His brother, Randall, wanted power of attorney. His eldest son, Craig, had already been meeting with nursing home administrators. His daughter, Tammy, hadn’t visited in six weeks but somehow had opinions about “what Dad would have wanted.”

I was his second wife. Married eleven years. They never let me forget it.
You’re not blood, Tammy told me at the last family meeting, her lip curling. You don’t get a say.
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