You might think Willie’s recent Alzheimer’s diagnosis could lead to not a lot of funny in this space. 

But to quote every cartoon ever, au contraire mon frère. 

It is the funny that will save us. 

Just look at, for example, the guardianship. 

My siblings and I decided to pursue guardianship of Willie. My brother would be Willie’s guardian, with loving support from me and my sister. 

And I’m sorry but I need to go all Gone Girl on you for a second and say “me and my sister” is, in fact, grammatically correct. 

Anyway. 

As guardian, my brother is first in line to make Willie’s medical and financial decisions.  

Even above Willie herself. 

The lawyer we hired for the guardianship told us we were legally required to explain the guardianship to Willie. 

Now, this is where you might recollect Willie declared her Temple of Doom neighbor her mortal enemy. 

And why is she her mortal enemy? 

Because on Willie’s first day living at the Temple of Doom, this neighbor explained she — the neighbor — was in charge of hallway C, second floor. 

And everyone in it. 

“That woman,” Willie said, “is not in charge of me.” 

I mean, is anyone?  

Even the IRS simply sends her letters suggesting she file her taxes. But they don’t, like, arrest or fine her or anything. 

So my brother and I agreed telling Willie about the guardianship was a two-person job. 

One of us has got to be able to run faster than the other, right? 

We brought Willie her favorite Starbucks — skinny decaf vanilla latte that Willie thinks has all the sugar, caffeine, and fat her heart and pancreas are supposed to avoid. 

We explained the guardianship. 

“I think this is a fabulous idea,” Willie said. “Thank you!” 

So we explained again. 

“Yes,” Willie said. “That would be so helpful!” 

So we explained again. 

“I understand,” Willie said. “I should have help with my decisions. I want you to be able to help.” 

Um, OK? 

Next up was the guardianship hearing, in a real courtroom. My brother even had to testify.  

Since he was doing the heavy lifting, I offered to bring Willie and serve as emotional support. 

OK, yes. And pretend to be Harry Hamlin on L.A. Law. 

I don’t anticipate spending time in courtrooms on a regular basis. I have to take the opportunity to be Harry Hamlin where I can. 

And, no, I can’t be Susan Dey. Don’t be ridiculous. I can’t even play the tambourine. 

On a sunny day that belied the guilt, grief, and turmoil my brother and I felt, I picked up Willie and headed for Norristown. 

I felt so sorry for Willie on that drive. Willie has always been a force. In a short 13 months, she’s lost two of the three things most important to her — Indy and her mind. 

“How are you doing, Willie?” I asked. 

I mean, I don’t actually call her Willie. But you guys get what I’m saying. 

“Great!” Willie said.  

“Really?” I asked. 

“Oh, yes!” Willie said. She went on to explain how she’d told everyone at the Temple of Doom about the guardianship. 

“They’re all jealous,” Willie said. “Everyone wants a guardian!” 

I’m not sure if it was to my credit or Willie’s that a fairly sad day had been spun into an object of envy.  

But I’ll take it.  

Either way. 

The lawyers questioned my brother. Then the judge asked if Willie had anything to say. 

Um, Willie always has something to say. 

Willie told the judge about her jealous peers. “This is a great idea,” Willie said. “I’m so proud of my children!” 

Later, on the car ride home, I broached — for what felt like the 800th time — the idea of Willie moving to assisted living. 

I explained the risks of Willie’s independent living situation. The worry my siblings and I feel for her well-being.  

I detailed the work of keeping Willie autonomous, and how labor intensive it is for me and my siblings. We all work. Two of us have children at home.  

We’re spread so thin — and that’s before we even get to our aunt, widowed just four months after Willie. 

“That’s so tragic,” Willie said. 

“So you’ll move?” I asked. 

“No,” Willie said. 

Huh.  

Looks like Willie is still in charge.