muchas gracias

No. You are not seeing double. 

If you think you have seen that photograph recently, you are undoubtedly remembering the one I published on Monday (feliz cumpleaños mamá) of me standing by the Barra Bay with Mom.

But there is a major difference. That devilish-handsome hombre on the left is not me. Though the mistake is understandable: it is my sainted brother Darrel.

And as luck would have it, he is currently visiting me at la casa sin nombre. To prove that the lily can be gilded, my sister-in-law, Christy, and my niece, Kaitlyn, are here, as well. In one big happy family trifecta.

For the past two years, that last paragraph would not have been possible. Darrel and Christy had been the primary lifelines for Mom after she left her house and moved into an independent living facility in Oregon, and then for the last few months of her life, in a memory care facility. They are now free to travel.

As will happen to all of us if we live long enough, Mom's mind started playing the type of tricks that are the price of age-related wisdom. And Darrel was there to help her.

To talk her through how to use the remote to her television. To diagnose why she could not hear the door bell (adjust the volume on her hearing aids). To straighten out her daily medications. To answer calls to help her find her telephone (when the telephone was in her hand). To help her find which channel her beloved Trailblazers were playing on.

At first, the calls came once a week. Then several times a week. Then daily. Then several times a day.

Darrel was essentially Mom's personal assistant to live out her routines that had started slipping away on vacation to a beach in Greece where there was no internet. Obviously, travel for him and Christy was out of the question.

On my monthly trips north to help him with Mom, my admiration for him increased with each visit. As did my empathy. The daily strain on him was obvious. He has always been a castle of emotional strength. But the moat was being breached. Bit by bit.

Children should share in these burdens. My distance of living in Mexico may have been a reason, but it was not an excuse. I will owe him a debt of gratitude for the rest of my life. The question is how that debt gets paid.

For now, the down payment will come by me selfishly enjoying the company of my family. And remembering the investments they made in building our memories with Mom.