Begin
Write to Jonathan
One paragraph about your mother — or your father — covers it: what you have seen, what is worrying you, and what you hope can come back for them. There is no wrong version of this letter.
What he sends back
Jonathan answers himself, inside a day — not a template, and nobody answering in his name. Inside it: answers to what you asked, the fees or a call to talk them through, the membership he would choose, and a straight yes or no on whether this is right for her. Then the pace is entirely yours. Some reply that same night; others sit with it until spring. Both are normal, and nobody will chase you.
If you would rather talk
Say so in your message, and a call comes before anything else. Jonathan’s team go first, making sure this is something he can genuinely help with; when it is, he joins — on that call or the next. Nothing is decided on it, and nothing is sold on it.
If part of you is already frightened — a diagnosis, a fall, something moving faster than you can plan — make that your first line. Nothing waits ahead of it.
What you write stays between us. It exists so he can understand her, it shapes what he does, and it does nothing else. It joins no list, feeds no marketing, and is shown to no one.