His own health moved in the other direction.

He needed more rest and began missing the long volunteer sessions.

Some afternoons he could manage only a short visit on Rebecca’s porch.

Other days he stayed home, listening to radio programs and watching the light move across the living-room floor.

We arranged practical help with his consent: meals, check-ins, rides to appointments, and a home-care evaluation.

Clarence did not enjoy admitting that he couldn’t do everything himself, but he no longer treated assistance as an accusation.

One afternoon I found him sorting a small stack of paper in Abigail’s old sewing room.