The second daze ...

Day number two of the old folks living with us. What a whirlwind. I was up super early, around 5:00 a.m. We had turned in earlyish the night before. We were ambitious today. We got our Christmas lights on the house this morning, in about an hour methinks. Despite the cold and having to work upon an icy, snowy rooftop. Heck, it got us a bit more into the spirit pared with the thrill of possibly falling to our deaths. We managed it without incident, thankfully.

Seattle Cancer Care Alliance (SCCA) had a midday "Healing Words" class I wanted us all to go to. Most if not all of their classes are for patience as well as caregivers. So it seemed only appropriate for us all to partake.

I had a huge revelation today. My mom vocalized to the class that I'm her primary caregiver. I kind of know what that means, but in some ways I really don't. That's the whole thing about this situation. At no point did my mom sit me down and specify her expectations of me and/or define my role. I imagine this is much of what new parents go through, making it up as they go along.

I'm helping provide to a point. I want to be there for my mom emotionally. It's hard. I feel blocked. Like I feel the need to problem solve. And she's here, living and doing alright now. Then again, there is a part of my mom that is missing. I think she is aware of what that is, in fact I know she is.

The class was lead by a nice, elder man who is a stage four prostate cancer patient. The purpose was to explore healing through writing. Totally right up my alley, pardon the pun (it works better spoken). There were some beautiful shares. I also had the reminder that sometimes it's just best to listen and not have to give an answer when someone is upset and in need of comfort. That's a real challenge for me. The group of all women patients and a couple women caregivers had somewhat of a consensus this propensity for men to always have an answer for something is a male-related trait and can often be a shortcoming. I joyfully atoned for this to my mom and the other patients in the room; not on behalf of all men of course. My mom seemed very happy with my epiphany of an apology. She also seemed very proud when talking about my husband and I to the group.

I also realized how instrumental this blog is becoming for me right now. I know it would be really helpful to temper myself with my mom. Bite my lip and suck it up and/or find a better outlet for my stress. So perhaps this becomes my primary outlet to vent and share the challenges this situation is posing. It's not just the cancer. It's the everything. The uncertainty around their finances, their housing, etc. Speaking of housing, the buyer walked after their inspection of my mom's place. Easy come, easy go. We will find a great buyer for her house, this is just a minor setback.

Honestly I am more than somewhat resentful toward my mom. Of course not for her cancer. That would be insane. My upset is around her lack of retirement planning, her numerous poor life choices, including life "partner" and her unwillingness to be her mother's primary caregiver when my Grandma really needed her. Yet I'm gathering she expects so much of my husband and I. What were we going to do? NOT open our door to them?

I'm starting to second guess this whole home buying choice my husband and I made. I found this wonderful 55+ community about 10 minutes from our home. There's a semi-affordable bank owned home there. It's all on one level and it would be ideal for them. Together my mom and Al can afford this place on their own with their combined social security income. Then what happens when one of them passes? Honestly it may be Al before my mom, he's also in poor health. It's not just his mind, it's also his likely cancerous face sores, diabetes and prostate issues. Then there's his drinking, not quite like he's out of an episode of Mad Men. He is from that woebegone era.

After SCCA we went to Seattle Area Support Group's Christmas tree lot on Capitol Hill to get our Tannenbaum. Afterward we dropped Terry at his haircut appointment. Grabbed mom and Al sandwiches at QFC on 15th. Then went down to check out this housing prospect in Des Moines. Of course they loved it. Now that mom's home is still on the market, we cannot definitively count on those funds. Therefore, we put our home improvement projects on hold to come up with down payment, closing and improvement costs out of our pockets for such time as we can be reimbursed from my mom's net proceeds. The alternative is to wait until my mom's house sells and risk losing this place or trying to find something they like as much or more. I work in real estate locally. I've been looking, daily. There is little if anything I've seen that would appease them.

After we get home we discuss this together. They express to us they can really see themselves there, and feel strongly they would be happy living in that community. My husband and I acknowledge that it's so clearly the right fit for them. I express my concern over an increased level of anxiety having to pull together the funds and also be on the hook for this other home. Neither of them batted an eyelash. Do they think we're rolling in it? Or are they certain we want them in their own space badly enough that we'll run ourselves into the ground to make it happen? Again, resentment.

According to Al's son Mike, Al electively retired at age 54. He was going to use his investment wizardry to see him through. He lost everything. My mom entrusted him with her 25 percent of my dad's portfolio she was awarded as part of her divorce settlement. That's gone, too. So are the net proceeds from a lucrative California real estate investment sale of hers. We're talking tens of thousands, even hundreds of thousands of dollars. Poof. Just gone. Believe me, they have nothing to show for it. At least to the best of my knowledge nothing I'm aware of.

No matter, my husband and I agree we're moving forward. So I write up the offer last night, only to have the online transaction desk crash as I was completing the offer followed by my computer crashing. I'm working on not believing in signs. After my computer finally reboots, it takes a while for me to do it the old fashioned way, call up the individual forms, fill them in again, print them out, get them signed, scan and upload them. Then it dawns on me. This is a bank owned sale, and banks usually require wet signatures, even though they give electronic ones. So it's just as well the random transaction desk maintenance and computer crash occurred. Maybe this choice for my husband and I to put our dicks out on this place for my mom and her Al is divinely guided. Only time will tell.

My husband and mom put dinner on. Spaghetti. We sit down together and eat. Al regales us with another one of his glory days stories working for the Rosauer family in Spokane. I can't sit still. So many thoughts wandering through my head. Perhaps a sign it would be a good idea to engage in more meditation.

After dinner, my mom wants to watch some Criminal Minds. Her bestie Sally Rosauer got her into it. It's kind of a bit on the dark side for what my mom usually enjoys. I digress. Our TV is downstairs, a floor below our main living level, which is in what is now essentially our bedroom. I asked them to bring their flat screen TV when they came back out because I know it can receive a digital signal. Instead they bring out this small Magnivox box of an antique analog set.

So my mom was heading downstairs with a plate of coconut cream pie in one hand and a glass of water in the other. On her first step down she got off balance and dropped the glass of water down the open staircase. It makes a huge crash. Bigger yet was my mom's reaction to it. She whaled! It was as if someone had just murdered her first born in cold blood right before her very eyes. The sound she made was disturbing to the point I thought she was having a medical emergency.

My mom is standing at the top of the stairs, shaking and sobbing. Now as if she were a three year old who had their ice cream scoop roll of the cone and onto the ground. I first check in with her and she that she's physically OK. I quickly assess the situation, seeing both sets of stairs are sopping wet and there's glass everywhere. Al makes some noise from the basement where he's been watching TV and I hear him get close to the stairs. So I called down to him to let him know we've got it under control and to not come up as there were shards of glass everywhere. Al stays at bay. My mom is still standing at the top of the stairs crying with a small plate of coconut cream pie in her hand. So I, as gently as possible, usher her over to the living room, assure her it's all OK, invite her to sit and enjoy her pie and that we'll clean it up. No problem, no big deal. Accidents happen.

After we clean up the mess, I reminded my mom we had intended to setup a TV area for them upstairs so they wouldn't have to be going up and down and so that Terry and I could have a little space of our own in the house. My mom became even more upset with me saying that. She said she used to be able to do so much more. Worst of all, she said, she doesn't feel like a mom anymore.

Terry and I lovingly talked through everything with my mom before she went to bed. We both embraced and kissed her. Sometimes I think she has a really hard time separating the cancer from human imperfection. She is still very able bodied, unlike her sister who was recently diagnosed with and is suffering from Parkinson's.

And so concludes day two with the old folks under our roof. God, please give me the patience, understanding and compassion to gracefully work through this time in our lives ...