to let you disappear inside Dad’s illness.”
Her voice became firm.
“He literally wrote you a letter telling you not to do that. I’m going to hold you to it.”
Then she opened another folder.
Karen already had a plan.
She had spent months researching professional home-health services.
Certified aides could come to our house for four-hour or eight-hour shifts.
Two aides could alternate days.
Six days of help every week.
David could stay home.
I could sleep.
I could eat.
I could leave the house.
And according to Karen’s
