We are coming around to a year from when Margret was first sick. We didn't know then, she and I, the journey we were on. We didn't know the destination. We were living life as we knew it, coping in ways we had figured out along the way.
Margret was at home because she was coughing and not feeling great, when my new computer arrived. The driver needed a signature to leave it, and Margret signed for it. I was out making a run for yummies and supplies.
When I got home, she was very proud of herself for figuring out what needed to be done, and doing it. I was very proud of her, too. We hugged. She beamed. Her grin lit up the whole room.