Debra went quiet for a second. And then she said, and I remember this very clearly, she said, “If you move on this, I will make sure Mom signs the power of attorney before your lawyer can get to her.

And the first thing I will do is move her to a facility where you’ll need my permission to visit.”

I didn’t say anything. I genuinely couldn’t figure out what to say to that. It wasn’t a bluff, that was the thing. I know my sister. That wasn’t someone panicking and throwing out words. That was a plan.

I’ve talked to a lawyer since then. Twice actually. The situation is complicated because Mom is mentally present, mostly. She can make decisions. Which means in theory she could sign something. The question is whether she truly understands what she’d be signing, or whether someone she trusts and relies on could walk her through it in a way that looks voluntary but isn’t. My lawyer used the word “undue influence.” She said it calmly like it was a normal phrase to use in a conversation, and I guess in her office it is.

I went back to see my mom last Saturday. I didn’t tell Debra I was going. We watched part of a game show and I helped her sort through some mail and she showed me a bird that’s been coming to the feeder outside her kitchen window. She said she’s been sleeping better lately. She said she feels pretty good.

I didn’t tell her everything. I don’t know what to tell her or when or how to do it without her feeling like the people she trusted most have been lying to her. Which they have. Which I’m counting myself in on now, in a smaller way, because I knew the night calls stopped and I was glad and I didn’t ask why.

The medical board complaint is in. The lawyer is working on the guardianship question. Debra hasn’t called me and I haven’t called her.

I found an old photo of the three of us last week while I was cleaning out a box. Me, Debra, and Mom at some family thing. I’m maybe twelve in the picture, which means Debra’s fifteen. We’re both squinting into the sun and Mom has her arm around us. I looked at it for a long time and then I put it back in the box.

I don’t know how this ends. I don’t know what Debra is telling Mom right now, or what she’s already had her sign, or how much of a head start she has. I don’t know if I did everything fast enough or in the right order. My lawyer thinks I have a case. But “a case” is not the same as a resolution. It’s not the same as my mother being okay.