Though I could tell she was exhausted by the time we got home, she seemed in an upbeat mood. Later, once she was in bed, she asked for a piece of tape, which she used to mount her new key tag on the headboard. White with black print, the triangular plastic tag featured the word “Welcome” on the front and “Just for today” on the back. I knew the group gave out key tags for various milestones, but I’d always thought they were color coded. “Why is it white?” I asked as I straightened her covers and helped her get comfortable. “Shouldn’t it be red or purple or something?” “The first one is always white. The international color of surrender.” The week flew by as my sister, her caregivers, and I fell into a rhythm. Inez arrived each morning just as I was leaving for work. On Tuesdays and Thursdays, she would stay until I got home in the evenings, after which I’d take Nicole to a meeting and then back home for dinner afterward. On Mondays, Wednesdays, and Fridays, Inez would take Nicole to daytime meetings instead, feed her an early supper, and then stick around until Greg arrived for his evening therapy sessions.
