Unlike Dad, Mom seems pleased with a little pampering. She does not feel threatened by being helped.  During her recent illness, she was not reluctant to tell me what she wanted and needed.  And I enjoyed doing it.  “Would you get the mail from the mailbox?”  “Will you dish up my dinner? Do you mind bringing it to me in my chair?”  “I’ll have mango juice, please.”  “Thank you, sweetie—I’m just bossing you around, aren’t I?”  I felt happy to be of good utility.  And she was sweet and grateful.  But now that she is recovering, she treks to the mailbox for the mail and dumps the recyclables into the green container, with no need of assistance from me.