Linda and Jodie have taken up calligraphy and are leaving ink everywhere. They are trying to get Dad to join them, even though occupational therapy is my treatment area.
“Linda,” I tell her right in front of her friend, “Jodie has a home. It would be okay to leave her there sometimes.”
The three of us were supposed to be the treatment team, Mom said. We were going to take care of Dad as a family. So why is she always here? Jodie seems to have no existence outside of being my sister’s friend. It’s like Linda is a slide projector and Jodie is a slide. If Linda were to die suddenly, Jodie would die at the same instant, of the same illness. Even if they were on opposite sides of the world.