What I paid for were the things that fell into the gap between what she could afford and what the house needed, and the things that came up without warning.
The car, for example. My mother’s car needed to become a car suitable for someone with mobility limitations. Hand controls would have been expensive and complicated; what we ended up with was a used minivan with a raised roofline and a swivel seat that she could exit more easily. I found it, I negotiated the price, I paid the difference between what the old car sold for and what the minivan cost. That went in the folder.
The bathroom adaptations. The grab bars, the shower seat, the handheld showerhead, the non-slip mat that was actually screwed into the floor instead of just laid down. I hired a contractor I trusted, I supervised the work, I paid the bill. Into the folder.
The ramp. When she started using the walker full-time, the front steps became a problem. A wooden ramp, built properly to the right grade and width, cost money. I split this with Daniel; he sent his half after I provided the quote and the invoice, and I tracked both halves in the folder.
There were dozens of smaller things. A raised toilet seat. A hospital bed for the back bedroom when she started sleeping there because the stairs were becoming difficult. A pulse oximeter, which her insurance wouldn’t cover, for monitoring during a period when she was having breathing issues. Medical transport when she couldn’t get in and out of a regular car easily. The Costco membership I paid for so we could buy in bulk and I could do one large shopping trip instead of many smaller ones.