I cooked.

I cleaned.

I bathed her, gently, learning over time the exact way to support her so it would not hurt, the exact temperature of the water she liked.

I changed her clothes when she could no longer manage the buttons.

I made her oatmeal in the mornings, warm and soft, with a little brown sugar the way she liked it, and I sat with her while she ate it slowly, and I did not rush her, because being rushed is one of the small daily humiliations we hand to the old without even noticing, and I had decided early that I would not hand her any of those if I could help it.

I gave her her medicine, the right pills at the right hours, a schedule I could have recited in my sleep.