stay with me for a long time.

MARK: Thank you. It’s a gift to share these stories. And I appreciate the opportunity.

HOST: And to everyone listening—thank you for tuning in. If you found this episode moving or insightful, please share it with someone who might need to hear it.

I’ll leave links to Mark’s book *A Cup of Tea on the Commode* and his socials in the show notes.

Until next time, take care.