It was a care log.
*October 12th:* Mom screamed for six hours straight. She forgot who I am. She bit my arm when I washed her. I’m bleeding, but I can’t afford an ER co-pay, and I can’t leave her alone.
*November 3rd:* The $2,000 Michael sent covered the mortgage, but the insurance agency just denied her new Alzheimer’s medication. They said it isn’t “medically necessary.” I sold my truck today to pay the pharmacy out-of-pocket.
*December 25th:* Mom cried all day. Her ‘successful son’ didn’t call until 8 PM. By then, her sundowning was so bad she couldn’t speak. I ate a cold sandwich on the floor by her bed so she wouldn’t be terrified of the shadows.
*January 15th:* My back gave out lifting her from the toilet. The doctor says I need surgery for a herniated disc. But a private memory care facility costs $9,000 a month, and if I go to the hospital, the state will take her and put her in a Medicaid ward. I took six Advil and kept going.
I closed the notebook. I couldn’t breathe.
Dave looked me dead in the eye.
“You sent two grand a month, Michael. I appreciate it. I do.”
He pointed a shaking finger at my chest.
“But while you were sending checks, you were sleeping eight hours a night.”
“You had weekends off. You took vacations. You built a 401k.”
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