We're moving mom out of her house (but nothing like her real house). It seems like the end of the process; there are only a few things left, and some messes to clean up. There are two couches which seem to be mine, or I'm just taking them. I have a big house, with a huge basement, where I can surely put them.

It seems like it has been an unmanageably complex process. But bit by bit we've got it. We're done. Time to go.

Mom stops in a doorway and says she's not going. We got done more quickly than she expected, and she's not emotionally ready to leave. She's going to stay there one more night.