Self-absorption? Self-awareness?

... but then again, who isn't (self-absorbed, or self-aware)? It's all a matter of degrees. And I guess YES, I'm blogging and journaling and that is an act of self-absorption, but I'm also using it as a means of documenting things, as well as ANALYZING shit.

I think of how isolated Audrey has made herself. The world must come to her. I don't pity her. It's not like some otherworldly thing has befallen her. A polio diagnosis or a brain tumor.  Getting hit by a bus. Getting hit by lightning. Nope. Her life is now so radically limited and handicapped by her choice to do absolutely nothing, and I think I am the only person on planet earth who views that act as an act of LUXURY. Yes, LUXURY.

Audrey went from living with her parents, who took care of her, to living with my dad, who took care of her. And when dad died, now she expects others to take care of her. LUXURY. Why worry about walking or disimpacting her own ass, when she's got the LUXURY of my sister who lives a scant five minutes from her?

I think and worry a LOT about what kind of life I want or hope to have when I am Audrey's age (69) and well beyond, I hope, and how I hope to keep moving and doing and seeing and participating in all the things I enjoy. Audrey's life is devoid of enjoyment. She's bitter, resentful, depressed, and isolated, and in denial that she needs psychiatric help.  Even when the opportunity presented itself for her to speak to a psychiatrist, she was so wrapped up in being offended, and of course, she shoved him away, rather than view it as an opportunity for growth, or an opportunity to break out of her misery, even on a molecular level. 

I think of my great-aunt Millie, who at 84, was still traveling the world, and somehow, briefly (a year or two before she passed) had reconnected with her high school sweet heart. The woman (horrid hammer toes and all) wore stilletos and a leather mini skirt to my wedding, hair in an updo, make up on. Every inch of her as she always ever was: VIBRANT, and living life. 

Six months to a year before my wedding, I vividly remember visiting her in the hospital when she got the news she needed a valve replacement. And 100% mental capacity fully in tact, she told me she was not going in for the replacement. "What will it buy me? A few more months? A year or two? What will the quality of my life be?" She promised me she'd live long enough to see me remarry--and she did.

"Okay. So you have an advantage not a lot of us have. You have a general idea of when you'll be "exiting stage left." What do you have planned that you haven't managed to do in your 84 years thus far?" And with that, she took out a black and white composition book, and replied, "I don't know about the full six months to a year, but I've got until April figured out. Some lunches with friends, a Broadway show..."  Typical Millie.

Sadly she did not have any world travel in that composition book. "I don't want to die and ruin someone's vacation," she said. Again, TYPICAL. Not wanting to harsh someone's mellow. Not wanting to be a burden.

So it was a gift to me that she lived long enough to see me remarry. 

And the time eventually came. And she was in and out of the hospital. End of February she wanted to just go home. And she did. And despite being a late-in-life reformed alcoholic, she asked her son-in-law to mix her up a Cosmo or two. And he did. And she no doubt relished those cocktails before laying down for a nap, a nap of which she never woke up from. 

Perhaps it's over-romanticizing Millie's death experience, but therein, I feel, there is a lot to be said about LIFE. And this is a woman who experienced loss. Loss of her parents and her husband, and in the last year of her life, the passing of her son. She had outlived all her siblings and immediate family. LOSS. And yet, she still found a reason to get up in the morning. A reason to keep moving and experiencing and ENJOYING what she could, even if in the end it was two gin based cocktails that were her last earthly enjoyment.

And because she loved LIFE so damned much, remember that prediction she'd live 6 months (without the valve replacement)? She beat the odds and got an extra 18 months out of life, wringing every last drop of use out of her worn out body.  

THAT is who I hope to be when I grow up.
THAT is the type of "old" person I hope to become.

Whenever I had a visit with her, there was not one moment of regret or bitterness with her. Eyes that shined like her trademark aquamarine she wore, she was there, and present, and laughing, and MILLIE. 

Damn, I miss her.

And the ego kicks in, and I wonder, who will miss me.

I Cannot Decipher This

Do I have oppositional defiance disorder, or do I just have a very low threshold for bullshit/abuse/narcissism/cruelty/hostility? I cannot tell, to be honest.

So, Sunday my sister did another of her high speed verbal downloads, downloading all her resentment and shit upon me, as if I were her own personal vessel into which she vents. She mentioned in passing, "can you call her?"

Here it is, Tuesday, and I haven't called. I thought about it briefly then got distracted with LIFE. I don't feel any great compulsion to do so. I'm totally indifferent to that request.  

I detest games of "telephone." In this case, it's like the telephone equivalent of a staring contest, where the person who breaks down and calls, LOSES. The phone works both ways. If Audrey is so damned lonely, she will call.

And in both cases, Audrey or my sister, it's not even like I can talk about interesting shit, like perhaps MY GREAT trip I just had, without seeming like I am gloating. Or worse, I talk about something good, and everything good has to be, MUST BE, countered with something awful.

Sis: How was your trip?
Me: Fine fine. (Had to pre-emptively put a negative in here before she does) I was in pain the entire time. How's Viking Warrior Aunt?
Sis: They think she's got brain cancer now.

Just.
Like.
That.

Musings From the Futility Closet

Tonight I had yet another conversation with my sister where in she tells me how she is being ground down to a useless nub, and she mused openly about dying prematurely because my mother is wearing her out, which leaves me to wonder what exactly is expected of me given that I live 125 miles away from everyone. 

Sis claims she's not resentful of the fact I live so far away, but actions speak louder than her words, and I cannot help but feel nothing but resentment coming from her.

Perhaps my role for her is to just be a person to whom she can vent? I don't know. All I know is I feel powerless to help her in any real, tangible way.

My life is here.
Her life is there.
And it feels like a galaxy of geography separates the two.

.oO?

Apropos of nothing (well, nothing beyond an obvious addiction), when I finally got in touch with Audrey, she's totally jacked on "The V," and I didn't know it at first. We chatted super brief, then *BLIP!* at first I thought she had a stroke, because out of the blue, she started slurring her speech, and said something just so OUT OF THE BLUE UNRELATED AND WHAT THE WHAT? to me, "... you're standing there with bubble gum on your shoe." .oO? "Uh, mom. I'm not there..." I actually thought she had a stroke or something.

*Whatever.*

Two Things

1. Audrey has been home (at her house, not Shady Pines) since Saturday. (That is the entirety of what I know at the moment.)

2.

Independence Day... Interrupted

Typing on phone. Will be brief.

Looked like Audrey was going to be released home this coming Saturday.

That is, until two days ago, wgen she was taken to the hospital due to dehydration. Not sure what brought it on, and HELLO SHE IS IN A NURSING HOME,  you'd think they'd avoid this shit.

But yay! Her plans are thwarted, and hopefully she will be released one a more optimal day. She was pushing to go home, despite the obvious, that sis, due to HER OWN HEALTH SHIT hasn't been able to do all the necessary preparations.

This Is As Neutral As I Could Find

I don't buy funny cards. I don't want to make her laugh.
I don't buy schmaltzy sentimental cards. I don't want to perpetuate her delusion that she is anything other than who and what she is. 

I'm quite amusing to watch when shopping for Mother's Day cards. I usually do a lot of grunting and groaning and "HELL NO!" when picking out cards. The first overly sentimental one that catches my eye, I hold onto with the intent to give to my mother-in-law; and the first one that makes me go "Meh! This is it!" that's the one I get for Audrey.