I remember that.

Four grown adults around a table, visibly relieved, as the weight of their own mother settled quietly onto the shoulders of the newest and youngest person in the room.

I did not understand, then, what I was agreeing to.

I was young, and I loved my husband, and I thought I was simply being kind — helping out for a while, doing the decent thing until some other arrangement could be found.

No other arrangement was ever found.