So this morning our dog craps in the hallway outside of our, er, I mean the old folks' room. Leave it to Al to not only step right in it, barefoot, but also be so unaware of it that he tracked it down the entire length of the hallway, which is a good five or so paces.
Once we resolved that, it was breakfast time. Yum-yum. When Al comes in, my mom asks if he would like her to fix him an egg. He says no that he would like an Eggo. She then says alright, and suggests he fix himself an Eggo. Then he just sits there and does nothing. So she fixes it for him. Later, my mom suggests he make his tea. She gets one of his teabags out and sets it in front of him. Again, he just sits there and does nothing. Again she fixes it for him. OK, it's one thing that he just sits there and does nothing. It's another thing that my mom can't help but baby him. And she wonders why he's so ridiculously incapable.
They have very little money. At the end of the month they are scraping at best. This last month, Al allegedly had run out of money until my mom and I made it out to Coeur d'Alene. So the first thing he does is run out and buy them a tub of ice cream for the two or so days they're going to be there. The rest will likely go to waste in their freezer. Today my mom takes my husband aside and asks if there is anymore toilet paper. He indicates there is more in the guest bath. My mom says they used what was in there. He's pretty sure they went through eight rolls of TP in five days. What the hell are they doing with it, making paper machet art or hording it in their luggage? We barely go through a roll a week. When we went out on the Christmas ship the other night, Al had a couple scotch and sodas. Um, if you're too poor to move yourself and have to shack up with your gay son in laws, you're too poor to drink and you have much bigger problems.
Apparently I missed out on a precious conversation Al had with my husband about how Walmart helps the little guy. You have got to be fucking kidding me! Last night Al drove home with my husband and regaled him about what a whiz he was a the stock market. That he and my mom were living pretty high on the hog. He was trading margins and apparently they finally caught up to him. Of course instead of holding and waiting for the downturn and subsequent correction, he moved securities around and lost everything; his nest egg and my mom's. Poof. Gone. Clean up on aisle Al. Thank you?
How are they going to sustain themselves financially (or otherwise)? I have my limits, so does my husband. I love my mom. I don't love their lack of awareness, nor their wastefulness, nor watching her coddle Al like he's a baby. I don't love having them live in our home.
While out running errands, I picked up an analog converter so they could watch the antique TV set they brought out with them. That will keep Al a bit more pacified. Shit, now I'm starting to coddle, too. Anyway, while Al was sucking on his digital broadcast pacifier, my mom was watching me finally put the lights on our Christmas tree. She said that my husband and I look really tired. Um, thank you? Actually, I was somewhat grateful at this acknowledgment. I feel drained by their presence. Their dynamic is really unhealthy. Al drains my mom, and she's fighting stage four lung cancer. She constantly complains and is so fussy. If she's not complaining or fussy, then she's emotional. I remember this wonderfully loving and uber affectionate woman who used to be my mom. She comes back in fits and spurts. Mostly I don't know who this imposter is.
I cannot imagine what my mom is going through. Her mind is constantly aflutter. I see it. The anxiety must be horrendous. Yet she's opposed to seeking professional help. While she enjoyed the class I took us to last week, I'm not sure she's doing any expressive writing. It's not my journey, and I keep that in perspective. Yet I am on a journey, and this path is really challenging.
There are moments like tonight when nice music is playing, the lights are soft and something new comes to life like a beautifully illuminated Christmas tree when all is calm. My mom seemed content, even. I was even deriving some pleasure from decorating. More so, once I had finished lighting the tree, siting beside it in my Eames lounger with my feet up, basking in the glow and treasuring those timeless holiday tunes ...
Saturday, December 6, 2014
The fourth daze ...
Yesterday morning I'm in the kitchen making breakfast. My mom comes in as I'm finishing up and getting ready to leave for work. She asks me how to get to the nearest Costco so they can pick up their prescriptions. I acknowledge I'll help her with a map, and quickly print one out from my phone to the downstairs wifi printer. She asks me for a fourth or fifth time about getting someone out to root her side sewer line. How many times does one have to go in circles about something before they just makes moves and get it done? Watching my mom spin in circles, which I've been doing repeatedly since being looped into helping her sort her life out, is beyond exasperating for me. Just pick up the fucking phone, dial a number and have a conversation.
Then I'm on my way downstairs to go get the printout and my mom asks me if I can give them a map. Yeah, I'm in the process of doing that right now. Thank you.
I've about 10 minutes before I need to make moves. I have a couple of work things to bang out on my laptop. I'm discovering I can no longer do so casually on my sofa. In loafs Al, and suddenly there's a new request. I overhear him talking with my mom about another person who has called him direct about showing her house. I thought I had already handled that. Guess not. So I pause once more what I'm in the middle of, no big deal it's just my life, and switch gears to assist Al. He has to go through several messages before he gets the number. Instead of just dictating it, he has to write everything down. OK, so Kudos deserved here. At least he writes stuff down, unlike my mom who just runs around in circles when she could easily create a to do list to complete and mark things off of.
No sooner do I complete Al's tasking of me, I realize my 10 minutes have just run out and I've got to make tracks. So away I went ...
Mom and Al had plans last night. They went to a grandson's basketball game in Bothell. By the time my husband and I returned home, we were both spent. So we just had some leftovers, hung out on the sofa for a bit and then watched TV in bed (something we only do when staying in a hotel). Being together in a quiet house was nice. I just feel this energy of having to do stuff all the time. I don't know if it's the old folks' anxiety I'm picking up on, or if I've developed a new level of anxiety of my own living in what feels like a temporary situation between houses. Wait, I thought they were the ones relocating. Guess misery enjoys company.
So my husband and I drift off around 9:30/10:00 p.m. I don't know what time it was when the old folks came home. It woke the house. The alarm console is right next to our bed. It registers any door opening or closing with a very affirmative "dong" sound. I would anticipate two dongs. One for door opening. Another for door closing. I counted like a dozen or so dongs. I don't know what in the hell they were doing with the door. I really don't want to know. Actually, I think they were having trouble getting the knob locked. At one point hubby got out of bed to assist. My mom was apologetic. I'm now wide away. I don't know what time it was. Oh well ...
I know, I'm being negative. I'm just venting my frustrations. I think it helps. I want my life back!
Then I'm on my way downstairs to go get the printout and my mom asks me if I can give them a map. Yeah, I'm in the process of doing that right now. Thank you.
I've about 10 minutes before I need to make moves. I have a couple of work things to bang out on my laptop. I'm discovering I can no longer do so casually on my sofa. In loafs Al, and suddenly there's a new request. I overhear him talking with my mom about another person who has called him direct about showing her house. I thought I had already handled that. Guess not. So I pause once more what I'm in the middle of, no big deal it's just my life, and switch gears to assist Al. He has to go through several messages before he gets the number. Instead of just dictating it, he has to write everything down. OK, so Kudos deserved here. At least he writes stuff down, unlike my mom who just runs around in circles when she could easily create a to do list to complete and mark things off of.
No sooner do I complete Al's tasking of me, I realize my 10 minutes have just run out and I've got to make tracks. So away I went ...
Mom and Al had plans last night. They went to a grandson's basketball game in Bothell. By the time my husband and I returned home, we were both spent. So we just had some leftovers, hung out on the sofa for a bit and then watched TV in bed (something we only do when staying in a hotel). Being together in a quiet house was nice. I just feel this energy of having to do stuff all the time. I don't know if it's the old folks' anxiety I'm picking up on, or if I've developed a new level of anxiety of my own living in what feels like a temporary situation between houses. Wait, I thought they were the ones relocating. Guess misery enjoys company.
So my husband and I drift off around 9:30/10:00 p.m. I don't know what time it was when the old folks came home. It woke the house. The alarm console is right next to our bed. It registers any door opening or closing with a very affirmative "dong" sound. I would anticipate two dongs. One for door opening. Another for door closing. I counted like a dozen or so dongs. I don't know what in the hell they were doing with the door. I really don't want to know. Actually, I think they were having trouble getting the knob locked. At one point hubby got out of bed to assist. My mom was apologetic. I'm now wide away. I don't know what time it was. Oh well ...
I know, I'm being negative. I'm just venting my frustrations. I think it helps. I want my life back!
Friday, December 5, 2014
The third daze ...
Al clogged the toilet. Otherwise the day went pretty smooth overall. My husband and I were of course busy. He has a couple of weekdays off. So we pack in as many "to do's" as possible, which isn't necessarily healthy. We're still working on getting our clothes situation sorted out. I relinquished my entire closet to the old folks, so I've still a few piles of clothes in and around the basement yet to be put away or packed.
I've been feeling like I'm the one who has been moving, like it's my life that suddenly has to be uprooted and resorted. Admittedly I cannot help but feel a little resentful for the proverbial shit having rolled downhill in my direction. Yet what are my options? Not help my mom? If she didn't come with so much baggage, a.k.a. Al, I may be willing to transform the basement into a lovely mother in law unit and have her stay with us.
So after a full day of working around the house and getting our massive tree in the stand as well as in the house, I was able to take a little siesta. Oh that was such an appreciated luxury.
It was also my husband's work Christmas party, which started at 4:00 p.m. He said the last thing he wanted to do on his day off is sit in a bar with his colleagues. His boss had several extra tickets to the main event following supper, which was a holiday cruise around Lake Washington on the Spirit of Seattle. She was kind enough to extend the invitation to the old folks as well. So we brought them along.
I have to admit, albeit kitschy, it was very festive. The ship was outfitted in perfect strings of white lights. The MC was somewhat entertaining. It was a really dry night with no wind, so the lake surface was smooth as glass. They had a choir aboard, Emerald City Blend. They were quite good, and I think the old folks were thoroughly entertained. Though it was a three hour tour, which was a bit lengthy, especially having started at 7:00 p.m. We all slept hard last night. The day went without incident. I don't recall my mom having gotten upset or crying once. Success!
I've been feeling like I'm the one who has been moving, like it's my life that suddenly has to be uprooted and resorted. Admittedly I cannot help but feel a little resentful for the proverbial shit having rolled downhill in my direction. Yet what are my options? Not help my mom? If she didn't come with so much baggage, a.k.a. Al, I may be willing to transform the basement into a lovely mother in law unit and have her stay with us.
So after a full day of working around the house and getting our massive tree in the stand as well as in the house, I was able to take a little siesta. Oh that was such an appreciated luxury.
It was also my husband's work Christmas party, which started at 4:00 p.m. He said the last thing he wanted to do on his day off is sit in a bar with his colleagues. His boss had several extra tickets to the main event following supper, which was a holiday cruise around Lake Washington on the Spirit of Seattle. She was kind enough to extend the invitation to the old folks as well. So we brought them along.
I have to admit, albeit kitschy, it was very festive. The ship was outfitted in perfect strings of white lights. The MC was somewhat entertaining. It was a really dry night with no wind, so the lake surface was smooth as glass. They had a choir aboard, Emerald City Blend. They were quite good, and I think the old folks were thoroughly entertained. Though it was a three hour tour, which was a bit lengthy, especially having started at 7:00 p.m. We all slept hard last night. The day went without incident. I don't recall my mom having gotten upset or crying once. Success!
Thursday, December 4, 2014
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 ...
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 ...
Wednesday, December 3, 2014
The first daze ...
I'm going full throttle on less than all cylinders, and at times I feel like my mom wants me to do more and/or go faster. I simply cannot.
The first day is what I expected, sort of. I scheduled office hours starting first thing Tuesday morning. Of course as I'm rushing to get out of the house I can feel my mom's pull. I had already written her a note and left a spare key out for them. Along with that I had printed a map to the IRS office. Terry had questioned whether my mom knows Bellevue. I replied, "Well, she knows her way to the mall. How do you think she got herself into financial trouble in the first place?" It was a joke in poor taste.
My mom had told me the IRS office was a priority for them, so Al could hopefully get some forgiveness and they could have a little more in their account each month. By noon I sent my mom a text about an appointment I made for us at this 55+ community I wanted to show them. The appointment was for the late afternoon. Plenty of time for them to deal with the IRS. I asked how it was going. At 1:45 p.m. I get a call from my mom. She tells me they haven't left the house yet. I stated that I had understood this was a priority for them. She said it took them a little longer today. They ended up going and I cancelled our appointment.
Al had a meltdown was why they hadn't left the house. He melted down at the IRS office, too. In the end, they didn't so much as lay a hand on him or blow a hair out of place. They advised him of some options, invited him to share with them the losses he incurred so they could offset the gains they're taxing him for.
As soon as they get home, which was before 5:00 p.m., Al says he wants to "suck down some scotch." And so he does. Stand up guy. Truly. My mom then explains how horrible a day it was, that Al was ready to go back to Coeur d'Alene to get all his paperwork to bring back. Now he wants to get his paperwork together?! Yeah, right. Likely another excuse to tuck his tail between his legs and bury his head in the sand. I call bullshit. Though I am told his Granddaughter Britti, who holds a graduate degree in counseling, does in fact believe he is suicidal. That is unfortunate, at the same time this is a person who stopped working at age 54. Now 22 years later his mind may be going. The mind is like a muscle. Without proper exercise it becomes weak. This is a path he has at the very least partially chosen for himself.
Aside from my mom getting emotional about Al's debacle, we had a delicious dinner of homemade turkey and dumplings with Thanksgiving leftovers. Oh, and apparently Al cracked our toilet seat. Not sure how that happened. Wait, this is just day one?
The first day is what I expected, sort of. I scheduled office hours starting first thing Tuesday morning. Of course as I'm rushing to get out of the house I can feel my mom's pull. I had already written her a note and left a spare key out for them. Along with that I had printed a map to the IRS office. Terry had questioned whether my mom knows Bellevue. I replied, "Well, she knows her way to the mall. How do you think she got herself into financial trouble in the first place?" It was a joke in poor taste.
My mom had told me the IRS office was a priority for them, so Al could hopefully get some forgiveness and they could have a little more in their account each month. By noon I sent my mom a text about an appointment I made for us at this 55+ community I wanted to show them. The appointment was for the late afternoon. Plenty of time for them to deal with the IRS. I asked how it was going. At 1:45 p.m. I get a call from my mom. She tells me they haven't left the house yet. I stated that I had understood this was a priority for them. She said it took them a little longer today. They ended up going and I cancelled our appointment.
Al had a meltdown was why they hadn't left the house. He melted down at the IRS office, too. In the end, they didn't so much as lay a hand on him or blow a hair out of place. They advised him of some options, invited him to share with them the losses he incurred so they could offset the gains they're taxing him for.
As soon as they get home, which was before 5:00 p.m., Al says he wants to "suck down some scotch." And so he does. Stand up guy. Truly. My mom then explains how horrible a day it was, that Al was ready to go back to Coeur d'Alene to get all his paperwork to bring back. Now he wants to get his paperwork together?! Yeah, right. Likely another excuse to tuck his tail between his legs and bury his head in the sand. I call bullshit. Though I am told his Granddaughter Britti, who holds a graduate degree in counseling, does in fact believe he is suicidal. That is unfortunate, at the same time this is a person who stopped working at age 54. Now 22 years later his mind may be going. The mind is like a muscle. Without proper exercise it becomes weak. This is a path he has at the very least partially chosen for himself.
Aside from my mom getting emotional about Al's debacle, we had a delicious dinner of homemade turkey and dumplings with Thanksgiving leftovers. Oh, and apparently Al cracked our toilet seat. Not sure how that happened. Wait, this is just day one?
Yesterday's Issue
Josh emails me an apology:
"It was nice to finally meet you, unfortunate as the circumstance may be. First off, I want to apologize to you for having to witness/hear what took place yesterday between my grandpa and I. I feel badly that it upset your mom, my mom, and for the language that I used. However, I will not apologize for the message I was sending to Al. I've spoken to my Uncle Mike a few times and know how frustrated you and he both are regarding my grandpa's actions or lack thereof since Patty's diagnosis. I've always been the guy to defend my grandpa but honestly I'm so disappointed in him right now words can't really describe it. I don't need to explain to you as to why I lost my temper, I'm sure you have a good idea why.
Secondly, I will continue to be there to support Patty. She is such a kind and loving woman who is adored by everyone in my family. I hope the permanent move to Seattle brings some level of happiness for both her and my grandpa. Being around her best friends and you is where she belongs. Thank you for being there for her while some others get it together and do the same.
Respectfully, Josh
Sent from my iPhone"
I reply:
"> Thank you so much for your message, Josh! I understand perfectly well why you were/are so frustrated. I appreciate your apology, at the same time completely unnecessary as far as I'm concerned. Believe me, I've heard far worse. In some way I think you channelled and expresses the profound frustration most of us have been feeling around Al's lack of support and/or ability to assist my mom.
>
> For the better part of the last two decades I've watched my mom care for Al with all her being. She goes above and beyond, I'm sure you also know this to be true. Recently she acknowledged perhaps she has done too much for him over the years as he is completely reliant upon her as he becomes less and less self reliant. He has no awareness how he impacts my mom, from what I gather, and now more than ever she needs a helping hand.
>
> I know I'm preaching to the choice here. Seems like everyone sees this situation for what it is. My mom loves Al so much. He told me yesterday the same about my mom. Love is a behavior as much if not more than anything. He told me all the work he's been doing researching her cancer online. She has an oncologist, the very best available. She needs a partner who can listen to what is being asked and follow through, not another medical practitioner.
>
> My mom, bless her soul, is compassionate and empathetic to a fault. She sees how Al is regressing, and she's so disempowered around it. I think all of us are.
>
> When I first went out to get them in late July, Al was falling to pieces emotionally every five or 10 minutes. I took him aside to have a sympathetic heart-to-heart about how we have to remain strong and positive for my mom because every time she she's him get upset she feels horrible. That's counter to what benefits her health. I asked him to call on me or Mike or any family member if he needs to talk through things as to unburden my mom. I embraced him. He told my mom I yelled at him. So I found myself at a loss as to how to even talk with him rationally and have him understand the importance of what I was saying. That and I just don't have the relationship with him that you all do. I was even able to be loving toward him despite finding horse race bid sheets dated the previous day when I took out the trash. That's a whole separate can of worms.
>
> Since my mom relayed to Al that we're looking into single family housing here, and since I showed him a place that's workable in 55+ community near us, he seemed to get enthusiastic about the idea of coming over here.
>
> Overall, Al just isn't connecting the dots. I don't know if it's because he's being stubborn and childish or if he can no longer comprehend at the same level. The latter is actually more concerning because it will be much more difficult to address if it can even be addressed.
>
> I'm very solution oriented, and I feel strongly there has to be a way to, compassionately, get through to Al. I think one of the core underlying issues is he doesn't take care of himself. He won't see a Dr. He's told my mom on numerous occasions he thinks about taking his own life (like that's what a rational human tells a stage four cancer patient). The flip side of the coin is acknowledging being cause in the matter of one's own life. Taking responsibility. Realizing change is possible, and one can work through a problem.
>
> The right solution will present itself. I am optimistic when they are more settled, things will settle down. Being at their age and having so much uncertainty must be so difficult. Only time will tell how things go from here.
>
> From your below message I get that your heart is in exactly the right place. From what I gather about your family, you're all really close, which is awesome.
>
> The situation to this point could certainly have proceeded much smoother and more expeditiously if Al was fully on board and doing all my mom has asked of him. Either way, things are moving forward and we'll get them squared away.
>
> Let's all continue standing, productively, for them getting their shit together and their proverbial house in order. If there's anything more I can do, please let me know.
>
> All the best,"
He replies:
"Thank you for the response. We're on the same page and view the situation similarly. You are so right about everyone needing to stay supportive and positive. Both my grandpa and Patty need that. I hope he recognizes that it's now his turn to step up and take care of her. She's carried him for a long time, in more ways than one.
See you guys in a couple weeks! Josh"
"It was nice to finally meet you, unfortunate as the circumstance may be. First off, I want to apologize to you for having to witness/hear what took place yesterday between my grandpa and I. I feel badly that it upset your mom, my mom, and for the language that I used. However, I will not apologize for the message I was sending to Al. I've spoken to my Uncle Mike a few times and know how frustrated you and he both are regarding my grandpa's actions or lack thereof since Patty's diagnosis. I've always been the guy to defend my grandpa but honestly I'm so disappointed in him right now words can't really describe it. I don't need to explain to you as to why I lost my temper, I'm sure you have a good idea why.
Secondly, I will continue to be there to support Patty. She is such a kind and loving woman who is adored by everyone in my family. I hope the permanent move to Seattle brings some level of happiness for both her and my grandpa. Being around her best friends and you is where she belongs. Thank you for being there for her while some others get it together and do the same.
Respectfully, Josh
Sent from my iPhone"
I reply:
"> Thank you so much for your message, Josh! I understand perfectly well why you were/are so frustrated. I appreciate your apology, at the same time completely unnecessary as far as I'm concerned. Believe me, I've heard far worse. In some way I think you channelled and expresses the profound frustration most of us have been feeling around Al's lack of support and/or ability to assist my mom.
>
> For the better part of the last two decades I've watched my mom care for Al with all her being. She goes above and beyond, I'm sure you also know this to be true. Recently she acknowledged perhaps she has done too much for him over the years as he is completely reliant upon her as he becomes less and less self reliant. He has no awareness how he impacts my mom, from what I gather, and now more than ever she needs a helping hand.
>
> I know I'm preaching to the choice here. Seems like everyone sees this situation for what it is. My mom loves Al so much. He told me yesterday the same about my mom. Love is a behavior as much if not more than anything. He told me all the work he's been doing researching her cancer online. She has an oncologist, the very best available. She needs a partner who can listen to what is being asked and follow through, not another medical practitioner.
>
> My mom, bless her soul, is compassionate and empathetic to a fault. She sees how Al is regressing, and she's so disempowered around it. I think all of us are.
>
> When I first went out to get them in late July, Al was falling to pieces emotionally every five or 10 minutes. I took him aside to have a sympathetic heart-to-heart about how we have to remain strong and positive for my mom because every time she she's him get upset she feels horrible. That's counter to what benefits her health. I asked him to call on me or Mike or any family member if he needs to talk through things as to unburden my mom. I embraced him. He told my mom I yelled at him. So I found myself at a loss as to how to even talk with him rationally and have him understand the importance of what I was saying. That and I just don't have the relationship with him that you all do. I was even able to be loving toward him despite finding horse race bid sheets dated the previous day when I took out the trash. That's a whole separate can of worms.
>
> Since my mom relayed to Al that we're looking into single family housing here, and since I showed him a place that's workable in 55+ community near us, he seemed to get enthusiastic about the idea of coming over here.
>
> Overall, Al just isn't connecting the dots. I don't know if it's because he's being stubborn and childish or if he can no longer comprehend at the same level. The latter is actually more concerning because it will be much more difficult to address if it can even be addressed.
>
> I'm very solution oriented, and I feel strongly there has to be a way to, compassionately, get through to Al. I think one of the core underlying issues is he doesn't take care of himself. He won't see a Dr. He's told my mom on numerous occasions he thinks about taking his own life (like that's what a rational human tells a stage four cancer patient). The flip side of the coin is acknowledging being cause in the matter of one's own life. Taking responsibility. Realizing change is possible, and one can work through a problem.
>
> The right solution will present itself. I am optimistic when they are more settled, things will settle down. Being at their age and having so much uncertainty must be so difficult. Only time will tell how things go from here.
>
> From your below message I get that your heart is in exactly the right place. From what I gather about your family, you're all really close, which is awesome.
>
> The situation to this point could certainly have proceeded much smoother and more expeditiously if Al was fully on board and doing all my mom has asked of him. Either way, things are moving forward and we'll get them squared away.
>
> Let's all continue standing, productively, for them getting their shit together and their proverbial house in order. If there's anything more I can do, please let me know.
>
> All the best,"
He replies:
"Thank you for the response. We're on the same page and view the situation similarly. You are so right about everyone needing to stay supportive and positive. Both my grandpa and Patty need that. I hope he recognizes that it's now his turn to step up and take care of her. She's carried him for a long time, in more ways than one.
See you guys in a couple weeks! Josh"
Monday, December 1, 2014
Life Changes
It started more than one week ago, having my mom come to live with my husband and I. We put her Coeur d'Alene house on the market the Friday before Thanksgiving. Two days later we had an offer. The night before Thanksgiving we had mutual acceptance.
Then enter the Al factor. The day after Thanksgiving my mom and I drove out to Coeur d'Alene to pack up her valuables and return with her "partner."
Al has been in Coeur d'Alene for the better part of the past couple months. Meanwhile, my mom is battling cancer without her life partner's direct support. For weeks I hear her frustration with him on the phone, repeating herself about things she's asking him to do around the house while he's there. Getting him going on the packing, sorting and getting rid of things they don't want or need. Upon our arrival, it's clear Al has not packed a single box, not one single thing. Other than tidying up the yard for winter and keeping the house somewhat orderly (sans vacuuming), he has done two things; jack and shit. Nothing, nada, zilch.
My mom explains to me that he has never done any projects or work around the house unless she's there to help him. Even when she was working full time, he would wait for her to be home to work along with him. Co-dependence much?
For the past 18 years my mom has carried this "man" in so many ways. She has cared for him and loved him as exemplary as any human is capable. Now is a time she needs someone to step up and be there for her. To just be part of her team and do a few things to help.
Weighing heavily on my mom's mind are finances and trying to find affordable housing in the Puget Sound region. Since her cancer diagnosis and not working, they live on barely 35 percent of median income. Come to find out, Al has six figure IRS tax debts for the years 2004-2007. So the IRS garnishes more than 50 percent of his social security benefits, which they are both now solely reliant upon. And they identify as Republican?
My mom has told me that every now and again Al will say things like, "Do you remember when we used to go out to dinner from time to time or the movies?" My mom has had to explain that when she was working they had a little bit of money to do those types of things on occasion. She also told him how much she hated working. And he would tell her that he didn't want her to leave him when she went into work. Yet he had never opted to go get a little part time job, even something as simple as sitting in a parking lot booth. He allowed his IRS debt to go unsettled to the point of crippling their household income. Not only can Al not provide for my mom, in many ways he is a burden to her.
It gets worse. Al is 76. He's in poor health. He has had open sores on his face for years. Many opine it is likely melanoma. He was at one point diagnosed diabetic. He's been having prostate problems the past couple years. He doesn't want to see a doctor. He says he has had too many friends die of cancer, and he would rather not know. Yet his partner, his caretaker, his guardian is fighting cancer.
Al has made it known he wants to stay put in Coeur d'Alene, despite my mom wanting to be in the Seattle area for her cancer treatment and most importantly to be near her core support network of family and friends. Part of me thinks Al's lack of doing things to help my mom is his childish way of being stubborn. I've heard my mom ask him to do certain things repeatedly. She'll tell him, text him, even snail mail him instructions. Yet they go ignored, seemingly. He says he doesn't remember. She sees his inability to focus on anything, or that he's forgetful from moment to moment. Could he be playing the "poor old man" card, faking it? Or is he showing signs of dementia or Alzheimer's? Either way, this is becoming increasingly frustrating and/or disturbing all the way around.
So flash to the day after Thanksgiving. Have client work to do that morning, a noon appointment and then a drive across the state to bring my mom back to her home in Idaho. We had quite the rain and wet snow storm pelting the windshield, making it hard to see. Lots of standing water on the roadway. The sound of the pounding rain, wiper scraping rapidly back and forth against the windshield, the sloshing of other cars and high wind howling around us. This was the antithesis of Zen. We endured these challenging driving conditions for a solid two hours. We finally rolled into Coeur d'Alene around 6:30 p.m. It's dark, cold and rainy.
My mom wasn't sure whether Al would have any food at the house, and he doesn't cook. He doesn't do much of anything except a bit of garden maintenance, scotch drinking, gambling and rambling. So I stop into a natural foods market and pick up groceries for the weekend. When we arrive, I'm still in go mode. No time to take a moment to sit back and relax. Nope. It's unload the car and get dinner on for us. I know, I'm sounding a bit like a martyr. The reality is, I have some special dietary needs. That and neither my mom nor Al are seeming to drive anything forward with even as much as a hint of velocity. Actually, Al has plenty of velocity to, after dinner, hit my mom up for some money so he can run to the store and get them ice cream. Be that it may be horrible of me to express this, for two people who barely have two nickels to rub together, why in the hell do they think it's OK to spend money they don't have on non essential items?!
Saturday comes bright and early. My mom had said she was going to get up and take her chemo pill at 7:00 a.m., and then we'd get started on getting their important belongings packed up. What transpired is I was out the door by 8:00 a.m. to run a couple of my errands such that they would be out of the way. I'm back by 9:00 a.m., have breakfast, etc. My mom is still in her robe, which is fine. It just takes her so long to do anything. It's not the cancer, it's her age and the fact she's allowed herself to get way too lean. She's not ingesting enough calories.
So it's nearing 11:00 a.m. when we finally get on the road. Mom wanted coffee. So we go to her favorite drive thru. She just wants a small cup of decaf. Fine. Somehow the topic of Al surfaces. I expressed how frustrated I was with him, with the situation. Al not doing what she asked of him has made it so there's so much more that needs to be done. I didn't say this, however, she can't possibly, as a cancer patient, and a frail one at that, possibly be expected to do the work needed to be done to aid their move. Therefore others stop what they're doing to do the things that Al is capable of doing.
It was not a good idea to vent my frustration to my mom. At the same time, I have always had this issue with Al. I have always seen him as someone my mom has carried, nurtured, babied even. He doesn't take care of her. She deserves better. I've always though this. Her mother, my dear departed Grandma, has always thought this. My mom caters to his every need, has for years. Yet he isn't capable of executing the simplest of tasks, like get your paperwork together and get your 10 year old tax issue worked out with the IRS or even just get your shit together and pack so we can relocate our lives for my cancer treatment. Nope. I've always wanted so much better for her.
So part of me feels vindicated. Like my mom is finally connecting the dots and realizing why all these years I've not ever been very warm and fuzzy toward or about Al. At the same time, I would be remiss to not acknowledge everyone is doing their best at their own level of awareness. I just have very little if any tolerance for ignorance, which Al exudes in great quantity.
After my inappropriate venting, we head across town to the bank so my mom can close her local account. She gets a cashier's check and then wants to deposit it into her new credit union account. So we head back across town to the credit union. She's not sure it's the right one, so she directs me to another. The other one is closed, so we go back to the original. It IS open, yet the bank she just closed her account at post dated her check for a couple days out, so the credit union wouldn't make the deposit. So we go back across town to the bank where she had just closed her account so she can just get cash. This took a bit of time because the people behind the counter didn't know what they were doing. Finally we go back across town to deposit her funds. Lastly we make it over to Uhaul to buy boxes and packing materials. These two errands took us about two hours, and Coeur d'Alene is far from being a thriving metropolis. Quite the contrary.
Shortly after we get back to the house I prepare us lunch. No sooner had I served her and she started eating, Al's daughter and granddaughter show up. They have boxes and packing material galore. They're gung ho. The problem is my mom wasn't able to finish her lunch, and she really needs the calories.
We made great progress. Accomplished what I think was what we had set out to do for the day. We got mostly all of her most valuable belongings packed securely into boxes. The following morning I loaded my car with her most prized possessions. The gals returned and a couple of Al's Grandsons showed up as well. The older of the two, Josh, is about my age (forty something). He was assigned to Al duty. This entailed being in the basement where Al's office is setup and helping him pack.
I'd just finished loading my car. I don't know if it was the cold weather, I was totally winded/short of breath/feeling really crappy. I had to sit down for a spell. My mom starts task-mastering me. I explained the situation, and she continues to bark commands at me. And not just one after the other. Like I'm in the middle of doing the first thing she asked me, and while I'm doing it she asks me to do two more things as if she expected I would be doing those things while I'm still in the process of completing the first. Not to mention, she's tired and at this point would be best served allowing us all to work at our own pace so she could recuperate from having over extended herself the day before.
Josh has been in close contact with Al's son Mike. Al's son Mike has been in close contact with my mom and I. So he's pretty well aware his dad has been counter productive and unsupportive. Mike is pissed. He won't speak with his dad.
I'm upstairs with the gals when all hell breaks loose. "You are so mother-fucking lazy, you god damn selfish son-of-a-bitch!" Josh yells. "You've done nothing in two months. Nothing! Except sit on your ass. I can't believe how fucking selfish you are!" This is followed by a huge, physical slamming of some object. Later I learn it was Josh's hand on a cabinet, which was damaged by the sheer force.
Al yell back, tells Josh to get the fuck out of here. Josh tells Al to suck his dick, and that someone has to get through to him somehow. Josh's mom, Al's daughter Michelle, makes a bee line for the basement. She burst into tears and screamed at Josh to leave. I look over at my mom and she's mortified. She breaks down and cries. Michelle comes back upstairs, sits on the couch and sobs. My mom goes over to comfort her. Al's Granddaughter Nikki and I are a little bit in shock around what just transpired. My mom asks Michelle if Josh hit her. She said no. Josh storms upstairs and apologizes to us for what happened, and that it's not OK that Al has done so little to help; he has to hear it from someone. Then he's gone, and except for the crying aftermath, the house calms.
Al comes upstairs crying and cursing. My mom comforts him. He's understandably upset. This goes on for a while. In fact, I was just about to head out the door. The tension was palpable. I would need to say goodbyes before getting on the road. That was surely not going to happen until people were calmed and egos massaged.
My mom was downstairs with Al. I could hear them discussing, on the verge of fighting. Al asks my mom where Josh would have gotten the idea that he hadn't been doing anything. My mom wasn't too quick to think on her feet. So Al accuses my mom of being the cause of Josh coming unglued. My mom is upset and now getting super defensive. That's exactly what a stage four cancer patient needs to be subjected to after what she had just been subjected to after a day of being at the helm of directing the family packing operation the day before. To top it off, Al tells my mom he's thinking of doing himself in. He has apparently said this to my mom on several occasions.
They settle their conversation. My mom tasks Al with getting his office files together, getting rid of things he doesn't need, packing, etc. She comes upstairs. I let her know I'm going. She tells me to go say goodbye to Al. At this point, even though I've barely spoken to him the day or so I had been there (I can barely even look him in the eye), I feel like it's only right to ease the shit show that had just transpired.
When I reach his domain in the basement, he's sitting in front of his computer screen. He's not doing anything he had just agreed with my mom to do. When he sees me he stands up, starts crying again and then comes over and hugs me. You can imagine how awkwardly uncomfortable that is for me. He thanks me for all I'm doing for my mom. I wanted to unthank him for all he's not doing for my mom. Then he goes into some diatribe about how he's constantly researching things about my mom's cancer, etc., etc. I said that the move is really important to my mom right now. That the best thing to do is just be the path of least resistance and accommodate her as much as possible. He just stared blankly. I can't tell if he's just being immature, kicking and screaming or if he is really losing his marbles.
Long story short, I cannot tell you how good it was to get back on the road, even if I hit a 50 mile back up which added another hour and a half to my five hour drive. So what!
My mom and Al arrived around 9:00ish p.m. Monday night. I had spent my first day back cleaning and moving out of my own bedroom. My husband and I decided it would be best to sleep in our basement as they would be much more comfortable in our room. Al rolled out of our full size bed in the guest room the last time they were here. Imagine how startled I was to hear all his dead weight hit the floor, hard, in the middle of the night. I digress ...
Suffice to say I am exhausted by the time they arrive. My husband had a really difficult day at work. He, too, is exhausted by the time they arrive. I went upstairs to say good night and get a glass of water. There are some dishes from the dinner we had waiting for them sitting in the sink and a nearly full dishwasher likely needing to be run. So I feverishly rinse and scrub the dishes so I can run the washer and turn in promptly. Suddenly my mom starts asking me where things go in the kitchen. My eyes are burning. I'm spent. She holds up Al's jug of scotch and asks me if I have somewhere for it or if they should just put it in their room. All I could muster the energy to say was, "It doesn't matter." I turned away and zombie walked myself back downstairs to my basement bed. My mom stormed off in a huff. Am I going to be able to do this? How are we going to make this work?
Then enter the Al factor. The day after Thanksgiving my mom and I drove out to Coeur d'Alene to pack up her valuables and return with her "partner."
Al has been in Coeur d'Alene for the better part of the past couple months. Meanwhile, my mom is battling cancer without her life partner's direct support. For weeks I hear her frustration with him on the phone, repeating herself about things she's asking him to do around the house while he's there. Getting him going on the packing, sorting and getting rid of things they don't want or need. Upon our arrival, it's clear Al has not packed a single box, not one single thing. Other than tidying up the yard for winter and keeping the house somewhat orderly (sans vacuuming), he has done two things; jack and shit. Nothing, nada, zilch.
My mom explains to me that he has never done any projects or work around the house unless she's there to help him. Even when she was working full time, he would wait for her to be home to work along with him. Co-dependence much?
For the past 18 years my mom has carried this "man" in so many ways. She has cared for him and loved him as exemplary as any human is capable. Now is a time she needs someone to step up and be there for her. To just be part of her team and do a few things to help.
Weighing heavily on my mom's mind are finances and trying to find affordable housing in the Puget Sound region. Since her cancer diagnosis and not working, they live on barely 35 percent of median income. Come to find out, Al has six figure IRS tax debts for the years 2004-2007. So the IRS garnishes more than 50 percent of his social security benefits, which they are both now solely reliant upon. And they identify as Republican?
My mom has told me that every now and again Al will say things like, "Do you remember when we used to go out to dinner from time to time or the movies?" My mom has had to explain that when she was working they had a little bit of money to do those types of things on occasion. She also told him how much she hated working. And he would tell her that he didn't want her to leave him when she went into work. Yet he had never opted to go get a little part time job, even something as simple as sitting in a parking lot booth. He allowed his IRS debt to go unsettled to the point of crippling their household income. Not only can Al not provide for my mom, in many ways he is a burden to her.
It gets worse. Al is 76. He's in poor health. He has had open sores on his face for years. Many opine it is likely melanoma. He was at one point diagnosed diabetic. He's been having prostate problems the past couple years. He doesn't want to see a doctor. He says he has had too many friends die of cancer, and he would rather not know. Yet his partner, his caretaker, his guardian is fighting cancer.
Al has made it known he wants to stay put in Coeur d'Alene, despite my mom wanting to be in the Seattle area for her cancer treatment and most importantly to be near her core support network of family and friends. Part of me thinks Al's lack of doing things to help my mom is his childish way of being stubborn. I've heard my mom ask him to do certain things repeatedly. She'll tell him, text him, even snail mail him instructions. Yet they go ignored, seemingly. He says he doesn't remember. She sees his inability to focus on anything, or that he's forgetful from moment to moment. Could he be playing the "poor old man" card, faking it? Or is he showing signs of dementia or Alzheimer's? Either way, this is becoming increasingly frustrating and/or disturbing all the way around.
So flash to the day after Thanksgiving. Have client work to do that morning, a noon appointment and then a drive across the state to bring my mom back to her home in Idaho. We had quite the rain and wet snow storm pelting the windshield, making it hard to see. Lots of standing water on the roadway. The sound of the pounding rain, wiper scraping rapidly back and forth against the windshield, the sloshing of other cars and high wind howling around us. This was the antithesis of Zen. We endured these challenging driving conditions for a solid two hours. We finally rolled into Coeur d'Alene around 6:30 p.m. It's dark, cold and rainy.
My mom wasn't sure whether Al would have any food at the house, and he doesn't cook. He doesn't do much of anything except a bit of garden maintenance, scotch drinking, gambling and rambling. So I stop into a natural foods market and pick up groceries for the weekend. When we arrive, I'm still in go mode. No time to take a moment to sit back and relax. Nope. It's unload the car and get dinner on for us. I know, I'm sounding a bit like a martyr. The reality is, I have some special dietary needs. That and neither my mom nor Al are seeming to drive anything forward with even as much as a hint of velocity. Actually, Al has plenty of velocity to, after dinner, hit my mom up for some money so he can run to the store and get them ice cream. Be that it may be horrible of me to express this, for two people who barely have two nickels to rub together, why in the hell do they think it's OK to spend money they don't have on non essential items?!
Saturday comes bright and early. My mom had said she was going to get up and take her chemo pill at 7:00 a.m., and then we'd get started on getting their important belongings packed up. What transpired is I was out the door by 8:00 a.m. to run a couple of my errands such that they would be out of the way. I'm back by 9:00 a.m., have breakfast, etc. My mom is still in her robe, which is fine. It just takes her so long to do anything. It's not the cancer, it's her age and the fact she's allowed herself to get way too lean. She's not ingesting enough calories.
So it's nearing 11:00 a.m. when we finally get on the road. Mom wanted coffee. So we go to her favorite drive thru. She just wants a small cup of decaf. Fine. Somehow the topic of Al surfaces. I expressed how frustrated I was with him, with the situation. Al not doing what she asked of him has made it so there's so much more that needs to be done. I didn't say this, however, she can't possibly, as a cancer patient, and a frail one at that, possibly be expected to do the work needed to be done to aid their move. Therefore others stop what they're doing to do the things that Al is capable of doing.
It was not a good idea to vent my frustration to my mom. At the same time, I have always had this issue with Al. I have always seen him as someone my mom has carried, nurtured, babied even. He doesn't take care of her. She deserves better. I've always though this. Her mother, my dear departed Grandma, has always thought this. My mom caters to his every need, has for years. Yet he isn't capable of executing the simplest of tasks, like get your paperwork together and get your 10 year old tax issue worked out with the IRS or even just get your shit together and pack so we can relocate our lives for my cancer treatment. Nope. I've always wanted so much better for her.
So part of me feels vindicated. Like my mom is finally connecting the dots and realizing why all these years I've not ever been very warm and fuzzy toward or about Al. At the same time, I would be remiss to not acknowledge everyone is doing their best at their own level of awareness. I just have very little if any tolerance for ignorance, which Al exudes in great quantity.
After my inappropriate venting, we head across town to the bank so my mom can close her local account. She gets a cashier's check and then wants to deposit it into her new credit union account. So we head back across town to the credit union. She's not sure it's the right one, so she directs me to another. The other one is closed, so we go back to the original. It IS open, yet the bank she just closed her account at post dated her check for a couple days out, so the credit union wouldn't make the deposit. So we go back across town to the bank where she had just closed her account so she can just get cash. This took a bit of time because the people behind the counter didn't know what they were doing. Finally we go back across town to deposit her funds. Lastly we make it over to Uhaul to buy boxes and packing materials. These two errands took us about two hours, and Coeur d'Alene is far from being a thriving metropolis. Quite the contrary.
Shortly after we get back to the house I prepare us lunch. No sooner had I served her and she started eating, Al's daughter and granddaughter show up. They have boxes and packing material galore. They're gung ho. The problem is my mom wasn't able to finish her lunch, and she really needs the calories.
We made great progress. Accomplished what I think was what we had set out to do for the day. We got mostly all of her most valuable belongings packed securely into boxes. The following morning I loaded my car with her most prized possessions. The gals returned and a couple of Al's Grandsons showed up as well. The older of the two, Josh, is about my age (forty something). He was assigned to Al duty. This entailed being in the basement where Al's office is setup and helping him pack.
I'd just finished loading my car. I don't know if it was the cold weather, I was totally winded/short of breath/feeling really crappy. I had to sit down for a spell. My mom starts task-mastering me. I explained the situation, and she continues to bark commands at me. And not just one after the other. Like I'm in the middle of doing the first thing she asked me, and while I'm doing it she asks me to do two more things as if she expected I would be doing those things while I'm still in the process of completing the first. Not to mention, she's tired and at this point would be best served allowing us all to work at our own pace so she could recuperate from having over extended herself the day before.
Josh has been in close contact with Al's son Mike. Al's son Mike has been in close contact with my mom and I. So he's pretty well aware his dad has been counter productive and unsupportive. Mike is pissed. He won't speak with his dad.
I'm upstairs with the gals when all hell breaks loose. "You are so mother-fucking lazy, you god damn selfish son-of-a-bitch!" Josh yells. "You've done nothing in two months. Nothing! Except sit on your ass. I can't believe how fucking selfish you are!" This is followed by a huge, physical slamming of some object. Later I learn it was Josh's hand on a cabinet, which was damaged by the sheer force.
Al yell back, tells Josh to get the fuck out of here. Josh tells Al to suck his dick, and that someone has to get through to him somehow. Josh's mom, Al's daughter Michelle, makes a bee line for the basement. She burst into tears and screamed at Josh to leave. I look over at my mom and she's mortified. She breaks down and cries. Michelle comes back upstairs, sits on the couch and sobs. My mom goes over to comfort her. Al's Granddaughter Nikki and I are a little bit in shock around what just transpired. My mom asks Michelle if Josh hit her. She said no. Josh storms upstairs and apologizes to us for what happened, and that it's not OK that Al has done so little to help; he has to hear it from someone. Then he's gone, and except for the crying aftermath, the house calms.
Al comes upstairs crying and cursing. My mom comforts him. He's understandably upset. This goes on for a while. In fact, I was just about to head out the door. The tension was palpable. I would need to say goodbyes before getting on the road. That was surely not going to happen until people were calmed and egos massaged.
My mom was downstairs with Al. I could hear them discussing, on the verge of fighting. Al asks my mom where Josh would have gotten the idea that he hadn't been doing anything. My mom wasn't too quick to think on her feet. So Al accuses my mom of being the cause of Josh coming unglued. My mom is upset and now getting super defensive. That's exactly what a stage four cancer patient needs to be subjected to after what she had just been subjected to after a day of being at the helm of directing the family packing operation the day before. To top it off, Al tells my mom he's thinking of doing himself in. He has apparently said this to my mom on several occasions.
They settle their conversation. My mom tasks Al with getting his office files together, getting rid of things he doesn't need, packing, etc. She comes upstairs. I let her know I'm going. She tells me to go say goodbye to Al. At this point, even though I've barely spoken to him the day or so I had been there (I can barely even look him in the eye), I feel like it's only right to ease the shit show that had just transpired.
When I reach his domain in the basement, he's sitting in front of his computer screen. He's not doing anything he had just agreed with my mom to do. When he sees me he stands up, starts crying again and then comes over and hugs me. You can imagine how awkwardly uncomfortable that is for me. He thanks me for all I'm doing for my mom. I wanted to unthank him for all he's not doing for my mom. Then he goes into some diatribe about how he's constantly researching things about my mom's cancer, etc., etc. I said that the move is really important to my mom right now. That the best thing to do is just be the path of least resistance and accommodate her as much as possible. He just stared blankly. I can't tell if he's just being immature, kicking and screaming or if he is really losing his marbles.
Long story short, I cannot tell you how good it was to get back on the road, even if I hit a 50 mile back up which added another hour and a half to my five hour drive. So what!
My mom and Al arrived around 9:00ish p.m. Monday night. I had spent my first day back cleaning and moving out of my own bedroom. My husband and I decided it would be best to sleep in our basement as they would be much more comfortable in our room. Al rolled out of our full size bed in the guest room the last time they were here. Imagine how startled I was to hear all his dead weight hit the floor, hard, in the middle of the night. I digress ...
Suffice to say I am exhausted by the time they arrive. My husband had a really difficult day at work. He, too, is exhausted by the time they arrive. I went upstairs to say good night and get a glass of water. There are some dishes from the dinner we had waiting for them sitting in the sink and a nearly full dishwasher likely needing to be run. So I feverishly rinse and scrub the dishes so I can run the washer and turn in promptly. Suddenly my mom starts asking me where things go in the kitchen. My eyes are burning. I'm spent. She holds up Al's jug of scotch and asks me if I have somewhere for it or if they should just put it in their room. All I could muster the energy to say was, "It doesn't matter." I turned away and zombie walked myself back downstairs to my basement bed. My mom stormed off in a huff. Am I going to be able to do this? How are we going to make this work?
Tuesday, November 18, 2014
Snap Out Of It (continued ...)
In case you are wondering whether I gave my brother any money, here's how I responded to his request:
"That's a difficult situation. Thank you for and please continue to avoid further burdening mom. My focus has been on mom, my own health and keeping things in my own life going, which is challenging enough. I don't know what you're asking of me. If it's for money, that is not an option. Mom also is looking for money to meet her mounting medical expenses. If for advice, all I can say is prioritize. You are an educated adult (he is 10 year college educated, and graduated from Cal Poly) and can figure it out. Maybe now is not the time to be worrying about a car if you're facing eviction. Sounds like you have some tough choices to make."
We discussed the topic of human care at my last Buddhism class dharma talk. The abbot gave the example of two acrobatic performers who raised the question whether they concern themselves with how the other is performing in their duo act or if they focus solely on their own performance. It turns out the latter is what is most important. When one is self-reliant, they can then, and only then, also be a contribution to others in the world.
Nearly one year ago, long before my mom's cancer diagnosis, I flew my mom out for my surprise wedding. Another story for another time. She and my BFF, who was our officiant, had an opportunity to spend the day together. They talked quite a bit. My BFF shared with my mom how concerned I have been about her happiness. That I've been saddened to not hear from her nearly as much as I used to, and I realize she's not calling as much because she's so unhappy. She shared my concerns about her health and how it is also affecting mine. She told my mom that all I needed to hear her say is that she's content with her life with Al. My very wise BFF also told my mom that taking care of herself is taking care of others. My mom has never given the remotest indication of being content, nor is she taking as good of care of herself as she is capable of.
It is my understanding my mom will walk the path she walks, and I am to be supportive no matter what. Core to my nature is observing a situation, identifying where improvements can be made and then implementing said improvements. I have little if any tolerance for ignorance and inefficiency. I approach problems similarly, first assessing the situation by gathering information, then determine the most logical solution and lastly consider how I'm feeling about it. My mom approaches life completely contrary to this. She first gets completely wrapped up in her feelings about the situation and all other situations she's dealing with simultaneously, then gets overwhelmed and lastly shuts down before she realizes the problem is solvable. It is my understanding I will need to stretch very far outside of my natural personality to steady the proverbial boat with regard to my relationship with my mom. Now I'm overwhelmed ...
Comforting at the very least to have others who are on board to assist. Namely Mike, who is a Godsend. I suppose in some way this helps balance the vacuum that is Al. Mike checked in with me via text yesterday, wanting to know how my mom is adjusting to life at my place. To which I responded:
"So-so. She confessed to the social worker today she is only weepy with me. She's so emotional with me, Mike, and really resistant to responsibility at every turn. She's just not the person I've known most of my life. I can very much empathize with your frustrations around your dad. I brought her back to the Rosauers' today as we are preparing to leave town for a few days. Meanwhile, they need her there this week while they tend to their mom's final arrangements. So come next week will begin the interim adventure."
His reply:
"If it's any consolation, she's cried a bunch with me when we were looking (for housing) around the Greater Puget Sound. At times I had to be very direct with her and say 'I know you would love to live in Redmond Ridge but the rents are too high.' I worry that the longer she is at The Rosauer Resort (they have a beautiful 7,000 square foot home on the Sammamish Plateau) the harder it will be for her to accept what is the reality of the housing situation. It's a tough one. I would hope that she feels fortunate to have a son (you) who lives here; has the extra room and willingness to house her and assist her for a while. It still frustrates me that my dad and your brother are on the sidelines during all of this. But I've learned that, for whatever reason(s), Jeff seems to get a pass. I want you to know that I have a very high regard for what you have done and what you are doing to help your mom. It may be little solace in the heat of the battle but I think you are a stand up guy."
My reply:
"Thank you SO much, Mike! The feeling is mutual. I really appreciate all you've been doing. WAY above and beyond.
Please keep this between us. Jeff reached out to me last week about his money troubles and hit me up. I denied his request. My mom has always been protective of him and really goes to bat for the underdog for some reason.
My mom's first call after today's appt. was to Al. One would think he'd be standing by. No answer at home or his mobile. Wow. The Realtor called us this afternoon to let us know he's not heard back from Al for a key, walk through and photoshoot.
As for my mom, she seems to have developed quite a sense of entitlement. Maybe this is her subconscious way of counter balancing being so humbled by her medical condition. Regardless, she is living in an altered state of reality. My greatest concern for her mental/emotional wellness is her continual focus on what she doesn't have and what's not working, which makes it all the more challenging to assist her. Thank you for letting me vent."
His reply:
"Feel free to vent anytime. This whole situation is beyond trying at times ... I know I have to vent whenever I think about Al's actions/inactions. When I look at Al's situation and Jeff's I see 'self-inflicted misery.' Al went into semi retirement at about age 54 (my present age) thinking his investment wizardry would pull him through. Sure he had some physical ailments, but don't we all. All I know about Jeff is that he has a pretty solid degree from Cal Poly in what appear to be pretty marketable fields. Perhaps he wanted to work for himself ... That's fine but jeez ... if it ain't working, look at other options. And for Christ sakes, stop asking other people to put their $ into your money pit. In a lot of ways, Jeff and Al are similar. Thanks for letting me vent :) enjoy your time away ... hope you're feeling better"
On Sunday I told my mom I want her to be at peace and I want her to be happy. I asked her what she wanted. She said she just wanted the cancer to be gone. She shared with the social worker she didn't like the support group she went to a couple weeks ago. Said she hated sharing her story so many times. That the other patients all had breast cancer and told her she didn't look sick, adding that when she's out and about people don't see her and think she's ill. It makes me wonder if she really wants to wear that label. She also told the nutritionist yesterday she doesn't like looking at her own body undressed because she has so much hanging skin.
Because my mom's most common way of expressing herself is through emotions (mostly by crying), and when she does use her words she rakes up every topic she's grappling with within two or three sentences, it's really challenging to sort anything out with her. Her mind is so clouded. I've introduced her to meditation. She doesn't practice. I cannot reason with her because she just cries. So her shares occur for me like important clues in the mystery of how this seemingly alien being from another generation operates.
Through my own chronic illness I can absolutely relate to cursing my body at times or feeling like my body is working against me. Our bodies are vital to being able to live one's life. Quite an unsettling feeling when one feels their own body is on the attack and out to get us. It's awful. Then one learns that our body is another living being. It has thoughts and language of its own. Our bodies communicate to us via symptoms. A quiet body may not mean a healthy body, it could mean one is out of touch with one's body. A body that feels good and performs well is more indicative of a harmonious and happy body. So it becomes a matter of learning how to tune into one's body, recognize what it needs and then nurture it accordingly. This is the only way I have been able to go from having a body that didn't have enough energy to move much out of bed to being able to assist people with the single largest transactions most people engage in their lifetimes. My concern is this concept, which is truth, evades my mom. Even if she did understand, her actions have already spoken volumes. She just wants others to do things for her. Honestly this may all be too much for her. Is she getting ready to go?
"That's a difficult situation. Thank you for and please continue to avoid further burdening mom. My focus has been on mom, my own health and keeping things in my own life going, which is challenging enough. I don't know what you're asking of me. If it's for money, that is not an option. Mom also is looking for money to meet her mounting medical expenses. If for advice, all I can say is prioritize. You are an educated adult (he is 10 year college educated, and graduated from Cal Poly) and can figure it out. Maybe now is not the time to be worrying about a car if you're facing eviction. Sounds like you have some tough choices to make."
We discussed the topic of human care at my last Buddhism class dharma talk. The abbot gave the example of two acrobatic performers who raised the question whether they concern themselves with how the other is performing in their duo act or if they focus solely on their own performance. It turns out the latter is what is most important. When one is self-reliant, they can then, and only then, also be a contribution to others in the world.
Nearly one year ago, long before my mom's cancer diagnosis, I flew my mom out for my surprise wedding. Another story for another time. She and my BFF, who was our officiant, had an opportunity to spend the day together. They talked quite a bit. My BFF shared with my mom how concerned I have been about her happiness. That I've been saddened to not hear from her nearly as much as I used to, and I realize she's not calling as much because she's so unhappy. She shared my concerns about her health and how it is also affecting mine. She told my mom that all I needed to hear her say is that she's content with her life with Al. My very wise BFF also told my mom that taking care of herself is taking care of others. My mom has never given the remotest indication of being content, nor is she taking as good of care of herself as she is capable of.
It is my understanding my mom will walk the path she walks, and I am to be supportive no matter what. Core to my nature is observing a situation, identifying where improvements can be made and then implementing said improvements. I have little if any tolerance for ignorance and inefficiency. I approach problems similarly, first assessing the situation by gathering information, then determine the most logical solution and lastly consider how I'm feeling about it. My mom approaches life completely contrary to this. She first gets completely wrapped up in her feelings about the situation and all other situations she's dealing with simultaneously, then gets overwhelmed and lastly shuts down before she realizes the problem is solvable. It is my understanding I will need to stretch very far outside of my natural personality to steady the proverbial boat with regard to my relationship with my mom. Now I'm overwhelmed ...
Comforting at the very least to have others who are on board to assist. Namely Mike, who is a Godsend. I suppose in some way this helps balance the vacuum that is Al. Mike checked in with me via text yesterday, wanting to know how my mom is adjusting to life at my place. To which I responded:
"So-so. She confessed to the social worker today she is only weepy with me. She's so emotional with me, Mike, and really resistant to responsibility at every turn. She's just not the person I've known most of my life. I can very much empathize with your frustrations around your dad. I brought her back to the Rosauers' today as we are preparing to leave town for a few days. Meanwhile, they need her there this week while they tend to their mom's final arrangements. So come next week will begin the interim adventure."
His reply:
"If it's any consolation, she's cried a bunch with me when we were looking (for housing) around the Greater Puget Sound. At times I had to be very direct with her and say 'I know you would love to live in Redmond Ridge but the rents are too high.' I worry that the longer she is at The Rosauer Resort (they have a beautiful 7,000 square foot home on the Sammamish Plateau) the harder it will be for her to accept what is the reality of the housing situation. It's a tough one. I would hope that she feels fortunate to have a son (you) who lives here; has the extra room and willingness to house her and assist her for a while. It still frustrates me that my dad and your brother are on the sidelines during all of this. But I've learned that, for whatever reason(s), Jeff seems to get a pass. I want you to know that I have a very high regard for what you have done and what you are doing to help your mom. It may be little solace in the heat of the battle but I think you are a stand up guy."
My reply:
"Thank you SO much, Mike! The feeling is mutual. I really appreciate all you've been doing. WAY above and beyond.
Please keep this between us. Jeff reached out to me last week about his money troubles and hit me up. I denied his request. My mom has always been protective of him and really goes to bat for the underdog for some reason.
My mom's first call after today's appt. was to Al. One would think he'd be standing by. No answer at home or his mobile. Wow. The Realtor called us this afternoon to let us know he's not heard back from Al for a key, walk through and photoshoot.
As for my mom, she seems to have developed quite a sense of entitlement. Maybe this is her subconscious way of counter balancing being so humbled by her medical condition. Regardless, she is living in an altered state of reality. My greatest concern for her mental/emotional wellness is her continual focus on what she doesn't have and what's not working, which makes it all the more challenging to assist her. Thank you for letting me vent."
His reply:
"Feel free to vent anytime. This whole situation is beyond trying at times ... I know I have to vent whenever I think about Al's actions/inactions. When I look at Al's situation and Jeff's I see 'self-inflicted misery.' Al went into semi retirement at about age 54 (my present age) thinking his investment wizardry would pull him through. Sure he had some physical ailments, but don't we all. All I know about Jeff is that he has a pretty solid degree from Cal Poly in what appear to be pretty marketable fields. Perhaps he wanted to work for himself ... That's fine but jeez ... if it ain't working, look at other options. And for Christ sakes, stop asking other people to put their $ into your money pit. In a lot of ways, Jeff and Al are similar. Thanks for letting me vent :) enjoy your time away ... hope you're feeling better"
On Sunday I told my mom I want her to be at peace and I want her to be happy. I asked her what she wanted. She said she just wanted the cancer to be gone. She shared with the social worker she didn't like the support group she went to a couple weeks ago. Said she hated sharing her story so many times. That the other patients all had breast cancer and told her she didn't look sick, adding that when she's out and about people don't see her and think she's ill. It makes me wonder if she really wants to wear that label. She also told the nutritionist yesterday she doesn't like looking at her own body undressed because she has so much hanging skin.
Because my mom's most common way of expressing herself is through emotions (mostly by crying), and when she does use her words she rakes up every topic she's grappling with within two or three sentences, it's really challenging to sort anything out with her. Her mind is so clouded. I've introduced her to meditation. She doesn't practice. I cannot reason with her because she just cries. So her shares occur for me like important clues in the mystery of how this seemingly alien being from another generation operates.
Through my own chronic illness I can absolutely relate to cursing my body at times or feeling like my body is working against me. Our bodies are vital to being able to live one's life. Quite an unsettling feeling when one feels their own body is on the attack and out to get us. It's awful. Then one learns that our body is another living being. It has thoughts and language of its own. Our bodies communicate to us via symptoms. A quiet body may not mean a healthy body, it could mean one is out of touch with one's body. A body that feels good and performs well is more indicative of a harmonious and happy body. So it becomes a matter of learning how to tune into one's body, recognize what it needs and then nurture it accordingly. This is the only way I have been able to go from having a body that didn't have enough energy to move much out of bed to being able to assist people with the single largest transactions most people engage in their lifetimes. My concern is this concept, which is truth, evades my mom. Even if she did understand, her actions have already spoken volumes. She just wants others to do things for her. Honestly this may all be too much for her. Is she getting ready to go?
Monday, November 17, 2014
Update on Mom Nov. 17th
Hello, All,
Mom had a check-up with her
oncologist Dr. Martins today on the heels of new CT scans. There is no growth
and no spread of the cancer. In other words, mom is stable; smooth seas.
Would it be better if the cancer
retreated/decreased? Maybe. Dr. Martins cited cases where patients saw rapid
regression of the cancer only to have it rigorously grow back a short while
later. Further her oncologist explained he wants to get as much mileage as
possible out of her current treatment course before resorting to alternatives.
Of the patient cases with my mom’s cancer type, 50 percent have a secondary
mutation, which would make them eligible for a clinical trial of a new
generation pill. This pill has proven to be extremely effective, and is only a
secondary option.
The same message has been
consistent the past three visits. So long as mom is feeling better and able to
do more, the treatment is effective. Dr. Martins often remarks he treats patients,
not CT scans. Mom is able to eat better and her physicality is improving. She
met with a nutritionist today after her appointment, and they sent her home
with some great and very simple recommendations such that she can easily be
cause in the matter of further supporting her own wellness through good eating
habits.
Next week mom will be coming to
stay with Terry and I for the time being. We are putting her Coeur D’Alene home
on the market this week and are searching for another place for her around Greater
Puget Sound. If you wish to write to her, again our address is:
Mom’s next oncology appointment
is one month out followed by another CT scan two months out.
All my best,
Snap Out of It
Where to begin ... I've been back from my holiday home in Mexico for a little more than one week. Since returning we've been having a cold snap. My mom's best friend who is awaiting a double lung transplant, her mother-in-law just passed a short while after suffering a stroke. We put my mom's Idaho house on the market and began the daunting task of trying to find her something here that's somewhat affordable. In the meantime, it has also been agreed that my mom and her "partner" are coming to live with my husband and I until we can find and move them into housing.
I've spent the last four days with my mom. She's so incredibly fragile, emotionally and physically. At 5'8" she's barely 120 lbs., thankfully her weight is up from a low of 113 lbs. Even at the apex of summer she is cold when it's about 90 degrees outside.
For the past month and a half, my mom's so-called partner has been holed up a state away at her house in Idaho. For the past 18 years, my mom has waited on him hand and foot. In fact, I'm surprised he's lasted as long as he has without her feeding him and cleaning up after him. Al was her first phone call following her oncology appointment today. He didn't answer at the house nor his mobile phone. Guess he was busy doing something more important than being available to speak with her about the status of her stage four lung cancer. One would think he would be anxiously awaiting her call. Nope. Guess not.
Then there's the how my mom is handling everything, or finding every way not to. It's Saturday nearing the middle of the day. I made it public knowledge I had a client appointment in the early afternoon. While I was getting ready for it and having a quick bite before leaving the house, she decides that's the perfect time to bust out her weeks worth of insurance explanations of benefits and billing statements.
"I don't understand any of this stuff," she said.
I picked up the letter closest to me and gave it a five second look over.
"This one is just asking for proof of previous insurance. You can request this from your previous provider. What do you not understand about that?" I said.
"What about all these?" she inquired, looking around the moat of pages encircling her.
"Have you read through them?"
"I don't understand any of it, I need Mike to help me, he arranged all of this for me."
So Mike is my mom's "partner's" son. He lives in the region, and has been so incredibly helpful to my mom and subsequently to me by alleviating some of the responsibility from my shoulders as well as hers. From his perspective, he has little if any faith my 71 year old mom and his 76 year old dad are capable of doing much if anything for themselves. My sense is, if you allow someone to occur that way, and if they want to be helpless, then the situation will only further deteriorate.
My mom had an epiphany a few weeks ago. She confided in me her new-found frustrations with her "partner." Yes, the quotation marks are to overemphasize how loosely I'm using that term in relation to my mom's boyfriend Al. They're not married because if they married she would be saddled with all of his debts (we'll get to that in a moment), and she would lose her ex husband's portion of her social security benefits.
For the past several years, my mom's boyfriend has been avoiding settling a six figure IRS tax debt. Therefore the IRS has been garnishing his social security benefit by more than half. All Al has to do is go into the local IRS office and prove his inability to repay the debt. My mom did this some time ago, and they granted her forgiveness. Incidentally, they both now solely rely on social security as their exclusive source of income. They also both identify as Republican, yet I can think of no other two people who are more in need of social programs than they are (a very non-Republican position to be in). I digress ...
So my mom and I are sitting in my living room. She had just ended a call with Al, her "partner." It clearly didn't go well.
"He asks me where all the paperwork and bills are that I need him to bring over to me when he comes back," she said. "I tell him, repeatedly, write him texts explaining where everything is, and he doesn't remember. He can't remember anything. I've done everything for him - maybe I've done too much."
At this point she falls apart into a sobbing, blubbering mess. Mind you, I've been watching this co-dependency dance of theirs for the last 18 years. It's to the point Al in many ways has become like a child. We made tacos at my house one night, and my mom had to help him place the meat onto his. Then he tried to put a second soft corn tortilla on top of the tostada-esque looking taco on his plate and to eat it like a sandwich. That didn't go well. Actually, it went completely down the front of him.
I need to make this perfectly clear. I love my mom. I really, truly love her. She raised me with utmost devotion, tenderness and affectionate care. It's important I make this distinction because I am now going to vent my frustrations with her.
After the third time I explained to my mom the difference between billing statements and explanations of benefits, and that each of these organizations has an army of paid staff in their customer service departments waiting for the opportunity to answer her questions and make clear to her what's what, she says: "I just don't understand any of it."
In my head I'm wondering, does she just not want to understand? To me she's occurring as being dismissive. I explain to my mom that she would be most empowered as a patient to wrap her head around these things so she can make wise choices. No, insurance and medical expenses certainly aren't fun, uplifting and inspiring. The reality is, she is not working, has nothing but time on her hands and whatever she lets fall to the wayside someone else invariably will have to pick up. Like dear Mike, for example, who spent hours upon hours learning about the insurance system, and its numerous holes.
So my concern for her is her avoidance will soften her mind and wits. Additionally, becoming so reliant on others also has its pitfalls. I pointed out to her how this has impacted Al, and shared my worry about her following a similar path. I guess I expected her to hear this and take it to heart constructively. She just teared up and became visibly upset.
Actually, she seems to cry a lot. There is nothing at all wrong with crying. It's just from my vantage point she's been depressed for the past couple decades, ever since the divorce. She squandered 10 years of spousal support and settlement funds, and then found herself in the poor house at retirement age. Not only in the poor house, but working the concierge desk at a resort where on a daily basis she watched people living her old life. That made her wistful and full of regret. Now she's in dire health and her life is dramatically changing yet again. So she constantly asks, "Why is this happening to me?" Of course I can empathize with her losses. Like many, I too have known great loss. In more recent months, I have been learning about human attachment to impermanence as an all too common cause of suffering.
As I watch my mom's head spin with thoughts of how her life, how even she, continues to unravel, hear her comment repeatedly on what's wrong, what's not working, what she's upset about, I cannot help but ponder this. Can it all be bad? Can there be no good at all? I have to know, I want to hear it from her.
"So, mom, I hear everything you've said about what's not working in your life right now. Is there anything in your life that is working or even working well?" I asked.
After a few moments of pondering she said, "Well, when I went in for that CT scan they didn't keep me overnight in the hospital for a trapped lung."
"Anything else?" I asked.
"No."
"Um, what about your wealthy friends who have taken you into their home since July? Or your son and his husband who have been supportive since the beginning and have offered to take you and Al in?"
Then she gets "cross" with me and says abruptly, "Well I'm sorry I didn't say the right thing." Then she jumps to asking me whether she's supposed to be happy about everything she's going through. And then she cries, again.
My concern here is that my mom is solely focused on all that's negative. Additionally, what one focuses on expands, get's bigger. I gave her a gratitude journal shortly after her initial cancer diagnosis. She says she's written in it a few times. I gave her a wonderful book titled Mind Over Medicine. She started reading it. I've shared nutritional insights based on my own two year path of finding resolution to my chronic illness. She grabs onto none of it. Ultimately I'm left with the sense my mom doesn't really want to get better. Maybe she wants to die?
In the very beginning I asked her that very taboo and uber personal question, whether she wants to die. She said she wants to fight and be here with her loved ones. For me, especially since I have been an adult, actions are so much more impactful than words. Her actions occur for me as she's giving up and just resigned to being in a continual state of upset and fear about what she is going to face next.
Allow me to temper that statement by acknowledging the extreme amount of anxiety my mom must completely and totally understandably be experiencing as a result of her cancer diagnosis. I can only imagine how I would feel in her shoes. Even with my chronic illness there are some aspects of her cancer I can relate to. For one thing, I don't know what the underlying cause of my autoimmune disorder is, therefore there hasn't been any targeted course of treatment. Ultimately I don't know whether I may recover my health or ... There are times my body has experienced some awful moments and mind has thought the worst. Also, I know my husband would love for me to someday magically turn back into the person he fell in love with. My mom also has remarked similar about Al, that all he wants is for her to be the person she used to be. The person I was, the person my mom was, those people died. Our lives are forever altered.
Last Friday I sat down with my mom and carefully went through all the listing paperwork with her. At the end of it she remarks that her ex husband always took care of these things, then asks me if she's making the right decision. As I rationalize the scenario, spending 7.5 percent of her home's market value on closing costs to sell and another nearly three percent on loan closing costs and prepaids to purchase another home plus moving expenses and ultimately a higher monthly payment doesn't make much sense for someone who barely has two nickels to rub together. Combined, she and Al still exist on barely 35 percent of median household income. My response to her was simply, "I don't know. I cannot answer that question. Only time will tell ..." That is the truth.
So my husband and I are now attempting to make a new bedroom for ourselves in our mostly finished basement with money we don't have to be spending right now going into the holiday season. Our house is more than 52 years old with lots of big, single pane aluminum windows, not very well insulated and on oil heat, which is very expensive to run. No sooner had I dropped my mom off at her friends' and explained the current update post oncology visit, her bestie turns to me and asks, "Are you going to turn your heat on?"
It's no secret my mom runs cold. As mentioned she has gotten rather frail. So now I'm being questioned about the temperature at which I heat my home? It's 68, except at night we run it colder, just in case you were wondering. I wonder what her bestie would say if I had responded with, "You know what's really cold? Sleeping in a refrigerator box under a bridge in the dead of winter."
Again, instead of my mom simply being grateful she has a place to lay her head, she complains. She's also turning into her mother, God rest her soul, who instead of articulating her upset, would just scoff around hymming and hawwing. My mom is getting to be fussy like her mom was, too. The thing is, my mom really left the heavy lifting of my grandma's late life care to her sister and a hospice nurse. So I'm not sure if my mom is really present to what she's asking of others with regard to her own care. It's as though she has little to no self awareness.
Last week my brother reached out to me via FBPM (that's Facebook private message to those who don't read modern acronym) with the following:
"Hey hope you and mom are fine. I am in deep shit and need your advice. I think at some point in your life you have got a DUI. I got one about a year ago. I didn't realize it could affect me getting a job. I have been applying for jobs daily, even as a TAXI DRIVER and I was DENIED because i have had a DUI with in the last 3 years! So it is what it is. However, when you get DUI in Las Vegas at least, you MUST pay auto-insurance, a special auto-insurance called "SR-22" which I have been paying the last year. But if I dont pay it by tomorrow or the 12th actually is the VERY last date, it automatically gets reported to my DMV and my car gets impounded and licence revoked. My car payment is already 2 months behind. But my insurance is what I am most concerned about. I have not been able to pay rent, my car insurance, or my car payment. I continue to apply to jobs daily and is just a matter of time before I get one. I am freaking out about the insurance issue and they said if I miss it the 3 years STARTS OVER on my record meaning I need to carry the special SR-22 for 3 more years. eeek! Any suggestions?? I really dont want to bother mom with this stuff but I dont know what to do or say when I am in this situation. Yes, I have already asked dad for help he flat out said no, he can't."
Someday soon I will devote an entry all to my brother who is 43. Also a point of clarification, he and I were both adopted, from different families entirely. Even though we were raised by the same parents under the same roof, we could not be more different as people. I repeat, we do not share a bloodline.
Think I may just need to craft a part two of this post. It has been a long four days of pressing pause on my life to take on my mom's. It's after 10:30 p.m. and my eyes are burning. Good night.
I've spent the last four days with my mom. She's so incredibly fragile, emotionally and physically. At 5'8" she's barely 120 lbs., thankfully her weight is up from a low of 113 lbs. Even at the apex of summer she is cold when it's about 90 degrees outside.
For the past month and a half, my mom's so-called partner has been holed up a state away at her house in Idaho. For the past 18 years, my mom has waited on him hand and foot. In fact, I'm surprised he's lasted as long as he has without her feeding him and cleaning up after him. Al was her first phone call following her oncology appointment today. He didn't answer at the house nor his mobile phone. Guess he was busy doing something more important than being available to speak with her about the status of her stage four lung cancer. One would think he would be anxiously awaiting her call. Nope. Guess not.
Then there's the how my mom is handling everything, or finding every way not to. It's Saturday nearing the middle of the day. I made it public knowledge I had a client appointment in the early afternoon. While I was getting ready for it and having a quick bite before leaving the house, she decides that's the perfect time to bust out her weeks worth of insurance explanations of benefits and billing statements.
"I don't understand any of this stuff," she said.
I picked up the letter closest to me and gave it a five second look over.
"This one is just asking for proof of previous insurance. You can request this from your previous provider. What do you not understand about that?" I said.
"What about all these?" she inquired, looking around the moat of pages encircling her.
"Have you read through them?"
"I don't understand any of it, I need Mike to help me, he arranged all of this for me."
So Mike is my mom's "partner's" son. He lives in the region, and has been so incredibly helpful to my mom and subsequently to me by alleviating some of the responsibility from my shoulders as well as hers. From his perspective, he has little if any faith my 71 year old mom and his 76 year old dad are capable of doing much if anything for themselves. My sense is, if you allow someone to occur that way, and if they want to be helpless, then the situation will only further deteriorate.
My mom had an epiphany a few weeks ago. She confided in me her new-found frustrations with her "partner." Yes, the quotation marks are to overemphasize how loosely I'm using that term in relation to my mom's boyfriend Al. They're not married because if they married she would be saddled with all of his debts (we'll get to that in a moment), and she would lose her ex husband's portion of her social security benefits.
For the past several years, my mom's boyfriend has been avoiding settling a six figure IRS tax debt. Therefore the IRS has been garnishing his social security benefit by more than half. All Al has to do is go into the local IRS office and prove his inability to repay the debt. My mom did this some time ago, and they granted her forgiveness. Incidentally, they both now solely rely on social security as their exclusive source of income. They also both identify as Republican, yet I can think of no other two people who are more in need of social programs than they are (a very non-Republican position to be in). I digress ...
So my mom and I are sitting in my living room. She had just ended a call with Al, her "partner." It clearly didn't go well.
"He asks me where all the paperwork and bills are that I need him to bring over to me when he comes back," she said. "I tell him, repeatedly, write him texts explaining where everything is, and he doesn't remember. He can't remember anything. I've done everything for him - maybe I've done too much."
At this point she falls apart into a sobbing, blubbering mess. Mind you, I've been watching this co-dependency dance of theirs for the last 18 years. It's to the point Al in many ways has become like a child. We made tacos at my house one night, and my mom had to help him place the meat onto his. Then he tried to put a second soft corn tortilla on top of the tostada-esque looking taco on his plate and to eat it like a sandwich. That didn't go well. Actually, it went completely down the front of him.
I need to make this perfectly clear. I love my mom. I really, truly love her. She raised me with utmost devotion, tenderness and affectionate care. It's important I make this distinction because I am now going to vent my frustrations with her.
After the third time I explained to my mom the difference between billing statements and explanations of benefits, and that each of these organizations has an army of paid staff in their customer service departments waiting for the opportunity to answer her questions and make clear to her what's what, she says: "I just don't understand any of it."
In my head I'm wondering, does she just not want to understand? To me she's occurring as being dismissive. I explain to my mom that she would be most empowered as a patient to wrap her head around these things so she can make wise choices. No, insurance and medical expenses certainly aren't fun, uplifting and inspiring. The reality is, she is not working, has nothing but time on her hands and whatever she lets fall to the wayside someone else invariably will have to pick up. Like dear Mike, for example, who spent hours upon hours learning about the insurance system, and its numerous holes.
So my concern for her is her avoidance will soften her mind and wits. Additionally, becoming so reliant on others also has its pitfalls. I pointed out to her how this has impacted Al, and shared my worry about her following a similar path. I guess I expected her to hear this and take it to heart constructively. She just teared up and became visibly upset.
Actually, she seems to cry a lot. There is nothing at all wrong with crying. It's just from my vantage point she's been depressed for the past couple decades, ever since the divorce. She squandered 10 years of spousal support and settlement funds, and then found herself in the poor house at retirement age. Not only in the poor house, but working the concierge desk at a resort where on a daily basis she watched people living her old life. That made her wistful and full of regret. Now she's in dire health and her life is dramatically changing yet again. So she constantly asks, "Why is this happening to me?" Of course I can empathize with her losses. Like many, I too have known great loss. In more recent months, I have been learning about human attachment to impermanence as an all too common cause of suffering.
As I watch my mom's head spin with thoughts of how her life, how even she, continues to unravel, hear her comment repeatedly on what's wrong, what's not working, what she's upset about, I cannot help but ponder this. Can it all be bad? Can there be no good at all? I have to know, I want to hear it from her.
"So, mom, I hear everything you've said about what's not working in your life right now. Is there anything in your life that is working or even working well?" I asked.
After a few moments of pondering she said, "Well, when I went in for that CT scan they didn't keep me overnight in the hospital for a trapped lung."
"Anything else?" I asked.
"No."
"Um, what about your wealthy friends who have taken you into their home since July? Or your son and his husband who have been supportive since the beginning and have offered to take you and Al in?"
Then she gets "cross" with me and says abruptly, "Well I'm sorry I didn't say the right thing." Then she jumps to asking me whether she's supposed to be happy about everything she's going through. And then she cries, again.
My concern here is that my mom is solely focused on all that's negative. Additionally, what one focuses on expands, get's bigger. I gave her a gratitude journal shortly after her initial cancer diagnosis. She says she's written in it a few times. I gave her a wonderful book titled Mind Over Medicine. She started reading it. I've shared nutritional insights based on my own two year path of finding resolution to my chronic illness. She grabs onto none of it. Ultimately I'm left with the sense my mom doesn't really want to get better. Maybe she wants to die?
In the very beginning I asked her that very taboo and uber personal question, whether she wants to die. She said she wants to fight and be here with her loved ones. For me, especially since I have been an adult, actions are so much more impactful than words. Her actions occur for me as she's giving up and just resigned to being in a continual state of upset and fear about what she is going to face next.
Allow me to temper that statement by acknowledging the extreme amount of anxiety my mom must completely and totally understandably be experiencing as a result of her cancer diagnosis. I can only imagine how I would feel in her shoes. Even with my chronic illness there are some aspects of her cancer I can relate to. For one thing, I don't know what the underlying cause of my autoimmune disorder is, therefore there hasn't been any targeted course of treatment. Ultimately I don't know whether I may recover my health or ... There are times my body has experienced some awful moments and mind has thought the worst. Also, I know my husband would love for me to someday magically turn back into the person he fell in love with. My mom also has remarked similar about Al, that all he wants is for her to be the person she used to be. The person I was, the person my mom was, those people died. Our lives are forever altered.
Last Friday I sat down with my mom and carefully went through all the listing paperwork with her. At the end of it she remarks that her ex husband always took care of these things, then asks me if she's making the right decision. As I rationalize the scenario, spending 7.5 percent of her home's market value on closing costs to sell and another nearly three percent on loan closing costs and prepaids to purchase another home plus moving expenses and ultimately a higher monthly payment doesn't make much sense for someone who barely has two nickels to rub together. Combined, she and Al still exist on barely 35 percent of median household income. My response to her was simply, "I don't know. I cannot answer that question. Only time will tell ..." That is the truth.
So my husband and I are now attempting to make a new bedroom for ourselves in our mostly finished basement with money we don't have to be spending right now going into the holiday season. Our house is more than 52 years old with lots of big, single pane aluminum windows, not very well insulated and on oil heat, which is very expensive to run. No sooner had I dropped my mom off at her friends' and explained the current update post oncology visit, her bestie turns to me and asks, "Are you going to turn your heat on?"
It's no secret my mom runs cold. As mentioned she has gotten rather frail. So now I'm being questioned about the temperature at which I heat my home? It's 68, except at night we run it colder, just in case you were wondering. I wonder what her bestie would say if I had responded with, "You know what's really cold? Sleeping in a refrigerator box under a bridge in the dead of winter."
Again, instead of my mom simply being grateful she has a place to lay her head, she complains. She's also turning into her mother, God rest her soul, who instead of articulating her upset, would just scoff around hymming and hawwing. My mom is getting to be fussy like her mom was, too. The thing is, my mom really left the heavy lifting of my grandma's late life care to her sister and a hospice nurse. So I'm not sure if my mom is really present to what she's asking of others with regard to her own care. It's as though she has little to no self awareness.
Last week my brother reached out to me via FBPM (that's Facebook private message to those who don't read modern acronym) with the following:
"Hey hope you and mom are fine. I am in deep shit and need your advice. I think at some point in your life you have got a DUI. I got one about a year ago. I didn't realize it could affect me getting a job. I have been applying for jobs daily, even as a TAXI DRIVER and I was DENIED because i have had a DUI with in the last 3 years! So it is what it is. However, when you get DUI in Las Vegas at least, you MUST pay auto-insurance, a special auto-insurance called "SR-22" which I have been paying the last year. But if I dont pay it by tomorrow or the 12th actually is the VERY last date, it automatically gets reported to my DMV and my car gets impounded and licence revoked. My car payment is already 2 months behind. But my insurance is what I am most concerned about. I have not been able to pay rent, my car insurance, or my car payment. I continue to apply to jobs daily and is just a matter of time before I get one. I am freaking out about the insurance issue and they said if I miss it the 3 years STARTS OVER on my record meaning I need to carry the special SR-22 for 3 more years. eeek! Any suggestions?? I really dont want to bother mom with this stuff but I dont know what to do or say when I am in this situation. Yes, I have already asked dad for help he flat out said no, he can't."
Someday soon I will devote an entry all to my brother who is 43. Also a point of clarification, he and I were both adopted, from different families entirely. Even though we were raised by the same parents under the same roof, we could not be more different as people. I repeat, we do not share a bloodline.
Think I may just need to craft a part two of this post. It has been a long four days of pressing pause on my life to take on my mom's. It's after 10:30 p.m. and my eyes are burning. Good night.
Tuesday, November 4, 2014
Fortress of Solitude
Of course I'm no super hero as the title of this post might suggest. I am an American. Like my other 350-some-odd-million compatriots, I live in a oddly uncivilized, modern society, increasingly heroic to thrive in. How the wealthy tempt us with knowledge and flashy gizmos only for us later to discover these are actually devices of pure torture, used to shackle the proletariat to their jobs 24/7!
When I began coming to Mexico a dozen or so years ago, it was like that scene from the movie 9 to 5 when Violet fantasizes about freeing the workers from their dungeon chains. Clouds part, light beams through the windows, the shackles open and the workers slowly rise while looking heavenward.
In the early 2000s (was that not such a lost decade like the '90s were?), my boyfriend at the time introduced me to this marvelous place on the Mexican Riviera. His folks had been frequenting here since 1999, if memory serves. During my first visit we were without mobile/cell service, internet, newspaper (at least none I could read in English), no TV, not even a radio or cans connected with a piece of string. Nada. Eureka. Paradise found.
Actually, I think they did have an English version newspaper. Here's the thing. The newspaper was peddled by the "Crazy Chicken Man." This is going to sound horrible, and believe me I am really a compassionate human being. He's a wheelchair-bound local man who has a crazed look in his eye and an equally crazed smile on his face all the time. His expression seriously never changes. I'm probably going to feel even worse about myself to one day find out his face is somehow stuck that way. He carts around dead chickens and sells newspapers. I know, I know, one cannot judge a book by its cover. If the cover appears to have slaughtered livestock and is happy all the time, I'm either hearing folklore about '80s rock legends or I'm quite possibly in the presence of something sinister.
When I first began coming to Mexico, I imagine it may have been much like 1950's America. There is a sense of community here. People pass by one another on the street. They actually acknowledge one another's existence. Not only do they make eye contact, they say things to each other. "Buenos dias." "Buenos tardes." "Buenos noches." This comes in quite handy when you're twenty something, love to tie one on and sleep for hours upon hours. At the very least people let you know what time of day it is. Like it's a cultural habit formed after generations of people who enjoy leisure so much they chronically lose track of time. I just think this basic courtesy is incredible, miraculous even.
Long story short, in 2006 my then boyfriend and I bought a small house in this seaside village. Did you know it takes on average six months to close a real estate transaction in Mexico? Apparently they've only had a legitimate title system established since the 1990s (found decade for Mexico). So it takes them a little while to track down or perhaps just create official record out of thin air. Or maybe this has all been made up. Maybe there is no house and this is just some wild figment of my imagination and I'm actually in some half-state of meditation. I digress ...
We had fallen in love with this seaside village so much so that we begged, borrowed and in some case stole to make a go of it. I don't mean stealing in the conventional sense. I mean stealing in the noble, capitalistic sense. We borrowed cheap money from the bank. AND I WORKED MY FUCKING ASS OFF PR-ING THINGS FOR THE GAYS, WRITING AND SELLING HOMES IN THE STATES!
We closed in midsummer. A couple weeks later we broke up. Nearly nine years later we still own the house together. Just like our relationship I shoulder the brunt of responsibility and he enjoys the fruits of my labor. Only in this case, with this special place, it really is worth it. This is the one place I can truly unplug and just be.
For one thing, I can neither make nor receive calls thanks to Sprint's crappy mobile service. Thank you. No, really, I mean it. Because of the nature of my work, and because we tend to host many Americans (via vacation rental), I choked and got high speed DSL. High speed is relative. Remember dial up internet with all the buzzing, beeping and digital flatulation noises? Well, it's much quieter and faster than that. It's difficult to stream audio, video or even upload email. So one works less, which is smiled upon in more ingenious parts of the world. Take France for instance.
Everything here is different. The energy is different. There's something about being here that allows one to be absolutely content with few if any desires other than basic needs (shelter, food, water, love, etc.). Some may see this as boring or uncivilized. Contraire mon frere. I really don't know what it is. I just feel so fulfilled just being in this beautiful and lush tropical oasis.
The first time I visited here, people learned my name. They didn't just learn it. Upon returning about a year later, they remembered me, my name. I was greeted, and still am, with fond recognition. It's endearing. It's kind. It's communal. It's also completely reciprocal.
The warmth of being here is not just being situated in the humid heart of the Tropic of Cancer. It's a way of being. Friendly. My hometown in America's Pacific Northwest being the antithesis. There's a phrase I hear from time to time called "Seattle nice," or more appropriately "Seattle ice." It's not that my fellow Seattleites are unfriendly or rude. They're just very, uh, "insular." People just keep to themselves and their respective groups. It's said to be due to a Scandinavian cultural influence. That may be true. I went to Iceland once. If Seattleites are icey, Icelanders are frozen solid. That is until about 6:00 a.m. when the bars begin emptying out onto the streets. Then suddenly perfect strangers act like lifelong friends and want to buy you a hotdog.
I love this. You know, this right now. Sitting here at my kitchen table in Mexico. I'm wearing a pair of orange swim trunks and black Teva flip flops. Hurricane Vance is getting chummy with the coastline, so it has been raining this afternoon. Since I first began coming to this area of the world, I have dreamed of a lovely, tropical rain storm. Thought we might have one yesterday. What a tease. Then this afternoon the skies opened to a symphony of warm rain drops. The windows are wide open to let the fresh sea breeze waft through the house. More so for the reason I love listening to the rain, especially here. Maybe that's also the Seattleite in me. I've dreamed of sitting in my Mexican home, soft lights aglow, tropical rain falling, writing away. Here I am, living the dream. Well not just any dream, it's mine all mine. Oh, and half my ex's. Shit.
My husband and our guests have all retired for a post lunch siesta. So it's just me alone to my thoughts, the sound of rain drops falling on thatch, tile, dirt and palms with the occasional car sloshing by. Started to think to myself "I wish I could share this with the world." Then I caught myself realizing I already am. Silly me.
I named my home Casita Brisa del Mar. Probably got the grammar wrong. I only really officially began taking Spanish last year. Anyway, the dwelling name is supposed to mean Little House of the Ocean Breeze. Cute, huh?
Went to college in San Luis Obispo, California. Gorgeous place, absolutely lovely. I highly recommend a visit or a lifetime of joy there. My second year I shared a house with four others. It was a really fun year, crazy even. One of the best times of my life. We lived on Vista del Brisa or view of the breeze. I used to say it real faggy-like with lotsss of emphasssisss on the sss pronunciationsss. I also thought that particular meaning odd at first. I mean wind is invisible. Then again, you can watch its energy move objects. So, yes, one can watch the wind blow. OMG, of course you can. This is what happens when one allows one's mind to openly wander upon the web.
I don't even know if I've ever really realized exactly why I chose the word brisa to include in the name of my casita until this moment. Like literally right now as I'm writing this. It's a happy place for me. Many good memories have been made here, several I have yet to live down.
Winter/Christmas holiday of 2007 my BFF and I spent 10 days here. Within our first few days we met a couple of Canadian surfers. We'll call them Hibbs and T-Balls. Super cool guys who surfed during the day, ate dinner and partied with us at night. BFF and I thought we would try making dinner for us all Christmas night .
My tiny kitchen, with its little counter space/tiny quarters, tiny fridge and tiny range was even more poorly outfitted with cookware items than it is now. Even now I would be very hesitant to cook anything more than breakfast eggs, rice and beans, etc. OK, maybe a slight embellishment.
Still, BFF and I didn't even know where to really find main course meat. My sweet ex-pat next door neighbors saw us as they were heading into the big town's Costco and wanted to know if we needed anything. I think it's just something innate in me. I loathe the feeling of putting others out, want to always avoid being a burden. So I graciously declined and thanked them for their kind offer. Stupid, stupid, stupid.
BFF and I wandered through town until we saw a very cute sign that read "Carniceria." There were even happy little cartoon characters of animals, even a little egg, all were smiling. It looked innocent enough, like a really happy place. We could not have been more wrong.
We brazenly walk inside. We are both simultaneously struck by the interior juxtaposition. It was a large, open space with dingy, unpainted walls, dusty shelves, utility implements leaning on walls and a couple of refrigerated display cases which may or may not have actually been refrigerated. We turned to one another with a similar "let's get the fuck out of here" look on our faces when suddenly we were greeted by no less than the Crazy Chicken Man! BFF pressed some bills into my hand and literally disappeared. Like she was just gone, out of sight, in a flash.
I'm standing in this very poor excuse of a butcher shop now in the company of the loco local I feared most. I was petrified. At the same time I thought it would be rude to dash off like BFF did. He said something to me in Spanish, I pointed to the case, he wheeled over. As I drew closer, I saw cuts of ordinary meat I'd not seen before. They had no whole chickens, which is all we really wanted. They had a half of chicken with the legs and such. So I pointed to it. He smiled and nodded. The next thing I know he grabbs this raw, half chicken with his bare hand and puts it up onto a stainless steel scale with no liner and then puts it in a plastic mini-mart style shopping sack. I think I'm going to be sick. I hand him a bunch of bills, likely four times the actual cost of the salmonella I walked, er, darted off with, and fled.
Out on the street BFF was anxiously awaiting my return, concerned she may not see me alive again. Sorry to disappoint her. At the same time I was having very unkind thoughts toward her, leaving me there with my nemesis Crazy Chicken Man (even if the nemesis part was just a figment of my sometimes overactive imagination).
ME: What the fuck! Why did you leave me alone in there!?!
BFF: I thought you were also going to bolt.
ME: We couldn't have both run out of there, not after we were greeted. You saw him coming, didn't you, and you didn't say anything?!
BFF: I'm sorry, I just couldn't stay in there.
I could hardly blame here. It was pretty traumatizing ...
ME: You have to carry the bag home then.
BFF: Fine.
I remember physically shivering with disgust at what had transpired. I know, I'm probably sounding like a Prima Donna.
When we arrive home, we debated whether to even use what we both imagined was a disease-carrying-carcass. We had already promised dinner. We had no phone from which to call and change plans. Even if we did the guys were out riding waves somewhere up the coast. We didn't have a car. It just wouldn't be Christmas without some form of dinner. So we did what we do best, improvised.
I get out this big, ceramic pot with lid to cook the carcass in. Probably not the brightest idea, it was all we had. BFF got out the tequila. She poured it over the carcass and some into the pot. Here I thought she was prepping us to "deal" with the situation. BFF then enthusiastically named it "Tequila Sunrise Chicken." I could imagine Amy Sedaris wanting to include this recipe in her sequel cookbook "I like you, too." I suppose bathing the beast in booze was just as well, especially if we were considering actually ingesting this, this mystery meat. Not too much of a mystery, the ass end of it still had some rather thick "hairs" poking out of it, suggesting tail feathers. We pulled at them. They didn't give way easily. Did we need a razor? I mean this whole line of thought still repulses me, honestly.
It's getting to be late in the day. There's cooking to be done, house to be prepped/tidied. I cannot find a match or lighter for my gas range anywhere in the house. I was a bit befuddled by what BFF was doing, which appeared to be not much of anything. She senses my frustration, or rather I was back-handing her with it. She asks if everything is OK. Instead of using my big boy words to properly enlist support, I just continue to whirl around in obvious frustration and say in the most declarative manner,"I'm making a plan and I'm taking action! Do you think you could run down to the store and bring us back a lighter?" Admittedly I was being rather douchey, although I still maintain it wasn't completely unwarranted. This being one of several instances I have yet to live down. The "I'm making a plan" bit has become quite the mocking catch phrase between BFF and my husband.
BFF and I also created another saying from this experience. "?Como se dice jenk en Espanol? Carniceria." Jenk or jenky is Bay Area slang for nasty. How do you say nasty in Spanish? Butcher shop.
What happened with our Christmas dinner a la Mexicana? It turned out in the end. No one died. No one got sick, at least not from eating. We had a grand time. Actually, BFF insists the Canadians really loved my dressing. They did go back for second and third helpings.
The rain has let up. Just hearing a few randomly scattered drips. Thankfully none inside. We leave tomorrow and have guests arriving the day following.
This has been a good trip. For me somewhat triumphant in fact. I've not been to my casita for nearly two years. Not since the time I initially fell very, and since chronically, ill. My food sensitivity/reaction symptoms began to flare a few weeks prior to this trip. I wasn't sure I was still up for going. There have been a few unsettling moments during this visit. There have been so many more joyful and peaceful moments. I think this trip has done me good. This little house is still an idyllic place for me to unplug, decompress and let my worries wash away. It is still very much my fortress of solitude.
When I began coming to Mexico a dozen or so years ago, it was like that scene from the movie 9 to 5 when Violet fantasizes about freeing the workers from their dungeon chains. Clouds part, light beams through the windows, the shackles open and the workers slowly rise while looking heavenward.
In the early 2000s (was that not such a lost decade like the '90s were?), my boyfriend at the time introduced me to this marvelous place on the Mexican Riviera. His folks had been frequenting here since 1999, if memory serves. During my first visit we were without mobile/cell service, internet, newspaper (at least none I could read in English), no TV, not even a radio or cans connected with a piece of string. Nada. Eureka. Paradise found.
Actually, I think they did have an English version newspaper. Here's the thing. The newspaper was peddled by the "Crazy Chicken Man." This is going to sound horrible, and believe me I am really a compassionate human being. He's a wheelchair-bound local man who has a crazed look in his eye and an equally crazed smile on his face all the time. His expression seriously never changes. I'm probably going to feel even worse about myself to one day find out his face is somehow stuck that way. He carts around dead chickens and sells newspapers. I know, I know, one cannot judge a book by its cover. If the cover appears to have slaughtered livestock and is happy all the time, I'm either hearing folklore about '80s rock legends or I'm quite possibly in the presence of something sinister.
When I first began coming to Mexico, I imagine it may have been much like 1950's America. There is a sense of community here. People pass by one another on the street. They actually acknowledge one another's existence. Not only do they make eye contact, they say things to each other. "Buenos dias." "Buenos tardes." "Buenos noches." This comes in quite handy when you're twenty something, love to tie one on and sleep for hours upon hours. At the very least people let you know what time of day it is. Like it's a cultural habit formed after generations of people who enjoy leisure so much they chronically lose track of time. I just think this basic courtesy is incredible, miraculous even.
Long story short, in 2006 my then boyfriend and I bought a small house in this seaside village. Did you know it takes on average six months to close a real estate transaction in Mexico? Apparently they've only had a legitimate title system established since the 1990s (found decade for Mexico). So it takes them a little while to track down or perhaps just create official record out of thin air. Or maybe this has all been made up. Maybe there is no house and this is just some wild figment of my imagination and I'm actually in some half-state of meditation. I digress ...
We had fallen in love with this seaside village so much so that we begged, borrowed and in some case stole to make a go of it. I don't mean stealing in the conventional sense. I mean stealing in the noble, capitalistic sense. We borrowed cheap money from the bank. AND I WORKED MY FUCKING ASS OFF PR-ING THINGS FOR THE GAYS, WRITING AND SELLING HOMES IN THE STATES!
We closed in midsummer. A couple weeks later we broke up. Nearly nine years later we still own the house together. Just like our relationship I shoulder the brunt of responsibility and he enjoys the fruits of my labor. Only in this case, with this special place, it really is worth it. This is the one place I can truly unplug and just be.
For one thing, I can neither make nor receive calls thanks to Sprint's crappy mobile service. Thank you. No, really, I mean it. Because of the nature of my work, and because we tend to host many Americans (via vacation rental), I choked and got high speed DSL. High speed is relative. Remember dial up internet with all the buzzing, beeping and digital flatulation noises? Well, it's much quieter and faster than that. It's difficult to stream audio, video or even upload email. So one works less, which is smiled upon in more ingenious parts of the world. Take France for instance.
Everything here is different. The energy is different. There's something about being here that allows one to be absolutely content with few if any desires other than basic needs (shelter, food, water, love, etc.). Some may see this as boring or uncivilized. Contraire mon frere. I really don't know what it is. I just feel so fulfilled just being in this beautiful and lush tropical oasis.
The first time I visited here, people learned my name. They didn't just learn it. Upon returning about a year later, they remembered me, my name. I was greeted, and still am, with fond recognition. It's endearing. It's kind. It's communal. It's also completely reciprocal.
The warmth of being here is not just being situated in the humid heart of the Tropic of Cancer. It's a way of being. Friendly. My hometown in America's Pacific Northwest being the antithesis. There's a phrase I hear from time to time called "Seattle nice," or more appropriately "Seattle ice." It's not that my fellow Seattleites are unfriendly or rude. They're just very, uh, "insular." People just keep to themselves and their respective groups. It's said to be due to a Scandinavian cultural influence. That may be true. I went to Iceland once. If Seattleites are icey, Icelanders are frozen solid. That is until about 6:00 a.m. when the bars begin emptying out onto the streets. Then suddenly perfect strangers act like lifelong friends and want to buy you a hotdog.
I love this. You know, this right now. Sitting here at my kitchen table in Mexico. I'm wearing a pair of orange swim trunks and black Teva flip flops. Hurricane Vance is getting chummy with the coastline, so it has been raining this afternoon. Since I first began coming to this area of the world, I have dreamed of a lovely, tropical rain storm. Thought we might have one yesterday. What a tease. Then this afternoon the skies opened to a symphony of warm rain drops. The windows are wide open to let the fresh sea breeze waft through the house. More so for the reason I love listening to the rain, especially here. Maybe that's also the Seattleite in me. I've dreamed of sitting in my Mexican home, soft lights aglow, tropical rain falling, writing away. Here I am, living the dream. Well not just any dream, it's mine all mine. Oh, and half my ex's. Shit.
My husband and our guests have all retired for a post lunch siesta. So it's just me alone to my thoughts, the sound of rain drops falling on thatch, tile, dirt and palms with the occasional car sloshing by. Started to think to myself "I wish I could share this with the world." Then I caught myself realizing I already am. Silly me.
I named my home Casita Brisa del Mar. Probably got the grammar wrong. I only really officially began taking Spanish last year. Anyway, the dwelling name is supposed to mean Little House of the Ocean Breeze. Cute, huh?
Went to college in San Luis Obispo, California. Gorgeous place, absolutely lovely. I highly recommend a visit or a lifetime of joy there. My second year I shared a house with four others. It was a really fun year, crazy even. One of the best times of my life. We lived on Vista del Brisa or view of the breeze. I used to say it real faggy-like with lotsss of emphasssisss on the sss pronunciationsss. I also thought that particular meaning odd at first. I mean wind is invisible. Then again, you can watch its energy move objects. So, yes, one can watch the wind blow. OMG, of course you can. This is what happens when one allows one's mind to openly wander upon the web.
I don't even know if I've ever really realized exactly why I chose the word brisa to include in the name of my casita until this moment. Like literally right now as I'm writing this. It's a happy place for me. Many good memories have been made here, several I have yet to live down.
Winter/Christmas holiday of 2007 my BFF and I spent 10 days here. Within our first few days we met a couple of Canadian surfers. We'll call them Hibbs and T-Balls. Super cool guys who surfed during the day, ate dinner and partied with us at night. BFF and I thought we would try making dinner for us all Christmas night .
My tiny kitchen, with its little counter space/tiny quarters, tiny fridge and tiny range was even more poorly outfitted with cookware items than it is now. Even now I would be very hesitant to cook anything more than breakfast eggs, rice and beans, etc. OK, maybe a slight embellishment.
Still, BFF and I didn't even know where to really find main course meat. My sweet ex-pat next door neighbors saw us as they were heading into the big town's Costco and wanted to know if we needed anything. I think it's just something innate in me. I loathe the feeling of putting others out, want to always avoid being a burden. So I graciously declined and thanked them for their kind offer. Stupid, stupid, stupid.
BFF and I wandered through town until we saw a very cute sign that read "Carniceria." There were even happy little cartoon characters of animals, even a little egg, all were smiling. It looked innocent enough, like a really happy place. We could not have been more wrong.
We brazenly walk inside. We are both simultaneously struck by the interior juxtaposition. It was a large, open space with dingy, unpainted walls, dusty shelves, utility implements leaning on walls and a couple of refrigerated display cases which may or may not have actually been refrigerated. We turned to one another with a similar "let's get the fuck out of here" look on our faces when suddenly we were greeted by no less than the Crazy Chicken Man! BFF pressed some bills into my hand and literally disappeared. Like she was just gone, out of sight, in a flash.
I'm standing in this very poor excuse of a butcher shop now in the company of the loco local I feared most. I was petrified. At the same time I thought it would be rude to dash off like BFF did. He said something to me in Spanish, I pointed to the case, he wheeled over. As I drew closer, I saw cuts of ordinary meat I'd not seen before. They had no whole chickens, which is all we really wanted. They had a half of chicken with the legs and such. So I pointed to it. He smiled and nodded. The next thing I know he grabbs this raw, half chicken with his bare hand and puts it up onto a stainless steel scale with no liner and then puts it in a plastic mini-mart style shopping sack. I think I'm going to be sick. I hand him a bunch of bills, likely four times the actual cost of the salmonella I walked, er, darted off with, and fled.
Out on the street BFF was anxiously awaiting my return, concerned she may not see me alive again. Sorry to disappoint her. At the same time I was having very unkind thoughts toward her, leaving me there with my nemesis Crazy Chicken Man (even if the nemesis part was just a figment of my sometimes overactive imagination).
ME: What the fuck! Why did you leave me alone in there!?!
BFF: I thought you were also going to bolt.
ME: We couldn't have both run out of there, not after we were greeted. You saw him coming, didn't you, and you didn't say anything?!
BFF: I'm sorry, I just couldn't stay in there.
I could hardly blame here. It was pretty traumatizing ...
ME: You have to carry the bag home then.
BFF: Fine.
I remember physically shivering with disgust at what had transpired. I know, I'm probably sounding like a Prima Donna.
When we arrive home, we debated whether to even use what we both imagined was a disease-carrying-carcass. We had already promised dinner. We had no phone from which to call and change plans. Even if we did the guys were out riding waves somewhere up the coast. We didn't have a car. It just wouldn't be Christmas without some form of dinner. So we did what we do best, improvised.
I get out this big, ceramic pot with lid to cook the carcass in. Probably not the brightest idea, it was all we had. BFF got out the tequila. She poured it over the carcass and some into the pot. Here I thought she was prepping us to "deal" with the situation. BFF then enthusiastically named it "Tequila Sunrise Chicken." I could imagine Amy Sedaris wanting to include this recipe in her sequel cookbook "I like you, too." I suppose bathing the beast in booze was just as well, especially if we were considering actually ingesting this, this mystery meat. Not too much of a mystery, the ass end of it still had some rather thick "hairs" poking out of it, suggesting tail feathers. We pulled at them. They didn't give way easily. Did we need a razor? I mean this whole line of thought still repulses me, honestly.
It's getting to be late in the day. There's cooking to be done, house to be prepped/tidied. I cannot find a match or lighter for my gas range anywhere in the house. I was a bit befuddled by what BFF was doing, which appeared to be not much of anything. She senses my frustration, or rather I was back-handing her with it. She asks if everything is OK. Instead of using my big boy words to properly enlist support, I just continue to whirl around in obvious frustration and say in the most declarative manner,"I'm making a plan and I'm taking action! Do you think you could run down to the store and bring us back a lighter?" Admittedly I was being rather douchey, although I still maintain it wasn't completely unwarranted. This being one of several instances I have yet to live down. The "I'm making a plan" bit has become quite the mocking catch phrase between BFF and my husband.
BFF and I also created another saying from this experience. "?Como se dice jenk en Espanol? Carniceria." Jenk or jenky is Bay Area slang for nasty. How do you say nasty in Spanish? Butcher shop.
What happened with our Christmas dinner a la Mexicana? It turned out in the end. No one died. No one got sick, at least not from eating. We had a grand time. Actually, BFF insists the Canadians really loved my dressing. They did go back for second and third helpings.
The rain has let up. Just hearing a few randomly scattered drips. Thankfully none inside. We leave tomorrow and have guests arriving the day following.
This has been a good trip. For me somewhat triumphant in fact. I've not been to my casita for nearly two years. Not since the time I initially fell very, and since chronically, ill. My food sensitivity/reaction symptoms began to flare a few weeks prior to this trip. I wasn't sure I was still up for going. There have been a few unsettling moments during this visit. There have been so many more joyful and peaceful moments. I think this trip has done me good. This little house is still an idyllic place for me to unplug, decompress and let my worries wash away. It is still very much my fortress of solitude.
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