I nodded– what choice did I have, really? And honestly, I missed her so much that I knew I would listen even if she pulled up a PowerPoint comparing me to actual war criminals. I probably deserved it.
But when she pressed a button on her laptop, the screen was suddenly filled with the words “Ethel Owen Home Care Plan.”
“Shit, Amy, what did you do?”
“All of us,” she said. “Wedid this. Not just me. I’ll be honest, it would have probably been better– easier formeat least, in the long run– to just let you cut yourself off. But…”
She swallowed hard, and I knew I had so much hanging on whatever she said next.
“But you have a lot of people that care about you, Phil. And Ethel, too. And we can’t sit aside and let you isolate yourself.Ican’t sit aside whilst you do that.”
I could feel tears pricking at my eyes already, and she hadn’t even started her presentation. But when I made eye contact with her, she didn’t mirror my emotion back at me. She was shutting herself off from me, the way I had from her. And that was okay, really. Good for her. I could take it.
“Anil gave me the breakdown of everything he thought needed changing in order for Ethel to stay here,” she said, changing to a slide that listed everything Anil and I had discussed over the last week. The new car, the widened doorways, changes to the garden, lowering part of the worktop in the kitchen to be wheelchair accessible… it all seemed to be there. But I caught on the last item: “Accommodation for live-in care.”
“I haven’t decided on that last one,” I said, pointing.
“Anil told me,” Amy said. “And we’ll come to that. But for now, I’m leaving it on the list, okay?”
I had no idea what that meant, but I nodded anyway. “Sure.”
Over the next few minutes and a dozen or so slides, Amy broke down exactly how they all planned to help with Ethel’s care.
Alan and Jack would do all the adaptation and conversion work for free, bringing spare materials from the Kenchester job, which was starting later in the week, so I wouldn’t have to pay for new versions of everything. Anything that did need to be bought, we could go through their suppliers to get the best price.
Patricia and Chloe would convert the garden. As much as I was sure it broke the Rewilding Queen’s heart, they would pave over the patch of grass so it was even with the back door and therefore wheelchair accessible, and they’d put in raised beds and a small lean-to style greenhouse. Then Patricia would bring by a selection of bulbs for them to plant together before the first frost.
Patricia would also be donating a second freezer, which she insisted on filling with brain-healthy meals once a week. This would go in the kitchen, which would mean we would need to shuffle things around, but we needed to do that anyway to adapt it for Ethel’s wheelchair. And since Fatima, Grey, and Morgan were currently taking inventory of everything in there and in my craft room to figure out better storage options, that shouldn’t be a problem.
Which brought us to care.
“I think you need to sell her Healey,” Amy said matter-of-factly. “You can’t just keep taking on more and more work without it becoming a full-time gig, and you know you’ll get at least a few months’ worth of care out of that thing.”
She wasn’t wrong– I’d filled out a valuation form online just a couple of days ago– but I shook my head anyway.
“I can pay for a relief carer out of what I make now.”
Amy sighed, exasperation peeking through. “Phil, please, I need you to be so fucking for real right now. You know you’re past needing just a relief carer.”
It was what Anil had been saying, too, but the thought of leaving Ethel with a stranger all day, every day? I couldn’t handle that.
“It’s okay, I thought you might say that,” Amy said when I told her as much. “So here’s where things get logistical.”
She flipped to a slide that said “Option 1”, which was a list of specifics for a live-in carer. They’d need a private bedroom and bathroom, which meant I’d need to give up my craft room. And whilst Alan and Jack would do the bathroom conversion work for free, the materials cost for splitting the existing bathroom in two would be extensive. The carer would also need set hours, which would mean I would likely still need a relief carer if I wanted to do anything in the evenings or on weekends.
I’d always railed against that idea, and seeing everything it required should have solidified that for me. But I couldn’t stop looking at the line that said: “Suggested hours: 7am-7pm 4 days per week.” I thought about being able to actually do the weekly shop in person, instead of settling for some teenager’s acceptable substitution for cultured butter. I imagined going to work at a coffee shop instead of the dining table, and not having to interrupt it every few minutes to remind Ethel what day it was or that she’d already had lunch. I thought about being able to come home and talk to her about her day without having been next to her for every single second of it. Being able to enjoy her company again, in the way she deserved, for as long as she had.
“But I get that you’re not sold,” Amy said, “so I’ve got another option for you.”
The next slide said “Option 2” across the top. It had a week-long calendar on it, each day divided into AM and PM. And in every slot, there was someone’s name– Amy’s, Patricia’s, and even Chloe’s and Jack’s. There was also the word “carer” in some of the slots, but fewer than I would have expected. I counted the slots where I saw my own name; there were only four.
It was astounding to me that the Evanses and my friends– my family, really, all of them– were willing to wrap themselves around Ethel and me so tightly that I would have less of a care burden than if I had a live-in carer. I could hardly believe my eyes.
Except, was that true, that I couldn’t believe it? Icould, actually, if I let myself think about it. The way they’d shown up for me time and time again, I should have been expecting this. Hell, maybe Ihadbeen expecting it, and that was why I’d shut myself off before they could insist on it.
“I couldn’t let you do this,” I said, my voice catching, but I choked back the emotion.
“You absolutely could,” Amy insisted, her voice firm; she’d clearly prepared for that response. “In fact, all of us– even Grey and Fatima– have signed up for a course Anil recommended for carers. We’re taking it the weekend after next, after the trip.”
