I’ve seen a realm I knew existed but hadn’t visited before. It’s a world in which you say to a Delta ticket agent: “My 91-year-old father is terribly ill, and I can’t spontaneously pay $1,200 for every plane ticket.” It’s a world in which pastors, hospital social workers, well-appointed ladies granting tours to managed care communities, and agencies that employ sitters for the aging all intersect. It’s a world in which you and your siblings try to convey to new physicians, “No, this is not the way he always is.” It’s a time when you stare into the face of your disoriented dad and still see his love, gratitude, and ability to tell a great joke.

My father had double pneumonia in January, then fell backwards down our back steps, collapsing his L-1 spinal disc. He is now in constant pain and coping with congestive heart failure. He’s gone from functioning well as a town father and local newspaper columnist to seeming ancient. The question becomes: Do we eliminate his pain while monitoring his sometimes bizarre reactions to narcotics, or do we compromise his physical comfort so he seems like the dad we all know?

Interestingly, in addition to my own siblings and friends, the Internet has comforted me. So many other people are also pondering these questions, posting stories, exchanging stray bits of experience and wisdom. Experts in pain management have emailed me promptly, hotline hugs have been dispensed at no charge. The blessings in all of this have come in the form of a loving virtual community. I am incredibly sad. And yet, I feel blessed.