Prescriptions filled? Check!
Gifties for friend? Check!
Reading material for plane? Check!
Mail hold? Check!
Travel notifications for bank? Check!
Obligatory yet cheapest floral arrangement for Mother's Day ordered? HOLD ON THERE, PARTNER! WHOAHHHHH!!!
Yeah. So before I go to the trouble of placing an order for a floral arrangement to "celebrate" my least favorite holiday on planet Earth, I need to know a crucial detail: An address.
So I look up the address for Shady Pines. Then pause. I call my sister to find out if Audrey will still be at the home or if she will in fact, BE HOME.
Nuts and bolts of the conversation involved more of Audrey's demands and cluelessness, and her insistence upon SHE WANTS TO BE HOME LIKE YESTERDAY. Sis had coordinated with the social worker to have Audrey released on the 13th, as nothing in the house is ready: no food, no insulin drawn up into syringes (because, yes, sadly, Audrey is THAT EFFING LAZY and won't draw them up on her own), the new electric recline and lift chair hasn't been delivered yet. But god damn it, Audrey wants to go home now, and it doesn't matter that she can't do a damned thing herself, and that others are doing her laundry and food preparations, and pushing her 400 pound, BUMP ON A LOG self, to therapy etc. She cannot walk. She merely takes a few steps here and there, and well. Fuck her.
I told sis that I let our aunt know about my plan, and my worries that Audrey is grinding sis down to a nub. I don't really care if the information gets back to Audrey or not. It's the truth. And well... ah. Bah. You know the deal.
So I looped the conversation back to when and where should I send the flowers, and was left with nothing conclusive. If she comes home on the 12th and I have the delivery on the 12th, WHAT IF the delivery happens before she comes home? And I'd rather not have it delivered before Mother's Day because then it'd be one more thing to be lugged back home. And at the moment, I fail to possess enough give a shit to even buy the boquet.
It's all artifice and facade. I know. Gah. So much of life IS illusion and/or delusion. And for me, perpetuating the "maternal delusion" is a lot easier than bucking it at this point. And while I could "Ferberize" her, and not acknowledge the day, or HER, in the end it's more bothersome for me to deal with the after effects. So I view a token bouquet as nothing more than shutting her up.
ETA: Fuck it. I found the most neutral MD card I could find, and will either drop it in the mail tomorrow night, or have my co-worker drop it in the mail on my behalf mid-week. $3 card vs $30 floral arrangement. In either event, both will be forgotten and quickly tossed in the trash. Economics wins by a nose!
Wednesday, April 30, 2014
Thursday, April 24, 2014
With Sincerest Gratitude
I am an introvert. By and large I’m disgusted with a good
lot of what’s out there, passing as “humanity.” But in between the narcissists
and sociopaths I’ve encountered, I’ve also been incredibly LUCKY to have the
opportunity to cultivate friendships (and some friendly acquaintances) with
some stellar people, some “Twinkies” and some “Dairy Product.”
I’ve lumped friends into two categories:
Twinkies: They are there for you, ready and waiting for you whenever you need them. Old Faithful. They will always be there for you, ready, right on thru until/after the Zombie Apocalypse Hits.
Dairy Product: They are there for you, but for a short while, kind of like a gallon of milk. You’re lucky if you get about a week before the gallon goes bad. But in the interim, they sustain you.
Ideally, you need a mix of both, Twinkies and milk, to have an ideal snack… and an ideal mix of friends.
So to you, my Twinkies (and my milk), consider this as personal of a thank you as one can issue forth on a blog post, shared on a social networking site.
Thank you for understanding (or wanting to understand) me.
Thank you for giving me the space to vent and articulate.
Thank you for your humor, your support & caring.
Thank you for not (outwardly) judging me, harshly or negatively.
(And for those who are no longer friends, thank you, as whatever was the cause of us falling out and no longer cultivating our friendship, was an opportunity for personal growth, a character building exercise--and I wish you nothing but peace.)
Thank you for giving me the outlet and opportunity to GET OUT THERE, OUT IN THE WORLD, and do things or simply just BE.
Thank you for playing a part in my journey.
Thank you for late night conversations.
I’ve lumped friends into two categories:
Twinkies: They are there for you, ready and waiting for you whenever you need them. Old Faithful. They will always be there for you, ready, right on thru until/after the Zombie Apocalypse Hits.
Dairy Product: They are there for you, but for a short while, kind of like a gallon of milk. You’re lucky if you get about a week before the gallon goes bad. But in the interim, they sustain you.
Ideally, you need a mix of both, Twinkies and milk, to have an ideal snack… and an ideal mix of friends.
So to you, my Twinkies (and my milk), consider this as personal of a thank you as one can issue forth on a blog post, shared on a social networking site.
Thank you for understanding (or wanting to understand) me.
Thank you for giving me the space to vent and articulate.
Thank you for your humor, your support & caring.
Thank you for not (outwardly) judging me, harshly or negatively.
(And for those who are no longer friends, thank you, as whatever was the cause of us falling out and no longer cultivating our friendship, was an opportunity for personal growth, a character building exercise--and I wish you nothing but peace.)
Thank you for giving me the outlet and opportunity to GET OUT THERE, OUT IN THE WORLD, and do things or simply just BE.
Thank you for playing a part in my journey.
Thank you for late night conversations.
Thank you for visiting my mom (recently) and for all the support you gave me in my father's final illness and passing.
Thank you for going to the doctor with me, and or hanging out in NYC after appointments.
Thank you for your out of the blue, totally not necessary, package you’ve ever sent me.
Thank you for meeting me in your home city when I’m around, or coming to my home.
Thank you for loving me and my quirks.
Thank you for your friendship, as it TRULY IS the only thing that keeps me from losing all hope in humanity.
Thank you for thinking I am strong, because at times, I don’t necessarily feel so damned strong.
Thank you for being YOU. That is sufficient.
I know folks are wrapped up in their own lives, and life today is so fast and chaotic. We don’t always take the time to acknowledge the things that truly matter. I just want you to know, that in this very moment, I am thinking of you, and my wish for you is may you be as happy for as long as humanly possible.
Thank you for going to the doctor with me, and or hanging out in NYC after appointments.
Thank you for your out of the blue, totally not necessary, package you’ve ever sent me.
Thank you for meeting me in your home city when I’m around, or coming to my home.
Thank you for loving me and my quirks.
Thank you for your friendship, as it TRULY IS the only thing that keeps me from losing all hope in humanity.
Thank you for thinking I am strong, because at times, I don’t necessarily feel so damned strong.
Thank you for being YOU. That is sufficient.
I know folks are wrapped up in their own lives, and life today is so fast and chaotic. We don’t always take the time to acknowledge the things that truly matter. I just want you to know, that in this very moment, I am thinking of you, and my wish for you is may you be as happy for as long as humanly possible.
More Related Thoughts
I wish my sister were not acting/reacting from a place of
such empathy or caring (or perhaps martyrdom).
Boundaries are healthy. My sister has enough health issues and responsibilities of her own. Audrey is too self-absorbed to give a fuck about it all. There is some talk that Audrey will come home, but she’s unable to tend to herself on her own. So sis is setting up a home aide to be there about 5 hours a day, 3 hours in the a.m. and 2 hrs in the later evening. And of course, Audrey is furious about this. She’s got this unreasonable expectation that my sister be the one to do all the step-and-fetching and all the ass wiping and laundry and and and, the list just goes on and on.
My sister thinks that I am able to keep up boundaries because of geography, but Audrey could very easily be calling ME 30 times a day like she calls my sister. And Audrey doesn’t. Why not? Because I refuse to answer the phone, especially during the day at work. Bottom line is, Audrey is in a stable environment, getting 3 squares a day, getting her meds on time, getting physical therapy, has a roof over her head, etc etc. There is NOTHING ON PLANET EARTH that is so dire that necessitates 30 telephone calls a day. Hell, even if Audrey called 3x a day, once after each meal, that would still be pushing the limit, imho. But who am I? I’m not there. And I’m certainly not the person who has assumed Audrey’s burden as their own. Anything I could possibly say at this point comes off as a criticism, even though it really just comes from a point of caring (for my sister).
A friend of mine asked me why did I bother visiting Audrey if she’s just so horrible. Well. I did so out of my own sense of selfishness. I have a healthy enough ego to say that. I did it because the day’s conditions were optimal (the weather was great, my pain was less), and I figured I put it off long enough, get it over with, like pulling off a bandaid. Like I said in my blog post, I laughed at myself, knowing how thankless my deed was. Ultimately, I did it for myself, not Audrey. And if I had to say I did it for someone, I did it for my sister, so it was one less visit she had to make. I did it for my own satisfaction in knowing I did what I was able to do, nothing more.
My therapist was impressed that I set an alarm, and a time limit on the visit. Looks like I’m right on track with things. I feel I’m being reasonable. My sister verbalizes she understands, but I know too well her frustration. But she could do what I’m doing. It just takes a lot of work, mental fortitude and consistency to do this.
Boundaries are healthy. My sister has enough health issues and responsibilities of her own. Audrey is too self-absorbed to give a fuck about it all. There is some talk that Audrey will come home, but she’s unable to tend to herself on her own. So sis is setting up a home aide to be there about 5 hours a day, 3 hours in the a.m. and 2 hrs in the later evening. And of course, Audrey is furious about this. She’s got this unreasonable expectation that my sister be the one to do all the step-and-fetching and all the ass wiping and laundry and and and, the list just goes on and on.
My sister thinks that I am able to keep up boundaries because of geography, but Audrey could very easily be calling ME 30 times a day like she calls my sister. And Audrey doesn’t. Why not? Because I refuse to answer the phone, especially during the day at work. Bottom line is, Audrey is in a stable environment, getting 3 squares a day, getting her meds on time, getting physical therapy, has a roof over her head, etc etc. There is NOTHING ON PLANET EARTH that is so dire that necessitates 30 telephone calls a day. Hell, even if Audrey called 3x a day, once after each meal, that would still be pushing the limit, imho. But who am I? I’m not there. And I’m certainly not the person who has assumed Audrey’s burden as their own. Anything I could possibly say at this point comes off as a criticism, even though it really just comes from a point of caring (for my sister).
A friend of mine asked me why did I bother visiting Audrey if she’s just so horrible. Well. I did so out of my own sense of selfishness. I have a healthy enough ego to say that. I did it because the day’s conditions were optimal (the weather was great, my pain was less), and I figured I put it off long enough, get it over with, like pulling off a bandaid. Like I said in my blog post, I laughed at myself, knowing how thankless my deed was. Ultimately, I did it for myself, not Audrey. And if I had to say I did it for someone, I did it for my sister, so it was one less visit she had to make. I did it for my own satisfaction in knowing I did what I was able to do, nothing more.
My therapist was impressed that I set an alarm, and a time limit on the visit. Looks like I’m right on track with things. I feel I’m being reasonable. My sister verbalizes she understands, but I know too well her frustration. But she could do what I’m doing. It just takes a lot of work, mental fortitude and consistency to do this.
Tuesday, April 22, 2014
A Nugget or Two From Sheep Shearing on Saturday
While at my friend's farm, I chatted up my friend, and a friend of hers. The friend, Liz, and I talked about all manner of things about family, life, theology, pursuit of health, both physical and mental. I hit upon briefly about going to visit my mom after lunch, and what that involves. And how I've been in therapy since 2009, and had gastric bypass, and work actively towards trying to have a different narrative for my life than my mother's life.
I was just being me, and I felt safe. Joanie and I are of the same type of people. Takes a while to vet people. We both have reached each others' inner sanctum. So I share. I'm not always so forthcoming. I much prefer to people watch and hang back. But I've known Joanie for a few years, perhaps 7?10? I've lost track. And I've met Liz before at previous years' shearings, but usually there's more people, more activity. Hell, this year, I even got a small bit of chitchat out of the professional shearer during a rare moment of downtime during the shearing of the herd.
Liz gave me a huge compliment. Honestly, I don't know if she knows how big of a deal this was to me, but she complimented me on all the progress I've made on my road to well being.
Sometimes I think a good lot of outsiders when they hear the things I have to say, typically bristle because they don't know the burden of having a parent in ill physical health who is verbally and emotionally abusive. Sometimes I feel like I'm too critical, when I don't embellish. I just matter of fact say things as they are. But things are so awful, it surely must seem like hyperbole or criticism or negativity to outsiders.
To have Liz, a friendly acquaintance, an outsider of sorts, to validate me, my progress, MY PATH I have chosen to be on, well? To oversimplify or overstate the obvious... IT IS NICE.
I was just being me, and I felt safe. Joanie and I are of the same type of people. Takes a while to vet people. We both have reached each others' inner sanctum. So I share. I'm not always so forthcoming. I much prefer to people watch and hang back. But I've known Joanie for a few years, perhaps 7?10? I've lost track. And I've met Liz before at previous years' shearings, but usually there's more people, more activity. Hell, this year, I even got a small bit of chitchat out of the professional shearer during a rare moment of downtime during the shearing of the herd.
Liz gave me a huge compliment. Honestly, I don't know if she knows how big of a deal this was to me, but she complimented me on all the progress I've made on my road to well being.
Sometimes I think a good lot of outsiders when they hear the things I have to say, typically bristle because they don't know the burden of having a parent in ill physical health who is verbally and emotionally abusive. Sometimes I feel like I'm too critical, when I don't embellish. I just matter of fact say things as they are. But things are so awful, it surely must seem like hyperbole or criticism or negativity to outsiders.
To have Liz, a friendly acquaintance, an outsider of sorts, to validate me, my progress, MY PATH I have chosen to be on, well? To oversimplify or overstate the obvious... IT IS NICE.
Talking Points
So, I finally had that conversation with my aunt about All Things Audrey. What startled me was the only thing I said that she took issue with was my theory that Audrey sits in her chair eating candies and shoots up extra insulin. I realize in the end, my aunt is no doubt correct, that in order to make sure Audrey's got her insulin to go with the candy, it would require her to get up and walk to the fridge to get it. I know she's right, but still the coincidence of two empty syringes being in the bottom of that box of books, along with candy wrappers did not seem too outlandish of me. "You're right, that would require effort and forethought. You're right."
But beyond that, she did not criticize or fight me on any of my talking points. I said things, observations of things the way they are now, and followed up with the thought that what most of the extended family is seeing or experiencing now is not merely because Audrey's in the nursing home, but this is pretty much her normal state of being, and that for 40+ years, me and my siblings have endured quite a bit of inappropriateness and abuse.
I asked my aunt about her non-visiting mom, and prefaced it with, "I am just curious, and seriously, no judgement at all, are you not visiting her because you've got your own shit to deal with, or did Audrey say something stupid and insulting, and you pulled back because of that?" And of course, my aunt replied she had her own shit to deal with (don't we all?).
My primary concern is not my mom. She's in a stable environment, whether she likes it or not. My primary concern is for my sister, whose primary diagnosis was pneumonia, but we won't know for sure what is actually going on in her lung until May 3rd when the biopsy results are finally in. And do not ask me why it takes nearly 2 weeks for biopsy results.
So, the cliffnotes of talking points which I articulated, and honestly I couldn't give two fucks less if she goes back and tells my mother everything, but they all needed saying:
My final take away I hope my aunt came away from the conversation with, I hope was, "You had a different relationship with your father and your sister, than the rest of us. Mom IS your father in personality. It was nothing short of awful growing up with that. And after 45 years, I'm done keeping the big fat secret. I see the veil is wearing thin on what she'll say to intimates vs the rest of the world. Eventually everyone will know her for who and what she truly is. And while she may cast a tragic figure, one of pity etc, the true tragedy is all those decades someone else could have said something on behalf of us when we were children, and people were either too polite or too scared to do anything. It's amazing that any of us came out of it alive, much less as functional as we are now. I refuse to allow her to destroy me further, or consume me entirely. Fuck her."
But beyond that, she did not criticize or fight me on any of my talking points. I said things, observations of things the way they are now, and followed up with the thought that what most of the extended family is seeing or experiencing now is not merely because Audrey's in the nursing home, but this is pretty much her normal state of being, and that for 40+ years, me and my siblings have endured quite a bit of inappropriateness and abuse.
I asked my aunt about her non-visiting mom, and prefaced it with, "I am just curious, and seriously, no judgement at all, are you not visiting her because you've got your own shit to deal with, or did Audrey say something stupid and insulting, and you pulled back because of that?" And of course, my aunt replied she had her own shit to deal with (don't we all?).
My primary concern is not my mom. She's in a stable environment, whether she likes it or not. My primary concern is for my sister, whose primary diagnosis was pneumonia, but we won't know for sure what is actually going on in her lung until May 3rd when the biopsy results are finally in. And do not ask me why it takes nearly 2 weeks for biopsy results.
So, the cliffnotes of talking points which I articulated, and honestly I couldn't give two fucks less if she goes back and tells my mother everything, but they all needed saying:
- "Sis is sick with either pneumonia and/or cancer, and Audrey could give two fucks less. She wants what she wants, and she wants sis to be at her beck and call, as if sis were her servant."
- She acts as if she were in a hotel, not a nursing home.
- Audrey thinks things are horrible NOW. If she keeps up doing what she's doing and sis dies as a result, I am filing a petition for a court appointed conservator to do all Audrey's shit, FOR A COST, which will come out of Audrey's pocket, not mine. And once those funds are depleted, she will be on her own.
- All she does is take, never replenishing the well of good will. At one point, she used to be (albeit, inappropriately) humorous. Now? She brings nothing to the table. She doesn't even talk of what she watched on t.v., or the book she just finished reading. Just sits there with that vacant stare, and like a vampire, suctions every last bit of positivity right out of you.
- Talk to me, talk to me! You sit there and talk, she doesn't listen or absorb what's said, just continues to pump you for CONTENT to keep her interested or occupied.
- I know she talks shit about me if I'm not there. She talks shit about me if I visit. I decided a few years back that it's unhealthy for me to continue to give what she expects. It's unhealthy for me to concern myself with trying to make someone happy, when that very someone is incapable of experiencing true happiness.
- I articulated how, if it were up to Audrey, none of us would have lives or experiences of our own beyond tending to her and her constant need to be the center of the universe.
- I articulated how I am unwilling to make the sacrifices of: quitting my job, selling my home, divorcing my husband, buying a new car, and or having a hysterectomy all so I can BE THERE and help someone who is incapable and unwilling to help themselves.
- I articulated how unacceptable it is for Audrey to call my sister 30 times a day; and in contrast, how unhealthy it is for my sister to answer the phone 1/3 of the time. "I don't answer the phone at work, because the day I do, she starts up with the never ending phone calls. I am at WORK. I am not at her beck and call."
- I articulated a typical "pep talk" my mother had given me, knowing how miserable I am at my job and how I was preparing to go for a job interview at a court's clerk office: "Whatever you do, don't tell them how much you love giving blow jobs!" (and then cackle the kind of laugh that inmates at an asylumn would sound like) Contrary to what she thinks I am no longer some snot nosed 15 yr old trying to find validation and love on the receiving end of a flesh flute.
- I articulated how for years I was accused of being a slut, at a time when I was still a virgin. And how tired I was of being accused of being something I wasn't, I went right out and SLUTTED IT UP BIG TIME. And how in more recent time, I saw something online along the lines of "Watch how you talk to your kids, because that becomes their inner dialogue when they grow up."
- I articulated how when dad had his final hospitalization, I asked him directly if I was named after a fond memory in Barcelona, asking pointedly if I were named after a Spanish prostitute since my name has such a unique spelling. Which he flat out denied, however, if it were true, and I do believe it is, it does make sense of how or why my mother has hated me my entire life.
- I articulated how mom's behaviors (which MIRROR the behaviors of her father's) started becoming outrageous during dad's final hospitalization. And how after an unrelenting round of "telephone" I finally answered the phone, was furious, she got into a fight with me, which concluded when I told her point blank, "Yanno what? After 40 years, I'm tired of being made to feel like I'm the other woman in your marriage." And hung up.
My final take away I hope my aunt came away from the conversation with, I hope was, "You had a different relationship with your father and your sister, than the rest of us. Mom IS your father in personality. It was nothing short of awful growing up with that. And after 45 years, I'm done keeping the big fat secret. I see the veil is wearing thin on what she'll say to intimates vs the rest of the world. Eventually everyone will know her for who and what she truly is. And while she may cast a tragic figure, one of pity etc, the true tragedy is all those decades someone else could have said something on behalf of us when we were children, and people were either too polite or too scared to do anything. It's amazing that any of us came out of it alive, much less as functional as we are now. I refuse to allow her to destroy me further, or consume me entirely. Fuck her."
Monday, April 21, 2014
Post-Pascal Wrap Up: The Unabridged Version
All in all, "I" had a good weekend. Even the bad part was good, because I was expecting it, and I wasn't blindsided by it, and the bad part was predictably bad.
Every year, I am welcome to attend and help out at my friend's farm, for the annual sheep shearing day. Due to the snowy winter we had, it pushed the date back until this past weekend, when normally, it is held roughly the first weekend in March. I promised I would go, and hoped the weather would hold up, and alternately, hoped it would be a manageable day regarding my assortment of pain issues.
The universe did not conspire against me. The weather was nothing short of GLORIOUS, and pain? Well, I had a much worse weekend the previous weekend, so all systems were GO.
And sheep shearing day was lovely, good conversation, and the professional sheep shearer makes it look easy with how efficient he works and how masterful he handles the animals. After lunch I decided rather than head home, I'd bite the bullet and head to the Jersey shore to see my mother, and get it out of the way. I'll be traveling soon enough, and won't have opportunity to do so, and at this rate, I won't be back down again until/around Memorial Day (if that).
First things first, I stopped at Delicious Orchards, a favorite stopping place for me. I love their assortment of coffee and cheeses and tend to stock up, and got provisions for breakfast for Sunday, as Audrey hasn't been home since January. I texted my sister to let her know, "Hey, need anything? And hey, want to get together for dinner?"
I then head off to Shady Pines, and when I show up, and like a frightened child, with MUCH THEATRICS, Audrey starts sobbing and wailing, “I’m so sorry I’m so sorry!” I said “For what?” She says, “I thought you were mad at me…” Oh it was just awful. Just dreadful.
I sat there crocheting to blunt the agony of being there. She whined about how no one visits her. I quipped back, without missing a stitch of my crochet, "Hey. I don't have kids. I won't have kids. I am not a joiner, either. I'm an introvert, and yanno what? I force myself out in the world to do things with people, and cultivate friendships with people to avoid THAT nonsense." It's totally lost on her that she's miserable, and alone, and by and large it's her own DOING.
Two hours was ample time for the ammonia reeking laundry to latch onto my cerebral cortex and sting my sinuses and almost render a migraine. It was also long enough for her to insist that I take off her shoes (yes, actual shoes, not big ol' Frankenfoot slippers). No doubt, she expected me to say something about how much better her feet look. Well? They don't look like two big cans of exploded purple biscuit dough anymore, but they're still clearly fucked up. I kept silent. I am repulsed at all of this.
She sat there like a lump, reeking of piss and woe-is-me, "TALK TO ME TALK TO ME!!" (Feed me, Seymore! Feed me all night long!!!) There’s only so much of that I can take. What little she contributed to the conversation was essentially endless complaints about the nursing home, where she no doubt is acting like a stereotypical, rude-assed tourist staying in a fine hotel. Why not? She treats my sister as if she were a servant.
I dutifully set an alarm on my phone to go off after 2 hours, “I have to go meet a friend in Middlesex for dinner.” I refused to tell her with WHOM. To be honest, it's none of her business. Also? Two hours is ample time for a visit. I took back my power. I've got my own shit to do.
In order to exit the building, I had to go to the front desk when I was ready to leave so they could buzz me out, and I had to walk right past her room to get to the door from which they were buzzing me out, and there she was, already on the phone bitching to my sister about me, how she doesn’t like that I don’t tell her everything, and bitched about the mystery of who I was going to eat dinner with. Which of course, was with my sister and niece.
Before my buttocks had a chance to transfer heat to the cushion on my chair, my sister started in on pumping me for information about the visit with Audrey. I said, "First things first." And with that, I slugged back about 1/2 my white wine spritzer. "Okay, you can commence with the Q&A session." Dinner was nice.
My only take-away from dinner was the conversational nugget from my sister. According to her, Audrey exclaimed, "It was an act of Jesus HIMSELF that Maven showed up!!" Said, of course, before diving head long into talking shit about me. All laughable.
I retreated to my mother's house, put a load (of my) laundry in the washer, and called my mother's brother and his wife (she, who has cancer, as referenced elsewhere) and invited them for breakfast. "Hey, I've got everything... except eggs. Bring eggs. See you at 9."
I put that load of laundry in the dryer, another load in the washer, and set up my mise for breakfast for the morning, and tried to go to sleep, and what little sleep was attained, was fitful at best.
I got up early, got myself showered, laundry folded and put in the car, and I started to render out the chorizo, and microwave the cubed potatoes to get everything just so, so when my aunt and uncle arrive with the eggs, everything can be cooked a la minute.
The solitary skillet in the house had a handle that was so wobbly, it's unsafe to use it, so I ended up transferring the chorizo and onions and peppers to a wrought iron pancake/crepe pan. While chatting up my aunt and uncle, the spatula I used snapped in two, and startled I looked at both of them and I said, "What the fuck? How does she cook on this crap? The skillet handle is fucked up, the spatula just snapped in half. She was in food service for 20 years, how the frig does she cook on this?" Uncle is a food snob right down to tools in the kitchen, while I am not a snob about utensils, they have to, at a minimum, be serviceable.
Breakfast was lovely. Chorizo, peppers, onions, red bliss potatoes, eggs smothered in mozzarella, fresh strawberries, basil and "Hoagie Dressing" (she didn't even have vinegar in the house--how is this possible?), cranberry walnut bread, and coffee.
Breakfast was held and enjoyed under a veil of secrecy. I told them that they should not mention it to my mother (unbeknownst to me, they already know enough to self-censor around her), because she’s no doubt ticked she only got 2 hours of a visit out of me. I said to them (and later in the day, said the identical thing to my mom's sister), "She talks shit about me because I’m not around. I show up, she talks shit about me because she got a short visit. Well? Fuck her. If it were up to her, I’d DO NOTHING ELSE except show up and visit her. It’s not even like she’s amusing anymore, or has outside interests, or even looks for even the most remote GOOD THING. Nothing but complaints and thanklessness." If it were up to my mother, she'd want to know and or control every last detail, every last interaction. And well, she's no longer in a power position, and just fails to realize that.
Midway thru the meal, my friend, who lives local, called up to see when I was popping by, as I had something for him I wanted to drop off. And I said I want to be on the road by noon, so expect me around 11:45. So this also drove home the point to my aunt and uncle that time was of the essence. And I think they knew it ahead of time. I'm really glad they came by for breakfast. It was short, but pleasant, and a nice change of pace from a house full of chaos, or dealing with Audrey.
Even my aunt and uncle were like, “Hey, it was nice to have breakfast, we know you have a long drive home…” And with that, I asked my uncle if he'd be willing and able to move a case of books out to my car, and if it ever comes up in conversation he should "Dummy Up." As he lugs the box out to the car, he says, "Hey, um. There are syringes in there." Well fuck. I cannot take the case directly to Good Will as a result of this discovery. So in the car they will sit until I am able to cull thru the box.
What. The. Actual. Fuck? SYRINGES? She's got trash bins and a sharps container RIGHT BY HER FUCKING CHAIR, and she's too fucking filthy and lazy, she was dumping her used syringes in her box of books. I just want to Purell every last cell of my body. It's like being around a filthy, sticky toddler. I'm continually astounded by her ability to redefine TRAINWRECK. It’s repugnant, and honestly, it's exhausting to be around.
It took me close to 3 hours to get home, the holiday traffic was a bear. Once home, husband and I watched a movie, then later went for a very nice dinner.
Mom's sister fell asleep and didn't call me later as promised, so tonight will be the full on post-visit unload about everything, the abuse, mom turning into their father, the filth, the syringes, the impromptu visit by a psychiatrist (which mom has conveniently omitted in discussions with her sister). All of it. And further, I'm going to SINK HER BATTLESHIP with a direct hit and ask my aunt the pressing question of the moment: "Has mom told you off or something?" And at this point in time, I'll tip my hand about how if something happens to my sister, I will be filing a petition for a court appointed conservator for mom's care. If mom thinks things are horrible now, imagine what will happen when she alienates herself from every last person with whom she shares DNA, and will have to rely upon a court appointed conservator and paid lackeys to tend to her, and NOT on a schedule or manner of her choosing. Obviously the old saying and song lyrics, "Don't Let Your Mouth Write a Check That Your Ass Can't Cash," doesn't seem to matter NOW. But she will have her reckoning. It IS coming.
So Easter Sunday came and went without Audrey picking up a phone to call me to wish ME a happy holiday. I refused to call. I did my obligation with the visit. The phone works both ways. She may think she's punishing me by not calling me. I'm merely acknowledging that this is going on, but she's pretty much punishing herself.
Every year, I am welcome to attend and help out at my friend's farm, for the annual sheep shearing day. Due to the snowy winter we had, it pushed the date back until this past weekend, when normally, it is held roughly the first weekend in March. I promised I would go, and hoped the weather would hold up, and alternately, hoped it would be a manageable day regarding my assortment of pain issues.
The universe did not conspire against me. The weather was nothing short of GLORIOUS, and pain? Well, I had a much worse weekend the previous weekend, so all systems were GO.
And sheep shearing day was lovely, good conversation, and the professional sheep shearer makes it look easy with how efficient he works and how masterful he handles the animals. After lunch I decided rather than head home, I'd bite the bullet and head to the Jersey shore to see my mother, and get it out of the way. I'll be traveling soon enough, and won't have opportunity to do so, and at this rate, I won't be back down again until/around Memorial Day (if that).
First things first, I stopped at Delicious Orchards, a favorite stopping place for me. I love their assortment of coffee and cheeses and tend to stock up, and got provisions for breakfast for Sunday, as Audrey hasn't been home since January. I texted my sister to let her know, "Hey, need anything? And hey, want to get together for dinner?"
I then head off to Shady Pines, and when I show up, and like a frightened child, with MUCH THEATRICS, Audrey starts sobbing and wailing, “I’m so sorry I’m so sorry!” I said “For what?” She says, “I thought you were mad at me…” Oh it was just awful. Just dreadful.
I sat there crocheting to blunt the agony of being there. She whined about how no one visits her. I quipped back, without missing a stitch of my crochet, "Hey. I don't have kids. I won't have kids. I am not a joiner, either. I'm an introvert, and yanno what? I force myself out in the world to do things with people, and cultivate friendships with people to avoid THAT nonsense." It's totally lost on her that she's miserable, and alone, and by and large it's her own DOING.
Two hours was ample time for the ammonia reeking laundry to latch onto my cerebral cortex and sting my sinuses and almost render a migraine. It was also long enough for her to insist that I take off her shoes (yes, actual shoes, not big ol' Frankenfoot slippers). No doubt, she expected me to say something about how much better her feet look. Well? They don't look like two big cans of exploded purple biscuit dough anymore, but they're still clearly fucked up. I kept silent. I am repulsed at all of this.
She sat there like a lump, reeking of piss and woe-is-me, "TALK TO ME TALK TO ME!!" (Feed me, Seymore! Feed me all night long!!!) There’s only so much of that I can take. What little she contributed to the conversation was essentially endless complaints about the nursing home, where she no doubt is acting like a stereotypical, rude-assed tourist staying in a fine hotel. Why not? She treats my sister as if she were a servant.
I dutifully set an alarm on my phone to go off after 2 hours, “I have to go meet a friend in Middlesex for dinner.” I refused to tell her with WHOM. To be honest, it's none of her business. Also? Two hours is ample time for a visit. I took back my power. I've got my own shit to do.
In order to exit the building, I had to go to the front desk when I was ready to leave so they could buzz me out, and I had to walk right past her room to get to the door from which they were buzzing me out, and there she was, already on the phone bitching to my sister about me, how she doesn’t like that I don’t tell her everything, and bitched about the mystery of who I was going to eat dinner with. Which of course, was with my sister and niece.
Before my buttocks had a chance to transfer heat to the cushion on my chair, my sister started in on pumping me for information about the visit with Audrey. I said, "First things first." And with that, I slugged back about 1/2 my white wine spritzer. "Okay, you can commence with the Q&A session." Dinner was nice.
My only take-away from dinner was the conversational nugget from my sister. According to her, Audrey exclaimed, "It was an act of Jesus HIMSELF that Maven showed up!!" Said, of course, before diving head long into talking shit about me. All laughable.
I retreated to my mother's house, put a load (of my) laundry in the washer, and called my mother's brother and his wife (she, who has cancer, as referenced elsewhere) and invited them for breakfast. "Hey, I've got everything... except eggs. Bring eggs. See you at 9."
I put that load of laundry in the dryer, another load in the washer, and set up my mise for breakfast for the morning, and tried to go to sleep, and what little sleep was attained, was fitful at best.
I got up early, got myself showered, laundry folded and put in the car, and I started to render out the chorizo, and microwave the cubed potatoes to get everything just so, so when my aunt and uncle arrive with the eggs, everything can be cooked a la minute.
The solitary skillet in the house had a handle that was so wobbly, it's unsafe to use it, so I ended up transferring the chorizo and onions and peppers to a wrought iron pancake/crepe pan. While chatting up my aunt and uncle, the spatula I used snapped in two, and startled I looked at both of them and I said, "What the fuck? How does she cook on this crap? The skillet handle is fucked up, the spatula just snapped in half. She was in food service for 20 years, how the frig does she cook on this?" Uncle is a food snob right down to tools in the kitchen, while I am not a snob about utensils, they have to, at a minimum, be serviceable.
Breakfast was lovely. Chorizo, peppers, onions, red bliss potatoes, eggs smothered in mozzarella, fresh strawberries, basil and "Hoagie Dressing" (she didn't even have vinegar in the house--how is this possible?), cranberry walnut bread, and coffee.
Breakfast was held and enjoyed under a veil of secrecy. I told them that they should not mention it to my mother (unbeknownst to me, they already know enough to self-censor around her), because she’s no doubt ticked she only got 2 hours of a visit out of me. I said to them (and later in the day, said the identical thing to my mom's sister), "She talks shit about me because I’m not around. I show up, she talks shit about me because she got a short visit. Well? Fuck her. If it were up to her, I’d DO NOTHING ELSE except show up and visit her. It’s not even like she’s amusing anymore, or has outside interests, or even looks for even the most remote GOOD THING. Nothing but complaints and thanklessness." If it were up to my mother, she'd want to know and or control every last detail, every last interaction. And well, she's no longer in a power position, and just fails to realize that.
Midway thru the meal, my friend, who lives local, called up to see when I was popping by, as I had something for him I wanted to drop off. And I said I want to be on the road by noon, so expect me around 11:45. So this also drove home the point to my aunt and uncle that time was of the essence. And I think they knew it ahead of time. I'm really glad they came by for breakfast. It was short, but pleasant, and a nice change of pace from a house full of chaos, or dealing with Audrey.
Even my aunt and uncle were like, “Hey, it was nice to have breakfast, we know you have a long drive home…” And with that, I asked my uncle if he'd be willing and able to move a case of books out to my car, and if it ever comes up in conversation he should "Dummy Up." As he lugs the box out to the car, he says, "Hey, um. There are syringes in there." Well fuck. I cannot take the case directly to Good Will as a result of this discovery. So in the car they will sit until I am able to cull thru the box.
What. The. Actual. Fuck? SYRINGES? She's got trash bins and a sharps container RIGHT BY HER FUCKING CHAIR, and she's too fucking filthy and lazy, she was dumping her used syringes in her box of books. I just want to Purell every last cell of my body. It's like being around a filthy, sticky toddler. I'm continually astounded by her ability to redefine TRAINWRECK. It’s repugnant, and honestly, it's exhausting to be around.
(TOTAL FRIGGING PARKING LOT, Exit 145, GSP, roughly 1:30 p.m.,
Easter Sunday. WTF.)
It took me close to 3 hours to get home, the holiday traffic was a bear. Once home, husband and I watched a movie, then later went for a very nice dinner.
Mom's sister fell asleep and didn't call me later as promised, so tonight will be the full on post-visit unload about everything, the abuse, mom turning into their father, the filth, the syringes, the impromptu visit by a psychiatrist (which mom has conveniently omitted in discussions with her sister). All of it. And further, I'm going to SINK HER BATTLESHIP with a direct hit and ask my aunt the pressing question of the moment: "Has mom told you off or something?" And at this point in time, I'll tip my hand about how if something happens to my sister, I will be filing a petition for a court appointed conservator for mom's care. If mom thinks things are horrible now, imagine what will happen when she alienates herself from every last person with whom she shares DNA, and will have to rely upon a court appointed conservator and paid lackeys to tend to her, and NOT on a schedule or manner of her choosing. Obviously the old saying and song lyrics, "Don't Let Your Mouth Write a Check That Your Ass Can't Cash," doesn't seem to matter NOW. But she will have her reckoning. It IS coming.
So Easter Sunday came and went without Audrey picking up a phone to call me to wish ME a happy holiday. I refused to call. I did my obligation with the visit. The phone works both ways. She may think she's punishing me by not calling me. I'm merely acknowledging that this is going on, but she's pretty much punishing herself.
Friday, April 11, 2014
On My Tipping Point & Colonoscopies
Had a goodish session with the psychotherapist this a.m., talked about everything that's been cookin' the last two weeks: Physical therapy, work shit, Audrey, my sister's mass in her lung, pain, fear, depression, all my talking points.
It is hard work trying to go from a fixed mindset to a growth oriented mindset. By and large, at the moment, I find the hardest part just to be consistent. For me to consistently show up at my appointments, be focused, do my homework (for the physical therapy), keeping focus that this is a means to an end, working towards the goal of taking pilates (without seriously hurting myself in the process).
My first instinct of course is to whine, "It's not fun. It is unpleasant. I hurt afterwards. I'm bored." My first instinct is just to recoil, or as Audrey would do, put the ol' head in the sand. And you'd think that with the seething disgust I have towards her and the train wreck her life has become, you'd THINK the last thing I'd want to do is the very same thing she did (or didn't do). It's easy to take the easy way out.
As I said to my therapist, the hard part right now isn't the physical. It's the mental heavy lifting. Being present of mind, having some mental fortitude, working towards a goal, having a plan, starting something I finish. Trust me when I say, these are not qualities I inherited from either of my parents. My first impulse is to run away from conflict. Run away from things that are unpleasant. Run away from the possibility of failure. Right now, I'm trying to stay grounded, and take each session of PT on its own merit, on its own day. And as long as I can just SHOW UP, the rest will take care of itself. A good lot of life is just like that.
I make promises to people and work hard at keeping my word. It destroys me, in fact, when I fall short of my word. And yet, for myself, I think nothing of breaking promises I've made. How am I less important than others to whom I give my word? My mantra right now is JUST SHOW UP.
I made a promise to myself that I would go visit my mother tomorrow. She's been in the nursing home for 2.5 months, and I haven't laid eyes on her since before her surgery in January. Snow, sinus infections, adenomyosis pain, migraines, menses, you name it. The valid excuses kept creeping up and here we are, the weekend before Easter. And I need to go. No man's an island and all that crap.
The older I get, the smaller my family becomes, and as less-than-ideal as my family IS, time is a bitch. Tomorrow isn't promised to any of us. Opportunities are finite. It'd be lovely to make a silk purse out of this sow's ear that my family has become. It simply is what it is, and that's just damaged.
Mom's in the nursing home. Doubtful she'll come home at all at this point. Sis had a mass on her lung (which I believe was removed yesterday). Unsure if it's bronchial carcinoma or not. One aunt has stage four breast cancer with mets to the bone and liver. One aunt is so damaged from my grandfather's death, here it is nearly 2 years later, and she can't get her head out of her ass to just settle the estate (as if that will bring him back), and of course she's mentally checked out of the family and is uncharacteristically unreliable at this point. Brother still clueless and detached (said totally without judgment). His wife and my mother have made amends somewhat, yet my sis and brother's wife have not. So the whole thing is fractured into these little fragments.
I told my therapist that I am mentally preparing to visit my mother as if I were mentally preparing to go for a colonoscopy--as both are a pain in the ass. It's a thankless thing. But as unpleasant as a colonoscopy is, there IS an endpoint. With my mother, that endpoint is not so clearly defined.
So about that promise I made to myself, that THIS WEEKEND IS "THE" WEEKEND I'll go to Jersey to visit family, and get it over with. Of course, I'm about 12 hours out from menses and the distinct possibility of a migraine. Couple that up with just the overall crap at work, tipping point has been met. Today is the day I packed a travel flask of vodka with elderflower liquer in it and a can of sprite. I shall quaff it liberally before eating my lunch today... purely for medicinal purposes.
It is hard work trying to go from a fixed mindset to a growth oriented mindset. By and large, at the moment, I find the hardest part just to be consistent. For me to consistently show up at my appointments, be focused, do my homework (for the physical therapy), keeping focus that this is a means to an end, working towards the goal of taking pilates (without seriously hurting myself in the process).
My first instinct of course is to whine, "It's not fun. It is unpleasant. I hurt afterwards. I'm bored." My first instinct is just to recoil, or as Audrey would do, put the ol' head in the sand. And you'd think that with the seething disgust I have towards her and the train wreck her life has become, you'd THINK the last thing I'd want to do is the very same thing she did (or didn't do). It's easy to take the easy way out.
As I said to my therapist, the hard part right now isn't the physical. It's the mental heavy lifting. Being present of mind, having some mental fortitude, working towards a goal, having a plan, starting something I finish. Trust me when I say, these are not qualities I inherited from either of my parents. My first impulse is to run away from conflict. Run away from things that are unpleasant. Run away from the possibility of failure. Right now, I'm trying to stay grounded, and take each session of PT on its own merit, on its own day. And as long as I can just SHOW UP, the rest will take care of itself. A good lot of life is just like that.
I make promises to people and work hard at keeping my word. It destroys me, in fact, when I fall short of my word. And yet, for myself, I think nothing of breaking promises I've made. How am I less important than others to whom I give my word? My mantra right now is JUST SHOW UP.
I made a promise to myself that I would go visit my mother tomorrow. She's been in the nursing home for 2.5 months, and I haven't laid eyes on her since before her surgery in January. Snow, sinus infections, adenomyosis pain, migraines, menses, you name it. The valid excuses kept creeping up and here we are, the weekend before Easter. And I need to go. No man's an island and all that crap.
The older I get, the smaller my family becomes, and as less-than-ideal as my family IS, time is a bitch. Tomorrow isn't promised to any of us. Opportunities are finite. It'd be lovely to make a silk purse out of this sow's ear that my family has become. It simply is what it is, and that's just damaged.
Mom's in the nursing home. Doubtful she'll come home at all at this point. Sis had a mass on her lung (which I believe was removed yesterday). Unsure if it's bronchial carcinoma or not. One aunt has stage four breast cancer with mets to the bone and liver. One aunt is so damaged from my grandfather's death, here it is nearly 2 years later, and she can't get her head out of her ass to just settle the estate (as if that will bring him back), and of course she's mentally checked out of the family and is uncharacteristically unreliable at this point. Brother still clueless and detached (said totally without judgment). His wife and my mother have made amends somewhat, yet my sis and brother's wife have not. So the whole thing is fractured into these little fragments.
I told my therapist that I am mentally preparing to visit my mother as if I were mentally preparing to go for a colonoscopy--as both are a pain in the ass. It's a thankless thing. But as unpleasant as a colonoscopy is, there IS an endpoint. With my mother, that endpoint is not so clearly defined.
So about that promise I made to myself, that THIS WEEKEND IS "THE" WEEKEND I'll go to Jersey to visit family, and get it over with. Of course, I'm about 12 hours out from menses and the distinct possibility of a migraine. Couple that up with just the overall crap at work, tipping point has been met. Today is the day I packed a travel flask of vodka with elderflower liquer in it and a can of sprite. I shall quaff it liberally before eating my lunch today... purely for medicinal purposes.
Thursday, April 10, 2014
Three More Calls Today
... which I let roll right to voicemail.
No update received.
Nothing to discuss.
Not about to indulge Audrey's attention whoring.
Whether sis has cancer or no? Yeah. That's all about my sister, not about Audrey.
And in this sick, twisted game of "telephone twattery," if I dare to answer the phone, then that somehow gives Audrey tacit license to call ME 30-40 times a day.
Ain't nobody got time for that!
Dare I check my voicemail?
No update received.
Nothing to discuss.
Not about to indulge Audrey's attention whoring.
Whether sis has cancer or no? Yeah. That's all about my sister, not about Audrey.
And in this sick, twisted game of "telephone twattery," if I dare to answer the phone, then that somehow gives Audrey tacit license to call ME 30-40 times a day.
Ain't nobody got time for that!
Dare I check my voicemail?
Tuesday, April 8, 2014
Another Rousing Game of Telephone
SO.
My sister may or may not have bronchial carcinoma. Or it might be scar tissue and pneumonia (this is the latest thing being bandied about by the pulmonologist).
My sister called me and let me know what was what, and I honored my promise to keep it to myself, not to call mom or my brother.
After mom called my sister for like the thirtieth time today, my sister (fully jacked on Xanax) blurted out how she hadn't been feeling well, was in the hospital, and by the way, hey, it might be lung cancer.
Mom then asked if sis was going to tell me and my brother, and my sister said, "Oh yes, I already told Maven. She's the only one in the family who can keep a secret." (I do, spectacularly, if I say so myself.)
So here it is, 2.5 months of mom in the nursing facility. And in that amount of time, my mother has called me precisely thrice, with two of those calls being today, and they were back to back, nearly the moment I got off the phone with my sister. (I let it roll to voicemail. Can't give the woman even an inch of leverage, otherwise she will be calling ME thirty times a day, at work.)
"I know you know. Call me."
Yeee hah! Let me get right on that. (NOT.)
Sis will remain in hospital perhaps until Thurs/Friday. Thursday she has the bronchoscopy. Hopefully they will know more soon after.
In the meantime, hurry up and wait, and hope that it's scar tissue and pneumonia.
My sister may or may not have bronchial carcinoma. Or it might be scar tissue and pneumonia (this is the latest thing being bandied about by the pulmonologist).
My sister called me and let me know what was what, and I honored my promise to keep it to myself, not to call mom or my brother.
After mom called my sister for like the thirtieth time today, my sister (fully jacked on Xanax) blurted out how she hadn't been feeling well, was in the hospital, and by the way, hey, it might be lung cancer.
Mom then asked if sis was going to tell me and my brother, and my sister said, "Oh yes, I already told Maven. She's the only one in the family who can keep a secret." (I do, spectacularly, if I say so myself.)
So here it is, 2.5 months of mom in the nursing facility. And in that amount of time, my mother has called me precisely thrice, with two of those calls being today, and they were back to back, nearly the moment I got off the phone with my sister. (I let it roll to voicemail. Can't give the woman even an inch of leverage, otherwise she will be calling ME thirty times a day, at work.)
"I know you know. Call me."
Yeee hah! Let me get right on that. (NOT.)
Sis will remain in hospital perhaps until Thurs/Friday. Thursday she has the bronchoscopy. Hopefully they will know more soon after.
In the meantime, hurry up and wait, and hope that it's scar tissue and pneumonia.
Tuesday, April 1, 2014
Still Waiting for the Other Shoe to Drop
Cliffnotes:
Besides getting no reply to my text "Hey how was mom's bday party?" Which was met with sis texting me a pic, I've received precisely one phone call. Well, perhaps several, but it doesn't count unless or until we actually TALK. She calls, doesn't bother leaving a voicemail. And I cannot be bothered to take the bait and break down and call to find out, "You called?" I text that, which of course, goes without reply. So she just keeps calling over the span of a week until I answer my phone. She has zero awareness that she's doing precisely what mom does, her loathesome game of "telephone."
Sis calls. Tells me she's done. And tells me that my brother and I can sort it out. She and her husband are stretched to their limits (a trap of their own design, by the way). Implications were made that she's doing this on my behalf, which of course were met with me reminding her that she's not doing what she's doing FOR ME, but FOR MOM. I wouldn't put my sister in that type of position. Bottom line? She's fried. Justifiably so, but again, she wouldn't be, if she put up reasonable, healthy boundaries. Mom calls 30X a day? Sis answers 10, which I feel is still too many. It's exhausting for me to even know this. I don't have to imagine ho exhausting it is to live it.
So I follow up our chat with an email reminding her that there is such a thing as filing a petition for conservatorship, and that if no one in the family is willing or able to do so, a judge can appoint a conservator to oversee mom's finances and care.
And of course! OF COURSE! That rational, sane suggestion is met with silence. I made the suggestion she speak with her priest to find out if she can recommend any attorneys that specialize in elder law. It's been a week, and I'm just getting radio silence.
Besides getting no reply to my text "Hey how was mom's bday party?" Which was met with sis texting me a pic, I've received precisely one phone call. Well, perhaps several, but it doesn't count unless or until we actually TALK. She calls, doesn't bother leaving a voicemail. And I cannot be bothered to take the bait and break down and call to find out, "You called?" I text that, which of course, goes without reply. So she just keeps calling over the span of a week until I answer my phone. She has zero awareness that she's doing precisely what mom does, her loathesome game of "telephone."
Sis calls. Tells me she's done. And tells me that my brother and I can sort it out. She and her husband are stretched to their limits (a trap of their own design, by the way). Implications were made that she's doing this on my behalf, which of course were met with me reminding her that she's not doing what she's doing FOR ME, but FOR MOM. I wouldn't put my sister in that type of position. Bottom line? She's fried. Justifiably so, but again, she wouldn't be, if she put up reasonable, healthy boundaries. Mom calls 30X a day? Sis answers 10, which I feel is still too many. It's exhausting for me to even know this. I don't have to imagine ho exhausting it is to live it.
So I follow up our chat with an email reminding her that there is such a thing as filing a petition for conservatorship, and that if no one in the family is willing or able to do so, a judge can appoint a conservator to oversee mom's finances and care.
And of course! OF COURSE! That rational, sane suggestion is met with silence. I made the suggestion she speak with her priest to find out if she can recommend any attorneys that specialize in elder law. It's been a week, and I'm just getting radio silence.
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