6AM will come too soon. The past couple of days, I did not want to make yet more appointments with doctors and lawyers, so I’ve idled pointlessly. It’s an early, long day tomorrow and I don’t want to take notes or go to the tests. I will, but it’s been hard. Arguing has been hard. Seeing rapid declines and poor choices. New routines have been hard, or willfully ignored; I feel terrible having to cajole them, the word “infantalise” on my mind at all times. Wounds from long ago, maybe even hurts and traumas older than I am, sit like another person at the table. I’m hopeful, some days, and those are the times we plan a long-scheduled vacation. And the next hour is another crisis. And that’s when hope crashes, and we debate tossing our plane tickets in the trash.

And at the heart of it: I can’t make everyone happy, and I can’t keep my elderly parents safe from harm. They’ll have to go someday, like we all do. I try not to judge myself for that. I know I’m going to anyway.