Today was not a bad day. It was even, really, a good day. 

Mom got up for all three meals, and she even had the strength to wheel herself back and forth from her room to the dining area. No fainting, no sadness. Her bruise from the wheelchair fall continues to fade. She was cognizant and present, and the smile I remember almost completely fit.

She even gave me grief when I razzed her. It was, really, a good day.

Except damn. It was a really hard day.

Once upon a time, when my mom was healthy and so responsible, she bought a life insurance policy. It's not massive amounts of money (especially after taxes, the nursing home, and the bottomless doctors' bills), but it was a great deal.

It was such a great deal, having the insurance policy puts her over the allotted $2000 she can have in assets. So we have to reduce the cash value of her life insurance so we can maintain her need to have a functional quality of life.

So the first phone call Mom made on her shiny new red Droid Mini was to the insurance company.
The company allowed us to take a loan out against her policy, slicing it down to less than what I pay for a single month's rent. The difference will go the nursing home, complete with lots of documentation to show funds moved from account A to check B, handed to Person Y... so my mom can live in a cinder block building until the state decides she actually doesn't have enough income to cover the $7800/month cost on her own.

When I left her tonight, she was nomming the state of Oklahoma made of European-style chocolate. She promised to finish her mashed potatoes and gravy, but poked the turkey which had been chopped to indiscernability like it was a rejected science project.

Tomorrow, I'll drive to the closest Chase (two hours away round-trip), so I can close one checking account and open another; then reset all the automatic bill pays, direct deposits, and other electronic ways I'm connected in the interwebs.

Then I'll send more documentation to DHS to verify what I did. This is after the 5 years of bank statements for the soon-to-be-closed account I supplied already. And the 5 years of bank statements for my mom's accounts. And the savings accounts. And the day trip to Dallas to get a copy of the car title.

Don't even get me started on the fun-ness of Power of Attorney paperwork. Or trying to convince a bill collector to take my money because my mom can't come to the phone as she's in a nursing home.

All so my mom can have a place to safely wander the grey valley between here and that far green country under a swift sunrise. And poke mystery meat while choosing dessert first.