Format the following text properly, for storytelling purposes:

October 11, 2023 was the day my life began. After sleeping in throughout the morning, I woke up shortly after noon, and went to the adjacent bedroom to check up on my mother, who had to leave work early the prior day due to feelings of tiredness and pain. That Tuesday, she stayed in bed, getting up only once or twice to use the bathroom...or what was left of it, for though she was still able to answer the call when nature beckoned, the room itself had taken the form of a glorified storage unit, a junkyard with just enough room for a person to sit down and relieve themselves of their gastrointestinal troubles but the bare minimum resemblance to what nearly 20 years prior had been a beautiful room, an already aged element of a house that upon my family's arrival in 2005 had seemed in its own way full of hope and optimism, as Mom and Dad dreamed many a dream for my future. As the years went on, some of those dreams would be fulfilled, while others were put on the backburner, in some cases by fate, in other cases by my own lack of courageousness. One year prior, I took a leave of absence from my minimum-wage position at a local Kentucky Fried Chicken, which was so close to home that I was able to walk to and from work each day, a blessing I didn't take for granted. I vowed to take care of my father, who in late 2021 sustained a bad fall in a Target parking lot and moved back and forth between a nursing home and a hospital before eventually returning safe and sound, as much as he could be for a man who was now over 80 and had already suffered a stroke a few years before. I also found myself taking care of my mother whose cancer had resurfaced after an extended period of dormancy. Though it was not the most convenient circumstance for a young man trying to get his own life in order and at long last discover who he truly was, it was a commitment I gladly made, being aware of the alternatives. Having seen and read of horrible abuse suffered by elders who were left in the care of underpaid, overworked strangers, I was willing to do everything I possibly could to ensure that this didn't happen to Mom and Dad. When I went into the bedroom, my mother appeared to be in her normal upright sleeping position, amidst the atmospheric, ethereal illumination provided by the rays of sunlight that peeked through old beige curtains, our loyal nine-year-old Maltapoo Honey by her side. However, I was greeted with an unusual and disconcerting phenomenon: her mouth had stopped moving. Parts of her body were as cold as a polar cap in Nova Scotia, but her stomach still felt warm, perhaps due to the multitude of blankets that provided her warmth as she slept that evening. The contentment of routine metamorphosed into concern, which thereafter was promoted to fear. I expeditiously contacted the local paramedics, who rushed to the scene. Upon their arrival they ascended two sets of well-treaded stairs, and not even five minutes later the outcome I suspected had become a reality was now a confirmed fact. At the age of 70, after a long battle with stage 4 terminal cancer, through which she had soldiered on to the bitter end, the Good Lord had relieved her of her suffering. She was home again. Nine days following the passing of my father, who had set his own course for His Kingdom shortly after I had arrived at the hospital, but before I could reach his hospice room, she was reunited with the man she had loved--through good times and bad--for nearly three decades. The aftermath has been in equal parts rewarding and intimidating, equally torrential in distributing tribulations and opportunities. From meeting the coworkers of whom my mother would always have many stories to tell during her time at Investments Limited, to a multitude of stressful yet liberating phone calls, to a chance encounter with someone who would change my life almost immediately, I knew beyond a doubt that a transformation had begun.