That was true. And to his credit, he did more after that visit. He called more often. He increased his contribution to the household expenses to three hundred dollars a month — which he sent via bank transfer, and which I tracked in the folder, because that’s how my brain works. He came for Thanksgiving that year instead of having us travel to him.
But he went home. And the door hinge stayed fixed and the medications still needed tracking and Mom still needed someone there at night, and that person was still me.
In the family’s accounting, Daniel had stepped up after that. In my accounting, he had done what he could do from a distance, which was meaningful and also not the same as being there.
I tried, over the years, not to turn this into a grievance. I had some success and some failure.
THE ARRANGEMENT GROWS HEAVIER
By year five, the arrangement had a rhythm, which is not the same thing as being manageable.
My mother’s mobility had decreased enough that she needed a walker for longer distances. Her prescription list had grown to seven medications, and the management of them — making sure she took the right ones at the right times, refilling prescriptions, tracking interactions as the doctors adjusted dosages — was a part-time job in itself. I kept a spreadsheet. I kept backup copies. I kept the pills in a weekly organizer on the kitchen counter and another on her nightstand and I knew at any point exactly what was due when.