How the Grinch stole Christmas (well, not Xmas exactly but most of my stuff instead)

It was the week after Christmas and all through my house, there was the usual activity, the usual grouse. I was snug as a bug when my cell rang, “Yoo-hoo, yoo-hoo” but it wasn’t Cindy-Lou or any other Who…..it was the manager of the storage facility in Kansas City calling to tell me my unit had been robbed.

She was sorry to tell me that while on her morning rounds she discovered that my lock had been cut and when she opened the 10 by 25 foot unit I rented she could see that for such a big space there was very little in it.

I was then and I am now still in a state of disbelief-denial being a safer place to live than Missouri I’ve come to learn, too late. My initial reaction was ”Oh no!” and “Fuck!”(I think I said that a couple of times) then I reminded myself out loud not to take out whatever I was feeling on this woman who was just doing her job and concentrated on listening to what she was telling me. I asked a few questions and hung up knowing that I’d be talking to her again along with the police.

My first call after I hung up was to Chad and not the police, I wanted his comfort and I needed his help. Poor puss, I think he took the news harder than I did when I told him. Thank God for Chad, though, he was (and is) there for me, agreeing to do whatever was needed in my stead.

Funny, I used to write that I “left” my life in KC to join my mother’s here in Maryland, but at the time I thought that what I left was safe and sound on Southwest Blvd in a 10 x 25 foot space, neatly packed on “pause”, just waiting for me to return and hit the “resume” button that was my life.

Since I was in the middle of shaving when Joyce, the manager called, I saw no reason to not finish my toilet so I proceeded shave and shower so that I could be fresh for whatever hell was in store for the rest of the day.

I didn’t know what I felt, but I knew I didn’t feel like sitting around the apartment so I went to the Mall-what better place to clear your mind after you’ve heard that everything other than what you could mail to yourself or load in your PT Cruiser was probably gone.

I walked the Mall aimlessly for a while, no clear path or destination in mind. Truth be told the local Mall has seen better days-as have the shoppers that frequent it. Nothing piqued my interest until I found myself in Target, the familiar feel of a shopping cart and the noise of a catty-wompuos wheel that was rattling. I walking up and down the aisles perusing the after Christmas sales and in no time I had a cart full of crap, 1/2 priced Xmas decorations and candy (bags of marked down treats). I even managed to justify a flat screen TV (on sale!), DVDs and some accessories for home I just “had to have”-after all I “don’t have” as of today, so, shop I did.

I even managed to drum up a little “after Christmas” spirit and put a pack of Nathan’s Hot Dogs in the cart for Miss Cathy. She loves Nathan’s Hot Dogs, she considers the price exorbitant for frankfurters so to her they are a delicacy and a “special treat”-much the way others would view caviar. Well, if I could have a tin of cashews dipped in chocolate while I watched something banal on a new flat-screen then she should have a treat, too!

An hour or so into my shop-a-thon I headed for the check out, stopping an aisle or two away, coveting my orgy of purchases. I looked at all that I’d picked up, carefully scrutinized and selected (these were no random, impulse items) I comparison shopped, selected the best of what was left on the sale racks and satisfied with my selections I went to the check out.

I left with the Nathan’s Hot dogs as my sole purchase. The shopping cart, I’m ashamed to say because I believe in department store etiquette (putting things back where you found them if you’re not going to buy them) was left abandoned for some clerk to find and have to re-stock.

In the parking lot holding onto my weenies while I looked for my car, I thought about what the universe was trying to tell me-again. Unfortunately, this is not my first experience with theft. Back in the late 80’s my apartment in New York was robbed of all my jewelry. At the time I had a lot of unique, expensive antique and original jewelry-most of which were gifts that I wore religiously, pins and brooches, on my lapel, fingers, on my hat, sweaters and vests. I was “known” for my eccentric style and the jewelry was an important part of giving me an identity that I could hide behind long before I had one of my own. What that loss taught me was not to covet ‘things’ so much as to enjoy possessions for what they are and not what they represent. The theft also forced me out from behind the accoutrements, to be me-sans decorations, unadorned, flaws and all. So, the universe had an important lesson for me to learn and I think I got it.

I lived that lesson for several years, but as time accumulated so did new possessions and obsessions (antiquing and collecting) and my ego for a time was stocked as full as my wine cellar. So, the universe stepped in, once again, to give pause to my life so that I could reevaluate what was important.

In 2004, what the papers called a “100 year rain” hit the small rural town where I once lived and owned an old farmhouse. After it’s sale the town in which it was located became the location of the storage facility for all that housed my life; antiques, furniture, archives of my life’s work up until that point (about 20 years worth of original art, sketches, notes, serigraphs and sketchbooks) books, clothes and all of my childhood possessions including pictures, yearbooks, comics and all my old “diaries” and adult journals.

The “100 year rain” came so fast and so furious that the Delaware River that bordered the town became so swollen that it overflowed it’s banks and flooded the town, leaving hundreds homeless. My storage facility was in the low-lands and thus in the river's watery path so 65% of my possessions ended up buried under seven feet of water and mud. What little was let was dried in the sun and moved to higher ground, there was much pain and a long battle with the insurance company but ultimately, another lesson learned in “letting go” and moving on.

And now the universe is speaking to me once more, but, damn, does it always have to be a punch up side the head instead of a soft tap on the shoulder to get my attention, robbed of about 80% of what I’ve accumulated since starting what I thought would be a new, quiet life in the Midwest.

And so I ask, what is the measure of a man? In years gone by property, possessions and children were what were left to judge a life lived well. Well, we all know I have no children (that is if you don’t count Miss Cathy), and although I’ve owned two homes and possessions worthy of being photographed for a life-style magazine I find that I have nothing more than the memories and a magazine.

Here I am at the close of 2010 living in Maryland with my mother, the Midwest forsaken for selflessness. For the first time since I was seventeen years old I find that I do not have a lease with my name on it, so I have no “home” to call my own and now only a few possessions that represent the life I’ve lived. What I wonder is what am I to gain from this? What is the universe is telling me, showing me?

Part of me feels that what I have to learn (again) and be reminded of (again) is that nothing is tangible, to enjoy what you have when you have it, and that our memories of what we do with what we have is truly all we can ever have to hold onto. It’s the people and experiences that are important and not the “things”, although there is nothing wrong with possessions, just the importance we attach to them can be suspect.

And maybe the universe is telling me that it’s time to let go of the (recent) past-literally, for my time in Kansas City was anything but quiet. I was tested and judged, and learned a lot about myself and grew in ways that I could only learn having been there, in that time, under those circumstances. Suffice to say it was one of the most challenging chapters of my life. So, maybe now the time has come to be free, and in loss there is much to gain.

I’d also like to believe that at the end of this decade, after all that I’ve been through in the “aughts” and now 2010, that the new decade ahead holds so much abundance for me that I had to make room for all that is to come.

Christmas day

We spent Christmas day here, just the two of us. I didn’t ask her if she wanted to go to Tony’s- I mean, what’s the point after she was so adamant about NOT wanting to be there for Thanksgiving. I’d thought to call and ask them to come here for the day but first I procrastinated, probably because knowing my brother he wouldn’t have wanted to and I was feeling guilty about putting him in the position to have to say “No”. But, in the end it didn’t matter because when I called Suemi was just getting over a cold, Tony was sick and although Nile was there, Zachary had just left for a trip to Japan to visit relatives.

Late Christmas morning Miss Cathy told me that one of her girlfriends had invited her to dinner and that I was invited, too. I didn’t want to go (and said as much) but I would gladly drive her whenever she was ready.

I was actually excited for her, thinking that she’d get dressed up and have fun hanging out with her friends but she put a kibosh on that right quick. She said that she didn’t want to go either and when I asked if it was because I wasn’t going she said “No”, that she didn’t want to go “regardless” (and her friend had even offered to come pick her up!).

I gotta say, I was pretty miffed. I told her that I don’t understand how she can just sit in this apartment all the time and not go out (sometimes for more than a week) and not do anything or see her friends. “Well,” she said, very satisfied with herself, “I talk to my friends on the phone all the time.”

My first thought upon hearing that was, “Well fuck! If all you want is talk on the phone and never go anywhere I can go back to my life and put your happy ass in an old folks home.” I’m starting to understand how people can beat the elderly-not that I condone or would ever do anything like that. Again, I would NEVER touch Miss Cathy (or anybody for that reason) it’s just that it gets sooo frustrating sometimes that you think all sorts of crazy things.

I’m also starting to understand how old people become shut ins-and the sad part is that she’s NOT that old.

I just don’t get it and I’m trying too. First there was the panic about going to Tony’s, okay, that’s an easy one because of my brother’s house being associated with sickness and being away from home for a long period of time-I get that (kind of). But now there’s this “it’s too cold to go outside” excuse-which pretty much means she’s justified (in her mind) of NOT leaving these four walls until sometime in March.

Speaking of the weather-actually I’m still talking about Miss Cathy (what else is new) but today as I was washing her hair she told me she was thinking about making an appointment at a beauty parlor but her concern was not about the weather but the fact that there are “20 stairs” she’d have to climb to get inside the building.

“So.” I said,” you’ll just walk a little slower. It’s not like you have to walk the stairs everyday. Besides, you could use the exercise.”

“Nah,” was her response. I told her that I don’t understand why she even bothered to have the knee replacement surgery if all she’d going to do is be afraid to walk anywhere.

“I’d like to give YOU a knee replacement surgery and see how you’d like it.” She said.

“I’d do a helluva lot better than you, I know that.” I replied. “You talk like you’re the only person this has ever happened to, there are people older than you having this surgery and they’re jumping out of planes, running in marathons, dancing and rock climbing!”

“No they aren’t either.” She said, her voice muffled by the towel she had wrapped round her head as she dried her hair and toddled away, “I’ll bet they wish they were doing as well as I am. I think I’ve come a long way.”

Yeah well, I know you do and that’s the problem.

I don’t know, it’s been nine months since her surgery and you’d think (I thought) by now she’d be much further along than she is; better balance, more speed and less afraid of a fall- maybe that’s just my “wish” for her. The truth is, before I moved in with her five months ago I had no idea what her day-to-day life was. I didn’t know how large or small her world was.

Of course I had impressions of what I “thought” her life was like but that was based on twice weekly phone calls from twelve hundred miles away. Now that I’m here, part of me is like a parent with a child, trying not to impose my vision of who/what they should be, rather I’m trying to hang back and let her “be”.

A few observations from the peanut gallery

Miss Cathy and I have played the card game 3-13 several times now and while she seems to be getting the hang of the game there are a few challenges. She’s caught on to the basic premise of the game but she’s having difficulty with the subtleties of how to win a round. As minor as these things appear I do think they are significant in that they show a break down (however slight) in her problem solving and cognitive skills. One of the reason I’m so happy she likes playing cards (aside from the camaraderie) is that the game gives her an opportunity to exercise her mind “muscle.”

After playing a few hands she confessed that she didn’t know how to shuffle the cards very well so I thought I would teach her, easy enough-or so I thought. When she didn’t “get” my verbal instructions I tried showing her what I wanted her to do and it didn’t help much, if anything I think it confused matters. This was most apparent when I asked her to “mirror” my hand movements as I demonstrated how to mix the cards together.

I watched with fascination (not frustration as you’d probably think from my usual ranting) as I would arch my hand “up” by the wrist and hold the cards with my fingers in a specific way, left hand and right. She would struggle to hold her hand “down” and to approximate holding on the cards with her fingers, never able to match either what I was doing or each of her hands.

It’s in these moments that I’m at my best; patient and kind, with an instinct as to the right thing to say and do. I went through the motions of showing her what to do several times, each time phrasing the instructions differently or altering the visuals, looking to see what would “click” with her, ultimately abandoning the lesson for another time after praising her efforts.

Because of something we’d gone through recently I told Chad that I could be counted on to “shine” in a crisis-that it was the day to day of life that I struggled with ”dully”. It’s not that I’m bragging-far from it, it’s just an observation made after bearing witness to how I’ve responded to situations in my life. I know who I am, what I’m capable of and that I can be counted on. I’m not saying I’m unique by any stretch, it’s just that I think there are three types of people: those that “show up”, those that “can’t cope” and those “that flee.”

Most of us know which we are, and if you don’t –others do.

Opening a can of worms

I heard Miss Cathy calling my name before I saw her in the hallway outside my room so I went out to see what she wanted. She was clearly upset, about what I did not know but I followed her into the kitchen. On the way she told me that she needed help opening some cans because she “couldn’t get the fucking can opener to work” and she was “just about ready to throw the thing out the window.” Judging by how upset she was you'd have thought she was just told she had to go over to my brother's house to live.

I asked her why she didn’t come get me “before” she tried to open the cans herself but she had no answer, saying instead,” I don’t know what’s wrong with “that” thing, it just won’t work right.” The cans sat on the counter, each with several puncture marks along the lids, looking like victims of a circular stabbing.

She was angry, agitated and started to spiral down so now was not the time for me to remind her that we’ve been here before. What I needed to do was calm her down first and then deal with the situation. For whatever reasons the simple task of opening a can with a manual or electric opener was a difficult for her. Seeing her frustration time and again (and witnessing her break two can openers already) I had talked to her and we decided (or so I thought) that she would ask me to open whatever cans she needed for cooking and she would give up trying to open the cans herself.

These are the moments that remind me that a) I’m needed here and 2) I need to take a breath and carefully consider what I say before I respond to her.

Unfortunately, I wasn’t channeling the Buddha soon enough because when she said,” I don’t want to use that thing, I’m going to go and get a new one.” I said, “You do that. YOU go right out and buy another one. You’ve broken two already and there was nothing wrong with either of them before you got a hold of them! Maybe, just maybe it’s you and not the openers that’s the problem.” Finished with my rant, I calmed down, opened the three cans she needed for cooking and went back to my room.

I’d planned on running some errands anyway so this felt like just as good a time as any so I changed and out I went; to get some fresh air, some things I needed and some time away from the apartment.

I thought a lot about “what the fuck just happened” while I was out and I came to the conclusion that she must have been tired after her outing earlier with Adele and that was why she couldn’t use the can opener properly. They had gone out shopping and to the Beauty Parlor so that’s a “big” day for her and I should have known she’d be tired afterward (just like our outings to the big grocery store once every week or so), and with being tired sometimes comes a little confusion and being quick to anger out of frustration.

I knew that and yet I still engaged. I shouldn’t have left the way I did but I went anyway. I don’t think it’s a good idea (or responsible) to leave her that way (agitated and upset). It “could” have been dangerous, and she was cooking after all-but nothing happened while I was away. I made it home an hour or so later with a few things we needed and a new attitude.

When I returned I put some of the things away that I bought and went to find her. She was lying down in her room so I quietly went into her closet to install an adapter with a pull string to illuminate the room, I thought it was high time to “upgrade” from turning the naked light bulb that had been in the closet for years. She wasn’t asleep so I told her what I was doing and she told me that she'd finished cooking and that dinner was on the stove. She then asked if there was anything she could do for me.

“Yes,” I said, “You could start practicing a little patience.” She gave me just the opening I needed to say what I needed to say in a calmer manner. “There’s no need for you to get so angry because you can't "work" the can-opener. I’ve told you several times that all you have to do is ask me and I’ll open whatever you need-you’re not bothering me, so that’s not an excuse. All you have to do is say, "I’m going to be cooking and I need some cans opened"-leave them on the counter and I’ll do it for you.”

“Yeah, that’s what you say to do,” she said, sighing. It all sounded easy enough to me but maybe what I was hearing in her acquiescence was that "asking” for my help was some sort of compromise on her independence or something. I don’t know, it’s just another of those “I’m not in her situation so I can’t know how it feels”-deals.

I reminded her that she'd already broken two can openers a few months ago, one manual and the other electric, both of which were not cheap (though not top of line by any stretch of the imagination) but they were in perfectly fine working order till she came home from rehab.

“Besides,” I continued, you can’t just break things because you’re frustrated. You’re the one always talking about how "poor” you are so you can’t go around breaking things and thinking you can throw some money at the problem afterwards-that's what "rich" people do and according to you-you don’t have any money.”

"Yeah, well, you're right about that, I sure don't have any money," she agreed. She still wanted to get a new can opener, and I conceded the point that the one we had might not be the best "design", so I agreed to go out to shop with her after Christmas when a better bargain might be had. And with that I was able to put the lid back on-for now.












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The Visitor

Chad was here last week for four days and it was great having him here-I’m not quite sure if I can say the same for our guest. I mean, I’m sure he had a perfectly lovely time but the trip was not without a few missteps.

Before he got here I started to wonder what he’d make of this little “Baby Jane” act we’ve got going on here-although sometimes I think we veer awfully close to performing George and Martha in “Who’s afraid of Virginia Woolf?”…….”I am George, I am”, Martha says as she gazes absently out of the window, spent from a night of accusations, recriminations, disappointments and disgust (yepper-that’s us!).

Anyway, we don’t get many visitors, well, not many that can stay for any significant amount of time anyway. Once a week or so Marcia (the cat lady from downstairs) might come up for a visit or the relatives of unknown relation might stop by but then that’s only for a few hours, too. Adele comes around and my friend, William has been here several times and most recently my friends Brian and Mark were in town and stopped by to meet Miss Cathy.

It’s easy to keep up the pretext of civility and harmony for a few hours-who can’t do that?! It’s letting someone behind the curtain for days on end that can be vexing, having someone around, “witnessing” it all.

I wondered what he was thinking…was he watching how we relate? How I interacted and cared for her? Was he judging what I was doing and how I was doing it? And if he was, what should I care but I did, I do. Maybe it’s not that I care what he thinks so much as I noticed how he was around Miss Cathy and I wondered, ”Should I be more like him?”

It’s not like I was trying to hide that I serve her rats for dinner under a silver cloche or dispose of the empty whiskey bottles after she’s long passed out form some sedative I’ve given her to shut her up, no, its more likely that I’m making her a late night snack of chicken salad or peanut butter and jelly, making sure she’s taken her night time meds and then creeping out late at night to dispose of empty cans of Fresca and roasted chicken containers.

Chad’s visit passed pleasantly enough, he brought her gifts, paid attention to her, listened to her, he even cooked her a meal and best of all he was a new audience for her shtick-a guaranteed good time for her. And there was the afternoon that Chad and I taught Miss Cathy how to play 3-13, a card game that Chad introduced me to back in Kansas City, that was a fun afternoon.

I got to have some grown up time, too. Chad and I spent a lot of time alone together, and we even went into DC for dinner with William at a hot new Cuban restaurant, Cuba Libre-so, fun was had by all. But, not all the time, he did witness a “moment” or two, one of which was the incident after he and I returned from a movie on what was the first snow-day of the season. Chad and Miss Cathy were in the living room and I overheard her talking to him about my driving skills (in snow and in general). Instead of ignoring what I was hearing, I went into the living room and proceeded to lecture her on the dangers of being a “back seat driver”, she (in typical Miss Cathy fashion) didn’t back down from her position that SHE was doing the driver (me, or anybody else who happened to be behind the wheel) a favor by pointing out what she thought the driver might have missed or needed to know.

It was less Baby Jane and Blanche Hudson and classic Miss Cathy and me, locked in our resolve that each was right and as usual neither giving an inch, oblivious of our guest and how boring it must all have been for him.

Chad had only met Miss Cathy last year, briefly, when he and William brought me by the apartment as part of my 50th birthday “Amazing Race” trip across four states. They didn’t get to spend much time together so he’s only getting to know her now, after her diagnosis. So, he doesn’t have much (or any history) knowing her “before” so he tells me that his observations are more of someone who’s getting to know an elderly person, with the usual limitations and fascinations that the septuagenarian possesses.

He’s very aware of all that’s transpired and everything that’s happened this year. He’s been very supportive of me and all that I (and Miss Cathy) have been through.

If anything, he swears that the conflicts that I’m dealing with are less Alzheimer’s (right now anyway) and more that Miss Cathy is me-in a dress. If that’s the case then I just need to get a rock and beat myself to death right now.

A change of season/reason/etiquette

Last Wednesday Chad came to visit and to my surprise Miss Cathy took a pass on going to the airport to pick him up. “It’s too cold out there buddy!” she said as if we were going to walk the twenty miles to the Baltimore-Washington International Airport.

His plane didn’t touch down till mid-afternoon so we had all morning to talk about his arrival. I’d known for several weeks that Chad was planning to visit but I didn’t tell Miss Cathy till last week because (frankly) I didn’t want his visit to be the “sixth” topic in her daily repertoire of five subjects: weather, traffic, death, family gossip and money (or lack thereof). I’m still feeling out the situation here and learning how to handle her but it seems that giving Miss Cathy a weeks’ “notice” (of upcoming events, appointments or changes to her routine) is working out pretty good (for me anyway), she gets enough time to digest the information, a few days to forget about it and then there’s still plenty of time to obsess and talk ad nauseum till “it” happens.

So, during the week there was the expected discussion of food and comfort, but on this day Miss Cathy (mostly) just wanted to state what she wouldn’t be doing. “I don’t need to go to any fancy restaurants or anything like that,” she said. “It’s too cold out there, besides I don’t need to spend all that money for food when I can make something to eat here at home for free.”

“Okay,” I thought to myself, first of all the food at home isn’t “free” you had to pay for it or they wouldn’t let you out of the grocery store (so, that’s not even “Miss Cathy logic”-that’s just straight up dumb) and as I’ve said before “whenever has she had to worry about paying? She’s never reached for (or been expected to pay for) any tab in the few restaurants she’s ever deigned to enter.” What I said was, “Well, Chad and I like to eat out so I’m sure we’ll be going to a few restaurants while he’s here and you’re welcome to join us. I’m probably going to be taking him to lunch when his plane lands and you can come if you want to.”

“That’s okay”, she replied, “I’ll just stay here.”

My, my, what a switch since the last visit, it’s only been a couple months since Chad was here and now a change in attitude. When he visited in October she was emphatic about going to the airport, saying that it would be rude “not” to show up and greet him, “How would it look?” she queried. “You always go to greet people when they come to visit.” she said, schooling me in the art of airport etiquette, telling me that it was bad manners not to and processed to show me how it was done; she took the rollers out of hair, got dressed and sat herself in the back seat ready to greet her guest

So, I guess what she neglected to mention (back when the weather was nice) was that airport manners are “seasonal” and apply only during the “better” months-as determined by what is or is not a temperature pleasant enough to toddle from a climate controlled Condo into a waiting car.

So, I went to the airport alone, driving along the Parkway looking at the landscape that like Miss Cathy’s logic had changed with the season.

Miss Independent

The friend that Miss Cathy went to visit in the hospital a couple weeks ago died. It was kinda unexpected (at least to me) because the last I heard they were sending Percy home with six months to live. I found out the other morning while we were going about the business of getting the day started. I mentioned that I didn’t sleep very well and Miss Cathy said that she hadn’t either, that she was tossing and turning all night thinking about Percy and whether or not she was going to the funeral.

So, color me surprised that she wanted me to take her to the wake/funeral/whatever; I just assumed she’d be going with Adele-oh well. I can’t say that I was thrilled to have to go to a funeral but then I thought, “I don’t have to ‘go’ to the funeral-I can just drop Miss Cathy off”. I mean, it’s not like I knew the guy or anything.

My rationale is that “if” Miss Cathy were still driving she’d be going alone so why should I feel obligated? I’m just a glorified “driver” anyway. When I drive her over to Adele’s house, I don’t go in, I stay in the car while she visits, so, how is this any different? Granted, the guy is dead but still…… I see this as “me” aiding her in “her” independence-or it’s just a rationalization to justify my NOT wanting to go.

Besides, I’ve got to pace myself, I mean, lets be real here, at Miss Cathy’s age and with the health (or lack thereof) her friends are going to start dropping like flies. Unfortunately, not many of them got the memo that 70-something is the new 60-something. Pretty soon, this is going to become a common occurrence around here, so I need to establish my pattern of behavior right up front. Besides, I do not want to spend all day Saturday sitting in a church and/or funeral home with a bunch of sad, crying black folks that I do not know.

“I’ll make it,” Miss Cathy says the next morning, giving a reassuring answer to a question that nobody asked. Since going to the funeral was her idea you’d think she’d be up and at’m but she was still in bed when I got up at 8:00am. No, “Good morning”, “How’d you sleep?” or any other the other morning staples, just, “I’ll make it.” ……. OK.

After several deep sighs and a few encouraging words to herself she finally got out of bed. Of course I know that it’s all to do with showing me how “hard” going the funereal was going to be for her. “Great!”, I thought, she found a way to make this all about her.

According to the schedule she’d given me the night before we were suppose to have been to Adele’s and on our way to the church by 9:30am but as of 10:00 she was still getting ready so I went out to warm up the car.

I told her last night that I was going to drive her, drop her off and wait. “You’re not coming in with me?” she asked. “No”, I said, “Just think of me as Poke and you’re Miss Daisy”.

“Oh no you don’t”, I thought as she lay there looking sad, small and vulnerable. No way do you get to pick and choose when you want to be “dependent” (like now when you don’t want to do something alone) and then you purport to be “Miss Independent” (when you have to do something you don’t agree with-like going over to Tony’s house).

The mood in the car was a little funereal so to lift her spirits I decided to tell Miss Cathy that Chad was coming to visit next week. She perked right up and for a few minutes she was smiling and happy as we talked about his visit. I learned long ago to find the right time to share news or info with her because whatever I tell her becomes the main topic of conversation for days on end.

Despite the late start I got her to the church on time. It was quite the crowd from what I could see of the cars parked and others pulling into the circle drive of the mega-church. I didn’t know Percy or anything about his life but Quell-turn out! The old guy sure knew a lot of people. Made me stop to wonder how many people you’d get to show up at my funeral, no where near this many and you sure as shit wouldn’t need a place as big as a football field like this one-probably something more along the size of a doctor’s waiting room.

Anyway, I pulled “Roger” (the roll-a-ter) out of the backseat for her and she rolled herself into the First Baptist Church. I asked if she really needed “Roger” because she’d been walking so well with her cane and she said that “Roger” was there so she’s have a place to sit if all the seats were taken inside. Good for you, I thought as I drove away to find a parking space somewhere in the same zip code as the church. If I had a chauffeur’s cap I would tip it.

This n' that

I’ve noticed that Miss Cathy has pretty much plateau-ed “behavior wise”. Don’t get me wrong, she’s come a long way since the summer; taking care of herself without any help, being responsible for taking her meds and even making her bed every morning.

But, she still gets overwhelmed when we’re out grocery shopping, and if we’re getting more than a few items the experience seems to just tire her out. She’s very quick to anger and she hasn’t made much progress with her walking.

I’ve been lax in my “no cooking when I’m out of the house” rule but in her defense there hasn’t been a problem for a very long time. Unfortunately that’s not always the case when I am here at the apartment. Just the other day she burned two sweet potato pies that she’d baked because she was on the phone in the living room with her sister.

I don’t know, other than telling her that I thought the pies smelled like they were burning I didn’t say anything to her. I was surprised (and a little annoyed when she said,” Oh they’re fine” and then she ate a big piece of one of them (just to prove the point I guess).
The pies sat on the island in the kitchen looking like two swollen, blackened, upside down Frisbees. Without saying anything they were gone the next day.

It’s funny, but the two people told about the burned pies both said the same thing, “Didn’t she set the timer?” I guess it’s a legitimate question but not the “take away” from the point I was trying to make that things like this wouldn’t happen of she’d just make her peace with the fact that things are different now and that she needs to change her behavior.

The timer is beside the point (it wasn’t set, by the by), I just wish she’d see that she has to “do something different” now that she’s different, but, that’s not happening-not yet anyway. I think the whole thing could be avoided if she’d just sit in the kitchen while she’s on the phone OR set the timer, or focus on kitchen activities only while she’s cooking.

Linens and things

I couldn’t take it anymore and I needed help, so I went to Miss Cathy in the living room and asked what she was doing. She said she was about to take a nap but would lie down later if there was something that I needed. I said “great” because there was something I needed, I needed help……….help cleaning out the linen closet.

I’ve been here for months now and it has been bugging the hell out of me, more and more. You have to understand that this is no ordinary closet, it’s beyond a mess and was really starting to offend my sense of balance and order. You could never just open the doors, get what you wanted and boogie on your way. No, when you open the set of bi-fold doors you’re not greeted by crisply folded sheets and blankets, all fresh and clean, ready to help transport you to nocturnal wonders-oh no. Wrestling the doors apart you feel as if the linens were on the other side ganging up, the sheets and the blankets, working together, desperately trying to refuse you entry.

Once open, you’re bombarded with piles of fabric, haphazardly rolled, shoved onto any shelf and into any space available, looking less like bed linens and more like fabrics left on a clearance rack in a dollar store after a 100% off sale-what’s left on the shelves are what remains after all the “good” stuff is long gone.

You have to be careful less something may fall on your head, a-la-Dagwood Bumstead’s hall closet from the old “Blondie” comics if I may be so bold (or old, or both) as to reach that far back for a visual.

I’d looked at and wrestled with this mess of a closet for years. I’ve even “gone in” (alone) and straightened it out a few times when I’d come here to visit but it never lasted long. I’d have it all orderly and looking good in the summer but when I’d return for the holidays and go to the closet for some linen what greeted me was not a gift of anything that I particularly wanted.

So, on this particular day, for whatever reason I’d had enough. Maybe I was bored, maybe I was just looking to take control over something external instead of doing any work internally-I don’t know. Maybe the closet was a metaphor, maybe it’s come to represent how I felt about being here-“necessary but all over the place”. If I could get control over the linen then maybe my life here would follow suit-makes sense in a Martha Stewart kinda way, “fold it and IT will come”.

Anyway, I’d learned my lesson about cleaning out anything in this place without Miss Cathy’s co-operation. I didn’t want to hear any more of her asides or mumbled displeasure at what I’d done (to her things) so I made sure to include her this time.

She wasn’t too keen on the idea but she was a trooper. Instead of taking her nap she sat on the sofa while I brought the piles of linens to her, like a queen on her throne waiting for the slave to come pay homage with gifts of exotic treasures. I would hold up the sheet(s) or blankets so she could decide what stayed and what was to be donated to Goodwill. This process took longer than it should have (in my mind) because more often than not she’s stop “deciding” to tell me “a little story” about this or that blanket or quilt. As we went through the bedding together I was surprised as how much she agreed to get rid of, but as time went on I started to get frustrated by how much she insisted on keeping.

I guess my thought was that we’d (she’d) give away everything that didn’t have a match and just keep the full sets of sheets. Of course I would have thrown out everything that was a poly blend-which would have constituted all of her sheets except the ones I gave her BUT I had to remind my self that this was HER stuff for HER bedroom so I should just fold, arrange and keep my mouth shut.

Of course I couldn’t, several times I would ask, “Are you sure you want to keep THAT?” holding up the offending sheet as if it were road-kill. “This feels awful!” I’d say, barely able to contain my contempt,” do you really want to lay down on THIS?”

“I don’t care what it feels like, I’m keeping it,” she’d declare, defiant in her contentment to stay ignorant of Egyptian cotton and the knowledge of what it feels like to lay down on bedding with a high thread count.

I don’t know why but I started to take it personally when she would opt to keep a sad, threadbare, poly-blend sheet and pair it with a fitted sheet that was just as ugly and add two pillowcases and call it a “set”.

After waaay too much time (on both our parts) we finally had everything sorted out. In the end there were five large bags and one box to donate to Goodwill. I re-folded all that was to go back into the linen closet and did my best to group “sets” on the shelves according to color, pattern and season, blankets and quilts were up top, so that everything was organized, streamlined, uncluttered and has purpose. It wasn’t what I had envisioned but after all was said and done it was a successful collaboration with Miss Cathy, and there was harmony and order.

I closed the linen closet doors content. It was a struggle but it was worth it. Now, if only I could get “my” doors to open.

Thanksgiving

Miss Cathy didn’t want to go over to my brother’s for turkey day this year. It’s a shame because with only a few exceptions it’s been the only holiday that our little family has all been together since Pop died twelve years ago, our only “family tradition”. I know that her aversion to being at Tony’s is directly related to the fact that she’s had to stay over there so many times this year already. Her reaction is kinda like Pavlov’s dog-she hears that she’s gotta go to Tony’s and she instantly thinks about loss of freedom and control, my brother’s house (unfortunately) represents all that is “sickness and dying” and the vulnerability that entails.

Knowing that, I didn’t make a big deal out of it or try to make a case for going to my brothers’. We just stayed here and had a perfectly lovely day-no turkey but a nice meal. We talked a lot during the day and spent time together in the living room, me fussing over the plants and she doing something with the food she was prepping for dinner.

On Friday she went with Adele to see a friend in the hospital. When she came home she was visibly upset, her friend was told he has six months to live. She took the news pretty hard; I didn’t realize that she was as close to him as she was. Listening to her talk about her friend and others that were sick or dying made me think that a lot has changed in one generation.

It used to be that death and dying were for our parents and “their” generation, definitely the old-not the young. “We” were spared having to think about death so it was a just something else that separated us from our parents, widening the gap. Unfortunately, I (and others of my generation) came of age and maturity with the dawn of the AIDS epidemic in the 1980’s and although it took a little time for it to affect me personally I too started to lose people in my life and I became very familiar with death and dying.

So, although my twenties were as they should have been-a time of wonder, discovery and possibility there was also a layer of fear, hospitals smells, funerals and shock at learning that yet another friend, acquaintance, lover, club kid or business associate was sick or dying. Remember, this was a time before the cocktails and once or twice a day pills. No one was thinking that HIV was a “manageable”, chronic illness. No, in the 80’s a diagnosis meant only one thing-you were going to die, it was just a matter of when.

My generation quickly became adept at speaking a new language, and performing at a level that shouldn’t be required for thirty or forty years but here we were at an age when we were buying our first homes and/or entered into our first long term relationships and we were picking out coffins for friends and loved ones as well.

So, as my mother talked to me about her friend and expressed her concerns and explained sickness and death to me as if it were a foreign land I’d yet to visit I just nodded, a silent passenger, fully aware and well traveled.

I saw no point in “one up-ping” her or saying to her “been there, done that”, I’d told her my experiencing before but she’s either forgotten or just focused on her own mortality as it’s reflected back to her through those around her.

On Saturday morning I heard her familiar, “Heyyyyy!” as I came into the kitchen for my coffee. I peeked into the living room to acknowledge her (remember this is the new and improved “engaging” Ty in the morning, no longer the Ty that would ignore the greeting and scurry back to his lair).

She said, “Can you come here for a minute?”

I walked closer and asked what she wanted. “I want you to sit down, here, next to me.”

“Okay”, I thought as I planted myself opposite her on the sofa, “I can already tell this is gonna be a doozy, glad I’ve got some coffee at least.”

“I just wanted to tell you that I love you and give you a hug,” she said. “I just wanted you and your brother, although I’ll tell him another time, how much I appreciate all that you have done and continue to do for me.” “ It just means the world to me to know that all the hard work and the sacrifices that I made for you guys when you were growing up were worth it because of the men that you turned out to be.” "You just don't know how much that means to me.I’m getting a little emotional now but I just wanted to say, “I love you” and give you a hug-like I told Mark and Brian when I met them, “Hug-sies!”

I hugged her close and held her tight. I told her that I love her, too. We continued to talk and she said that she didn’t know why she was getting so emotional. I suggested that she was probably still emotional after just seeing her friend and learning his fate. It was only natural I told her to think about life and to be grateful for what you have when someone else has so little or so little time left.

She agreed and we sat there for a moment, reflective, in a state of “Thanksgiving”.

Company III

It had to be almost midnight on Monday after my evening out with friends when I heard Miss Cathy come into the living room where I was just about to watch some TV. I thought she was in bed sleeping after we “discussed” the food that she’d prepared earlier in the evening for Mark and Brian (actually she talked obsessively about it and I tried to talk her “in” off the ledge).

Before she was even in the room I could hear her ask, “Do you think we have containers that we can give them for the food?”

“It’s okay mom”, I said as soothingly as I could, trying to keep any annoyance out of my voice,” you don’t have to worry about it now, we’ll get it all sorted out in the morning.”

Standing in the hallway leading to the living room wearing nothing but her nightgown she asked, “What time are they coming in the morning?” I was annoyed and filled with compassion at the same time because I knew this was a “real” concern for her but I couldn’t NOT acknowledge how trivial it all was-to myself anyway.

”Who cares what time they’re coming over for Christ sake!” I wanted to scream,” It’s just food and it’s not even food they fucking asked for so go to bed and stop bothering me with this shit!” I thought all of this to myself but would never say any of it out loud and felt instantly guilty for thinking it.

“I don’t know mom, they didn’t say but we’ll work it all out.” I tried to be kind and not patronizing but I can’t be sure how it came out. I could see that she was “all wound up” and she’d probably be up all night thinking about it and I felt helpless to do anything other than try to reassure her and insist that she got to bed to get some sleep.

I don’t know…….I do know that a part of this (the obsessive ness, the constant worry over what would seem to most to be trivial matters) is because of her condition but it’s also part of who she is, too. She’s always been a nervous, anxious person. Maybe the Alzheimer’s is just “heightening” those traits in her.

First thing in the morning I made a point to let Miss Cathy know that I’d contacted Brian and I gave her an idea of what time they would be stopping by to visit. I also told her what containers I’d be using (not the Tupperware though-heaven help me if I gave away some of Miss Cathy’s “good” Tupperware). I could see that she was in good spirits and eager to see my friends again. She then told me that Adele was stopping by as well so we were going to have a house full.

Later that morning Miss Cathy was outside talking to Adele when Mark and Brian pulled up so they had a “reunion” of sorts out in front of the building. I took advantage of a moment alone with Brian after he and Mark came inside to ask him what he thought about mom’s behavior.

Brian is not only one of my best friends; he’s a Psychologist, too. I try to not ask him for clinical advice but sometimes the lines blur because I’m asking my friend, who is smart and insightful for his observations AND he just happens to be talking about things that are in his field of expertise.

I told him my concerns about her “obsessing” over things like time, tasks and dates. He said something interesting to me, he said, quite simply, ”She’s losing the concept of time.” “ Which means that she’s not able to mentally calibrate what “happens” next.”

He used the example of what was going on, he said that in her mind she’s baking the chicken, then she’s focused on the fact that (they) are coming to get the chicken, so she has to get the chicken ready for them but she can’t organize herself or her thoughts around the issue.

“Time,” Brian said, “is intrinsically linked to memory.”

Company II

It was a nice surprise to be able to spend as much time with my friend Brian as I did during his recent visit. Better still that he was able to come by the apartment three days in a row to spend some time with Miss Cathy and see my life here.

After Mark and Brian’s brief visit on Sunday I was looking forward to having a more relaxing visit with him. On Monday Brian came over to hang out a little before we went into DC. I happened to see him outside from my bedroom window so I went out to greet him. One of the first things he said to me was, “Your mom reminds me so much of my mother.” I knew that he has a close but tumultuous relationship with his mom so I was surprised and intrigued by his statement.

He said that he could see that she was a strong, fiercely independent, opinionated woman but he could also see that she was struggling to adjust to her new life and diagnosis.

It was great that Brian spent some one on one time talking to Miss Cathy before we took off to the city. We took the Metro into DC where we spent the day at the National Portrait Gallery then dinner at Cuba Libre with his partner Mark, his cousin Joy and my friend Bill.

Since I was gone for so much of the day I should have checked in with mom earlier but it wasn’t till dinner that I thought to call (I have to admit that I was having so much fun and just forgot). I was definitely thinking about her though (and feeling guilty) because I saved part of my meal to share with her (a doggy bag consolation prize for NOT thinking to call her earlier).

Interestingly, while I was debating whether or not to call because it was getting late (she usually is not up at 9:30pm) my cell lit up and there was Miss Cathy’s face on my IPhone, calling me.

She said that she’d made smothered chicken and sweet potato pie and wanted to know what time “we’d all” be coming back so that she could give Brian and Mark a plate of food. I was kinda taken aback because 1) no one asked her to cook for them and b) we’d just finished eating dinner and there’d been no discussion other than of me being dropped off after we left the city.

I explained to her that we’d already eaten and that it would be late by the time we got back to the suburbs but I’d do my best. After I extended the invite, Brian said they would come by on Tuesday morning to say goodbye to Miss Cathy and to get the food.

So, I was/was not surprised when we were in my parking lot and I looked up and saw that her bedroom light was still on when they dropped off around 11:00pm. I’d had such a good day/night that I really wasn’t in the mood for whatever was waiting for me on the other side of the door but I walked in, kicked off my shoes and I went into her room to see what was in store. It was now about four hours past her bedtime and it was unusual for her to “wait up” on the rare occasions that I’d gone out for the evening so I was curious to see she was up to.

And there she was, waiting up, thinking that “the boys” were going to come in and visit. She was visibly disappointed when I told her they headed back to Joys’ to get some sleep but she did perk up a bit when she found out they would be back in the morning. I think it also helped that I brought her some of my dinner to sample. She sat right up and got herself ready for me to bring her a plate of the exotic Cuban food. She acted as if eating spicy food near midnight were nothing out of the ordinary.

The “black” rice with seafood, yucca fries and plantains were all new to her but (surprisingly) she ate everything on the plate. I think she enjoyed the fact that I brought the food home for her more than the food itself. She said that they were “interesting” flavors and that it would probably take a while for her palette to get used to it all.

Then she chatted on and on about the food she’d prepared earlier and wondered if they’d like it. I worried a little that she’d gotten herself all “wound” up cooking and waiting for a “visit” that she’d made up in her head. I could already hear in her voice that she was going to get “obsessive”, talking of nothing else until Mark and Brian were here eating her food. She started peppering me with question after question; "Did they like chicken?" "Did they like pie?" "What were we going to put the food in?" "Did we have containers we could spare?"....and on and on. All I wanted was to come home and bask in the afterglow of some “me” time but instead I felt the “glow” turn into a “slow burn”. Eventually she calmed down, I reassured her that we'd work it all out in the morning, I turned out her light and she went to sleep-or so I thought.

Company

My friends Brian and Mark are in town from Chicago and I got a chance to spend some time with them yesterday, quite unexpectedly. They’re staying with Brian’s cousin, Joy and it turns out she lives less than ten miles from here.

While Brian and I were on the phone talking about how close we were to one another Joy graciously invited me to join them for Sunday brunch. I had texted Chad during my morning coffee that I had no plans for the day and was just going to “see where the day takes me” so the invitation was kismet. If anything, the only “day” I had “planned” would be watching TV, eating too much and obsessing about my relationship so I jumped at the chance to get out of the apartment. It was all so spur of the moment and unlike me (I usually respond best to planned spontaneity).

Brunch was lovely and spending time with old friends and meeting some new people was just what I needed. During a lull after the meal I found out that my friends had some time before they had to drive into DC so I invited them over to the apartment to meet Miss Cathy.

I’ve known Brian for more than twenty years and he’d never met my mother after hearing story after story about her so I was eager to finally introduce her to him. Besides, it might be the only chance Mark would have to meet her because of his busy schedule so I was happy they agreed to drop by.

I did think to call ahead to ask mom if she was “up” for company, she said, “Sure, but I have rollers in my hair, is that alright?”

I told her that she’d be fine, that they wouldn’t care as long as she was comfortable.

Brian had insisted on taking Miss Cathy flowers and he thought it would be a hoot to be able to tell her that the flowers came from “Wegmans” given that he’d read the blog entry of our experience at the opening of the grocery store.

Once we were at the store I mentioned that mom liked apple pie just as much as she liked flowers (thinking Brian could save a little money) and he said, “Oh good, then we’ll get her flowers AND an apple pie!” I couldn’t say too much about his being extravagant because after all the gifts were not for me so it wasn’t for me to protest. What I did say was how much I appreciated what he was doing and how much I knew Miss Catty would, too.

When we arrived at the apartment mom was all smiles and the first thing out of her mouth even before introductions was, “Hugs! We hug around here.”

She was as tickled as a schoolgirl receiving a prom corsage over the flowers and pie. And sure enough, she laughed when Brian told her he’d bought everything at Wegmans. She busied herself with putting the flowers in water while I showed the guys around.

We all sat in the living room to chat after she’d put the flowers in a vase on the coffee table and I’d cut the guys a slice of apple pie to sample. Miss Cathy was very much in her element with a new audience. She is definitely more of a social creature than I am-that gene must have skipped a generation.

She regaled them with stories about her knee replacement and recovery and I did my best to just listen and not editorialize with my eyebrows.

I was surprised when Brian commented that the apartment is larger than he was led to believe after reading the blog. “Gee”, I thought to myself, “I hope I’m not embellishing or exaggerating my experience here.”

I “hope” I’m documenting things as they’re happening. But let’s face it, we can only relate what we know as we see it, so…

It does make me wonder if what I’m writing about her is “larger” or “smaller”. I’ll be curious to hear what Brian thinks now that he’s met her.

Doing time

I’ve had a rough couple of days in my personal life and it led me to wonder how much of my “personal stuff” is bleeding over into how I care for and relate to Miss Cathy. I mean, duh, I know one effects the other but it wasn’t till now that I stopped to really think about it.

So, before addressing some of my own issues yesterday I lay in my single bed right after waking and thought about how Miss Cathy and I are really getting along. The conclusion I came to is that I’m just “doing my time”, and if that’s the case then like any “prisoner” that means I’m just counting down the days till I’m paroled or released (and lets face it-I’m only four months into a twenty-four month sentence and that’s at a MINIMUM). Wow! That’s a sad way of looking at things and it’s one helluva eye-opener for me.

I always felt that if you can’t “name your truth” then how are you going to work through it? And my “truth” is that “I’m not happy here.” I knew that I wasn’t adjusting to being here as well as I’d hoped but after coming back from my trip I had to acknowledge that it was more than that. Having said that I don’t regret my decision to come, it was and is the right thing to do and where I need to be. It’s just that (now) it’s up to me to choose how I want to spend the next couple of years (or heaven forbid more time than that depending on how her disease progresses).

I lay in bed looking at the improvements I’d made to my little room; buying a funky, mid-century bookshelf/room divider, hanging some of my favorite pieces of art on the walls, rearranging the furniture to create better “zones” and editing out things that I don’t need to “live” here.

I thought about mom and how little it takes to really make her happy. Don’t get me wrong, she can be a nightmare but it seems I’ve only been focusing on that part of our dynamic and forgetting that we used to be really close and had a great rapport. I spend so much time avoiding her lately, so worried about hassles that I forget that there can be happiness, too.

I realized that I don’t want to just “do time” here, there needs to be some quality in my care and the time I spend with her needs to reflect that.

I decided that “I” should make an effort to be more cheerful and engaging in the morning and “I” should listen to what she has to say and not just let her words turn into white noise until there’s a silence, which means I can utter a generic response, and make my exit. I also decided to ask her each day what she might like to do or if she’d like to go somewhere.

With that plan in mind I got up, greeted her with a big (sincere) “Good morning” and actually engaged her in some light conversation while my coffee brewed. I asked her if she wanted to do anything and she said “yes” that she wanted to go grocery shopping for some sale items (our favorite past time) and we made a plan to go out together at noon.

I had time to work on some of my personal issues and I don’t know if one fed the other but I found that taking positive steps in one area seemed to help me sort out things in other areas of my life.

Miss Cathy and I went out for an hour or so and it was time well spent. I was patient in the stores (we went to two different grocery stores to price check and compare different foods) and I actually listened to her when she talked and participated in the conversation-no matter that we’d had this same conversation before.

Back at the apartment, she cooked and chatted as I tended the plants (I seem to be turning into Martha friggin Stewart with those things). She told me later that she had a “really great day” and thanked me for taking her out. I told her that I had fun, too feeling a slight bit of guilt that I’d not been this person earlier BUT I’m “here” now and not just doing time.

This n' that

What can I say? When Miss Cathy is having a good week-so am I. I took her over to Adele’s on Monday for a visit. So she got to hang out with her girlfriend for a while and I got a plant-stand (One of the perks of being Miss Cathy’s “entourage” I guess). The few times I’ve taken her over to hang out I usually stay in my car in the driveway, reading or writing, sometimes talking to Chad. I know I could be inside but like a “good driver” I stay with the car while Madame “visits” and I am “at the ready” when she comes out. Besides, I like having the time alone to do whatever.

Afterwards we made an impromptu grocery-shopping trip. I noticed that Miss Cathy is walking much better, she’s still toddling-but faster. She had a moment in the store when she got angry because she couldn’t find something but other than that she seemed to deal with the situation much better. I’ve noticed that she has flashes of anger when she’s overwhelmed sometimes.

The only other thing I noticed this week was that when I told her I’d take her over to Adele’s house for a visit she on the phone in a flash to let her friend know we were coming over. When she didn’t get Adele on the phone right away she got a little obsessive calling and calling, sometimes leaving a message, more often than not hanging up only to call again in a few minutes (Poor Adele, I felt sorry for her if she was home and was trying to nap).

After calling for several hours I saw her dressed and ready to go. When I asked if she’d finally talked to Adele she said “No” and when I asked why she was dressed she said she wanted to be ready, “just in case”.

Again, it’s that ‘single-mindedness” of “gottta get this done” or “gotta go, gotta go” that is new since the first of the year and is a little disturbing. She gets very anxious, sometimes snarky and is rarely relaxed before going anywhere.

All that aside-the week has been good. I’ve been hanging out with her more, even watched one of her favorite shows “Are you smarter than a fifth grader” (I wasn’t) with her on Tuesday night. She gets a big kick out of trying to answer the questions and its one of the few times that I don’t mind her incessant taking during a TV show.

Since I brought the plants inside for the winter she’s been a big help. While I’ve been watering and pruning the plants she’s been busy dusting off the tabletops and collecting the blooms and leaves that have died and fallen off.

We’ve got a nice little rhythm going right now-fingers crossed that it lasts.

This n' that

Today has been a pretty good day; in fact the past couple of days haven’t been bad. Now that it’s been a few weeks since Miss Cathy is back home she’s settled back in and happy. I gotta say, she’s more “herself” now than ever, earlier today I overheard her on the telephone talking to her insurance company about a bill and she was on top of her game. She had her information ready, questions prepared and she even took note of the agent’s name “for her records”.

When she came into my room later to fill me in on what she was up to I told her that I was proud of her and how she was “taking care of business”. She thanked me and said that she was appreciative of all the Tony and I are doing for her but “while she can” she wanted to do as much for herself as possible.

Last night she was up late (I’m talking past 10:00pm) watching the Redskins on Monday Night Football. And judging from the sounds I heard in the living room coming from her bedroom, “Hit him!” “Aww man, you know you should caught that ball!” “Run, run!” I’d say she’s enjoying her football.

She had me take some pictures of the plants that Chad had bought and decorated the balcony with last June so that he could see how well they were doing. I’m surprised that I’ve only managed to kill two of the ten so far. They were a pain in my ass at first, I thought, “Some gift if he gets to leave when they’re all lush and green and I inherit the burden of trying to keep them alive.” I may have resented them at first but now I’m kinda obsessed with them, they’re kind like a botanical witness for what I’m going through so-if they live so do I.

But I digress……back to Miss Cathy. She came up with a tuna salad that I had to take a pass on the other day. She can come up with some strange concoctions sometimes, she’s always been one to add a ”dash” of this or “dollop” of that to a dish and she’s never really followed a recipe or been able to make the same thing twice in exactly the same way.

Her tuna salad had the usual, tuna and mayo but she added sugar to the dill relish that I like but she doesn’t and to this she added sour cream. She the proceeded to eat the tuna on toasted white bread, lathered with mustard. While I enjoy most of what she cooks (and sometimes too much-you should see my waistline since living here-oye ve!)

I sat her down at my computer this morning after I uploaded the pictures of the plants and showed her how email works. She’d asked me if I was going to mail Chad the pics so I thought it was as a good a time as any to introduce her to email. Of course she’s heard about it but I’m pretty sure it’s the first time she ‘s seen the internet in action.

She was so into it that after she dictated the email to Chad she had me send the same pictures to Tony and Suemi. Who knows, today email-tomorrow facebook.

Home again II

“Oh, there’s a new rug. I wonder what else has been changed since I’ve been gone.” I heard Miss Cathy say upon entering the apartment. She’d just walked in from being at Tony’s house while I was on holiday. I was sitting on the balcony writing when I heard them come in but they didn’t see me.

She made a few other comments that I only half heard as I came in from outside and they didn’t sound much like praise-more like “what the hell else has he done to my apartment?”…….and so it began, Miss Cathy was home.

I gave her a hug and welcomed her back-what else was I gonna do, call her out for dissing my decorating? I almost panicked thinking that Tony had escaped since I didn’t see him but to my relief he’d just gone out to retrieve the rest of her things. I forgot that she has to travel like a gypsy now; in addition to her suitcase(s) she needs her shower and toilet seats, and a bag with all of her meds. We didn’t pack “Roger” her rolling walker with a seat because we’re trying to encourage her to walk on her own as much as possible.

While she was getting settled in I seized the opportunity to talk to Tony. He didn’t want to talk in the apartment for fear she’d hear us so we went out to his car to Kibbutz.

“So,” I asked once we were settled in his mini-van, “how was she?”

“She wasn’t too bad man,” Tony said,” it wasn’t till yesterday when she knew that we were coming back over here that she started to act up a little.”

“We didn’t really have any problems like the last time. She even came downstairs a couple of times to watch movies with me and Suemi. Of course she was running her yap during the movie so I had to put it on pause and tell her to “please be quiet so we can enjoy the movie”- but you know mom.” (Yeah, I know her very well.)

I was happy to hear that their time together wasn’t a complete disaster but I had to ask about what happened before they got here.

“Well, she was a little agitated the night before we came over. I think it’s something about “knowing” that she’s got to go somewhere that gets her wounds up. That and the fact that she was all excited about going home.”

Tony told me that he worked from home on Friday so he could drive her back here after rush hour and not have to be stressed after driving home himself in all that traffic. He said that he “thought” he could finish up his work and then relax for a few hours until it was time to go. Unfortunately the minute he sat down in the family room Miss Cathy started her campaign to get on the road-traffic or no.

Apparently they had a few words, ending in Tony NOT relaxing but packing the car and sitting in traffic for a an hour and a half. Needless to say, they rode in silence the entire trip. When Tony told me that I said, “Well, sounds familiar. I don’t think we said two words to each other when I was bringing her to your place-a least she’s consistent.”

We talked about how challenging she can be and compared notes on her behavior.

“You know how negative she can be, always finding fault with everything and talking boo-coo shit about everybody.” I said,” So okay, here’s a question for you, what did she say about me? I know she said something.”

“No, not much,” He responded, “at least not in the beginning. She did start in on you when I told her that I wanted to give you an extra day so you’d have some time alone so you could have some privacy. That’s when she blew up and said “privacy!” what about my “privacy?”" What about my freedom!?"

When Tony reminded her that I gave up a lot to come live with her she said that she appreciated it but what about her privacy and her things? Apparently she was pissed off about the redecorating I’d done when she was in rehab.

“I come home,” she said.” And my things are just GONE, he rearranged everything and just threw away a perfectly good microwave.”

I loved it! I was reeling with laughter listening to Tony mimic Miss Cathy’s voice as he listed off her list of grievances against me. There was no way I could take anything she said personally (not anymore anyway) because she talks shit about everybody so I knew I was no exception and I knew that in her righteous indignation she’d forgotten that we’d discussed everything (several times) while she was in rehab. We talked about my putting her stuff in storage, cleaning up the apartment and making it more livable for the two of us. And I didn’t throw her microwave away and it wasn’t in perfect condition, I donated it to Goodwill (because there was chip in the door so it was hard to close it).

Noticing the time on my watch I only got to talk to Tony a few minutes more-we didn’t’ want to spend too much time alone lest Miss Cathy become suspicious and think we were comparing notes and talking shit about her-which we were. I did get to tell him that the minute I went away I realized the benefit of taking some time to myself and that I was already planning my next holiday with Chad to go to San Diego in late January or early February.

I left his car feeling renewed, kinda like how I imagine war buddies feel after getting together and talking about doing battle together, no matter how many well meaning people want to talk to you about your experience, nothing beats talking about it with somebody who’s been in the trenches with you-sometimes you don’t even have to speak to be understood.

Home again

I’ve been back from my “holiday” for almost a week now and I think I’m starting to feel like I’m back into my routines here. Funny, I wasn’t gone that long (not quite a week) but I definitely feel………something different, what could it be? rested? regretful? renewed? I don’t know….

I do know that I had a great time with Chad in Kansas City. I thought about Miss Cathy but I didn’t call. I was 1,200 miles away and knew that if something happened Tony would call me.

I felt guilty about was how easy it was to slip back into my old life and not think much about my new one. Oh, and I felt very guilty about NOT wanting to get on the plane Thursday morning to fly back east when my holiday was over.

But, home I was bound so off I went.

Upon landing one of the first things I did was turn my Iphone back on and lo and behold there was a text from Tony. I should have known that something was “up” because Tony does not text-Tony barely communicates. “Surprised” would not describe my reaction when I read that there was a change of plans and he was bringing Miss Cathy back home a day early-I’m sure I looked like a cow that had someone standing on her udder.

Turns out Tony and Suemi had to go UVA to see Nile in some show so instead of taking grandma with them (I’m sure they offered and she told them she’d rather go home) Tony was driving her back.

I felt like a five year old that was just told there’s no Santa on Christmas morning. Gone were my two days of “free to be”-“me and me”. I was looking forward to having the time to unwind ALONE, unpack, start some art, you know just “chill”. I know, it sounds selfish-I just had five days in KC with Chad but this was going to be some time all by myself to ease back into things, but no, but no.

I’m embarrassed now (and should have been then) by my reaction. You’d have thought somebody just died (well, my time alone was just murdered) by the way I drifted through most of the rest of the day until I made myself snap out of it.

So, l came home, bought myself a consolation pizza -may as well eat junk food and made the best of the time that I did have to unpack and unwind.

I took all day to think up how I was going to respond to the text, part of me wanted to unload-tell Tony how “unfair” it was that my time-off was compromised but even I could see how what douche I would be if I started ragging on him for being a good father and wanting to see his daughter in some college program-bad Ty!

Anyway, I finally banged out a reply late that night telling Tony that I was a) disappointed but 2) I understood and actually thanked him for letting me know sooner rather than later-or "heaven for fend"- just show up on Friday unannounced.


I did actually pull my head out of my own ass long enough to feel bad for my brother. He’s not the most “feeling” guy you’d ever meet but he did put a lot of empathy and feeling into his text. It was kinda sweet how he wanted me to know that he wanted desperately to give me the time aone that I wanted. After I got over sulking and pouting I really “got” that and I love him for it.

We even had a laugh about it when he dropped Miss Cathy off.

Free to be

On Friday, October 29th I drove Miss Cathy over to Tony’s to stay for about six days- oh my, what a “fun” ride that was. We didn’t leave the apartment till noon so she had the entire morning to pack and get ready (and practice giving me the cold shoulder). Miss Cathy’s MO for trips is to be packed the night (or days) before and she’s usually sitting on her hands by the door at the crack of dawn on travel-day but not this time. Her two yellow, American Tourister luggage pieces (an “overnight” and the ever popular “weekender” bags that she’s had since the 70’s) were still right where I left it them on the floor in her bedroom.

Since I wasn’t leaving for the airport till Saturday morning I decided to wait to pack until after I was back in the apartment alone and free to be. Around eleven Adele popped over to say good-bye (or to wish the prisoner well as she’s dragged of in shackles to the “big house”-Tony’s house).

Remember, this is the woman who said after staying at Tony's for two months while I went back to Kansas City to close up shop so I could come live with her full-tme,"I am never leaving my home again." "The only way you'll see me leaving here is in a pine box." AND my favorite, "There's no way in hell I'm ever going back over there (Tony's house) again!"........and away we went.

I don’t think mom and I said more than a dozen words to each other on the car ride over (and it takes an hour to drive across I-95 from Greenbelt, MD to Stafford, VA where Tony&CO live.) Well, it wasn’t the first (or last) time we were together in silence. I just adjusted my hoodie against the chill and tried to ignore her backseat driving body movements.

She thinks that if she mimics the movements of “braking” and “looking out for “the man” or what she considers “idiot” drivers then she’s somehow shielded from accidents, comforted or feels like she has some “say” in the act of driving and it's outcome-of course she doesn’t (Miss Cathy logic).

Hey, at least all the wiggling around is in silence-it took me years to get her to shut the hell up and to not tell me how she’d drive if she were behind the wheel, “But you’re not Blanche.”

Miss Cathy voluntarily gave her car to her grandson Zachary earlier this year, so it was her idea to stop driving (and I really admire her for it). But after over fifty years of driving she’s used to being in the driver's seat and being in control-old control freaks are hard to break.

We made it over to Tony’s a little after 1pm-quietly and safely. I knew that Suemi was due back home from work before 2pm so I was debating whether or not to stay and wait for her when she pulled up out front just as I was unloading the last of mom’s stuff into the house-whew! Saved by my sister-in-law.

I hadn’t seen her in a few months (not since she and Tony stopped by one night to bring me one of the boxes I’d shipped to their house and we sat in their min-van and I talked their ears off because I was soooo lonely.) We don't really talk on the phone or communicate much lately, I have been leaving them alone to adjust to being "empty-nesters" and to "heal" from Miss Cathy staying with them for two months over the summer (and bitching about how much she hated it their and wanted to leave-pretty much every frigging day).

Anyway, we were standing in the foyer having a chat and I was actually thinking of hanging out for awhile but somehow Miss Cathy inserted herself into the conversation and said, “I’d like to take the three of you out of your home and see how you like it.”

“Well,” I said to no one in particular, “the conversation is sounding very familiar so I’m outta here.” I gave mom a quick hug and I held Suemi tighter than usual (in solidarity) and then I was in my car and back on the interstate without looking back.

Actually, I did look back, I waved to Suemi, standing in the doorway, grateful for my freedom and already wondering when the guilt would set in and if I’d be able to relax and enjoy just being me.

Home alone II

One afternoon we sat in the kitchen for about an hour talking about the fact that she can no longer live alone among other things. Each time we talked I tried to think up a new way to explain things to her, some new example or an analogy that would finally make her understand. I reminded her that she was always talking about “God this” and “God that” so maybe now was a time to lean on Him for strength if she needed help. I thought was a good way to go, a solid line of reasoning that would help-it did not.

Another approach was: “Remember how you always talk about how grandma was when she got older and needed help? Remember how she inconvenienced all her children by being selfish and not doing what her kids suggested?”

“Well, that’s what you’re doing”, I told her, “You’re being just like grandma and making things difficult for us by seeing only what you want and not what’s best for everybody involved.”

While she agreed that grandma was a pain in the ass she didn’t see that that situation had anything to do with her (Miss Cathy logic).

Frustrated, I tried another tact, “Maybe you can think of it this way”, I tried once more to explain,” You wanted a security system because you’d been robbed so we got one installed, and that totally makes sense but there’s no guarantee that someone will try to rob you again but you feel safer knowing that you have the alarm as a deterrent “just in case”.

“Well”, I continued, “think of going to Tony’s like the security system-you’ve had two major falls while you were here alone and you started what could have been a fire in the kitchen that I had to deal with because you got flustered. If you’re over at Tony’s and something happened there would be somebody there to help-‘”just in case.”

Sometimes I thought I was getting through to her but it obviously didn’t last for long. More often than not we’d end the conversation with her saying that she was “glad we talked” , that talking was important because it “cleared things up and you could get questions answered”. She also said she would try to “go along” with what we’d decided, knowing that it was done “out of love for her” and although she didn’t agree she’d acquiesce.

So, while she might accept what I was saying for a day or two she’d always seem to come full circle and ask, “ If I’m doing better I just don’t see why I can’t stay in my own home-alone.” “I just don’t want to be a burden on anybody.”

“You’re not a burden mom, “ I said,” Tony, Suemi and I have all accepted that this is a part of our lives now so we’re ready to do what needs to be done. The only time you feel like a burden to me is when you fight us after we all talk and come up with a plan that works for all of us.”
“Remember when we first started talking about all this at the beginning of the year, we agreed that in order for this to work it would require sacrifice from everybody. Well, Tony’s doing his part, Suemi is doing hers and I damn sure am doing mine-all we’re asking you to sacrifice is to Not be home alone for less than one week and you don’t seem to want to do that. At some point you’re going to have to sit with yourself in a quiet moment and accept the fact that you can never live alone again, for the rest of your life.”

Round and round we went, each time she seemed more deflated in her defeat. I, on the other hand hardly felt the victor-I hadn’t “won” anything, more and more I felt like the warden to her prisoner.

“You just don’t know what it’s like to be in somebody else’s house, not around your own things,” she said,” can’t use the stove because it’s gas as ‘I’m used to electric, can’t use the remote control on the TV because its too complicated, can’t open this door because it broken and you have to turn the lock a certain way, gotta climb up and down the stairs to go to the bathroom AND to sleep at night.”

On and on she went listing what to her felt like I don’t know what-slights? Injustices? Inconveniences? Just listening t o her talk about “other people” when it’s her son’s home she’s describing made me all the more sad and mad. She was obviously unhappy and in her mind she really feels as though she’s being punished or denied something but I was also mad at her for being so goddamned selfish and ungrateful. Nobody was dragging her off to the camps during WWII.

“Well,” she said during what was to be our last conversation on the matter just a couple days before I drove her over to Treblinka (I mean Tony’s) “I wouldn’t be a bother anymore if I killed myself.”

“Wow!” was the only thing I could say. I simultaneously thought and said, “I cannot believe you just said that. I’m can only laugh and think that you’re making a joke because if you’re serious I don’t know how to respond.”

“Are you serious about wanting to kill yourself? Are you that unhappy? I don’t know you were that depressed; the whole point of my being here was so that you could enjoy the time you have left before you get really ill. If you’re not happy then what’s the point?”

“Well, I could,” she said.

“Yeah, well you could and if you did don’t look for me to try to pump out your stomach or do anything heroic. If that’s a choice you make I’m not going to try to stop you.”

“Good, you can’t do anything anyway if it’s something I wanted to do.” She said.

“Wow!”

Sometimes, I just don’t know what to think or what to do with her. I wanted to ask her if she wanted to talk to someone, a shrink maybe but I didn’t. Part of me didn’t want to “play” into this suicide business if it was ploy to manipulate me into getting her way (and I’m pretty sure it was because an hour later she was having a snack in the living room as if nothing had been said) and if it was sincere then I need to find a way to approach this in the right way.

Home alone

I’ve been putting off writing for several days because I just didn’t want to think about what’s felt like some major steps backward for Miss Cathy and have to process how we got here. Of course it all had to do with her having to go over to Tony’s house.

I thought the issue had resolved itself soon after I told her about my impending trip; we had a long conversation after my announcement so I “thought” that was the end of it but who was I kidding-it was just the beginning.

Funny, she’s all for my going on a holiday but she just refuses to accept that she can no longer stay by herself any longer.

We talked about it so much (she’d bring it up every few days) that I was just exhausted (and I wonder why I don’t have the energy to go to the gym). But, I (kinda) knew what I was signing up for so I did my best to “talk” to her each time, not to get mad or impatient and to “try” to help her understand (with varying degrees of success).

On Wednesday morning she found out that Adele had family drama of her own so she wasn’t able to have mom stay with her. The news prompted Miss Cathy to launch a new campaign to convince me that she was “better” and “well enough” to stay home alone. She told me that she didn’t understand that if I agreed that she was doing so much better why she had to go over to my brother’s house.

It wasn’t the first time she’d said that but I heard it differently this time so I asked her, “Do you think of going over to Tony’s house as punishment?” I already knew the answer before she spoke so it didn’t surprise me when she answered in the affirmative.

I told her that I was sorry she felt that way, that the reality couldn’t be further from what she thought.

While I did agree that she was more independent, that I was proud of her for taking on the day-to-day responsibility of taking her meds and needing my help less. Still, I couldn’t get her to understand that one thing had nothing to do with the other. I told her that we (Tony, Suemi and I) were all happy with the progress that she’d made but the reality was that she was at a time in her life when she could no longer live alone and she’d just have to accept that fact-the sooner the better. (I know that sounds cold-blooded but its just the truth and I’ve found that reaching for analogies hasn’t helped and sugar coating information doesn’t help her –or me).

My reasoning started her to drag out her old argument that “we” (the doctor’s and her kids) said that she couldn’t live alone but she didn’t agree. And so it began again the same back and forth about her independence and even whether or not her dementia diagnosis is correct.

This n' that

Miss Cathy has been in a pretty good mood lately; she even made me laugh yesterday. I’d come in to say good morning and to open the drapes in the living room where she was sitting by lamplight taking the curlers out of her hair (the drapery rods are almost to the ceiling so it’s a strain for her to pull the drapes back in the morning to let in the light). After her usual, “Good Morning! How did you sleep?” she said, “You wanna go back to Wegmans?”

I had to laugh, and so did she.

I don’t know what’s been going with me the last couple of days though. I’m lethargic and unmotivated. All I do is sit around, eat, read and watch TV.I leave on Saturday for my first “time off” but even that isn’t putting much pep in my step. Maybe I’m feeling out of sorts because I don’t really feel like the issue of where mom is going to go while I’m away is “really” resolved yet. We’ve talked about it twice: when I brought up my trip initially and then a couple days later she sat me down to talk about it again because she said she wanted to understand why she couldn’t stay here by herself.

In that second conversation I did suggest to her that if the idea of being over at Tony’s was so “horrible” then maybe she could ask her girlfriend, Adele if she could stay with her. It “seems” to me that she’s told me that’s where she’ll be instead of Tony’s’ but I’ve yet to talk with her to nail down the details.

I don’t know what I’m afraid of-confrontation? Running down the list (yet again) of all the reasons why it’s not any option for Miss Cathy to stay home alone? Seeing the hurt and disappointment on her face? Coming across as “bossy” or confirming her earlier accusations that Tony and I are trying to control her?

Whatever the reason it’s a conversation we need to have, it’s only Tuesday but still there are other people involved so I need to get this taken care of. Part of me has a sneaking suspicion that she’ll tell me that Adele is “picking her up” sometime after I have to leave for the airport on Saturday morning and then she’ll actually never leave and stay here by herself.

Wegmans

At 7:08am on Sunday morning I was sitting in my car waiting for Miss Cathy so we could go to the grand opening of………wait for it………a grocery store!

I guess there are worse things in life but I couldn’t think of any at that moment. Color me “cranky” but I just don’t think getting up at the crack of dawn to be knee deep in fat-assed suburbanites snacking on “free” cheese and cracker samples is my idea of a good time.

Oh well, I’m the one who asked Miss Cathy on Saturday morning what she wanted to do or where she wanted to go this weekend (careful what you ask….) It was only about a 15 minute drive so I wouldn’t be so bad, I brought some coffee, my journal and a book in case I wanted to just sit outside somewhere and let mom experience the “grandness” of the “opening” by herself.

We get there and sure enough it’s quite the spectacular event, it’s as if Barman and Bailey were in town and these people had never seen a clown or an elephant before. I mean there were police directing traffic (miles before you even got to the joint) and once there I had to drop mom off at the front so that I could find a parking spot that hopefully I wouldn’t need breadcrumbs to be able to locate later.

The store was nice enough but nothing special, think “Costco” meets “Trader Joes”. The employees were bright and shiny, ready to help and put all their training to good use. The aisles were so crowded with grocery carts going this way and that, it seemed to me they could have used a few of those cops inside to direct the traffic to keep things moving.

I caught up to Miss Cathy soon after entering the store (remember, fast she’s not) but I did lose her for awhile when she went to see what all the fuss was over by the broccoli and I went to customer service for our “welcome bag”. I found her an hour later still shopping but she was ready to check out soon after. I did wonder if it got to be a little too crowded and chaotic for her.

As we were driving away mom mentioned that she knew a different way to get home from the Mapquest directions I’d used to get us there. I said that I could go home “her way” and made sure to ask if she was “sure” of her directions and that she wouldn’t get confused.

“No” she said, “I know the way, turn right a the light.” And so I did and so we drove. Since Miss Cathy likes to maintain a running commentary whenever we’re in the car she was sure to let me know when we were driving “pretty close” to where "such and such” lived or where the courthouse she had jury duty was or when we were driving past where she and pop were thinking of moving to thirty years ago, on and on it went for about 40 minutes when she said,” I think we’re suppose to be going north and not south, I’m not sure, maybe you can use your “Mapquest.”

I pulled into a service station that was closed, and used the Google maps on my IPhone to point us in the right direction. We turned around, 44 miles and 1/2 hour later we were home.

Time off

For some time now I have been planning to go back to Kansas City for a week at the end of October, it would be my first “time off” since moving here to take care of Miss Cathy. I got the idea to take a week for myself every three or four months from my shrink. She suggested that I would need some time that was mine alone, to re-charge my batteries so that I would have the energy and proper mind-set to be successful as a caregiver to my mother. She said that it didn’t matter so much what I did or where I went, the important thing was to give myself some time away from care giving. My sister in law, Suemi, echoed the idea and the literature I’d been reading from the Alzheimer’s Association also seemed to stress that it was important for the caregiver to take care of themselves.

I arranged to have Miss Cathy stay with Tony and Suemi whenever I was gone and started to plan trips to KC and possibly back to NYC after the first of the year. Chad was looking forward to my being back I Kansas City and m New York friends all had a bed or couch I could sleep on when I came their way. Just knowing that I had those two trips to look forward to helped a great deal. Everything was in place and everyone seemed to be on board, except the only person I’d yet to tell my “getaway” plans to was Miss Cathy.

So, yesterday, with some trepidation I told Miss Cathy my plans to go back to Kansas City at the end of the month. I have to say, she took the news very well-initially. The first thing she said was that she was happy I was taking some time for myself and she applauded my being “independent”. She said she understood the desire to get away for a while and seemed pretty happy for me. She then started to talk about how she’d be “fine” alone in the apartment because she was so much “better” now.

Unfortunately, that’s when I had to burst her bubble and tell her that while I agreed that she was much better she still couldn’t stay in the apartment by herself.

When I said that she’d have to go back over to Tony’s house she balked.”Nawww, I’m not going back over there!”

“Wow”, I thought to myself, pretty much the reaction I was expecting-ad the reason I was dreading this conversation. I knew she wouldn’t want to go back over to Tony’s, bitched and moaned the entire time she was over there and she’s been pretty consistent in her vehemence about her stay since coming home. You’d think time would have mellowed her opinion, but, no but no.

I know she had to stay over at Tony’s for a lonnnng time but jeez, it was two months and she was with family-she wasn’t institutionalized. By her reaction and the way she talks about her time over there she’d think she was at Buckenwald-seriously. I don’t throw down the Holocaust card lightly but it’s the only thing I can think of to remind her what “horrible” really is and to put things in their proper perspective.

My God, she was lucky enough to have a son and daughter in law that loved her enough to take her in for two months and listen to her bitch and moan (daily I was told) bout how she “hated’ being there and all she wanted to do was go home.

She looked disappointed that I didn’t agree that she could stay alone but she didn’t get angry or argue (which is what I expected and was the reason I’d avoided telling her my plans earlier). She just expressed surprise given that she’d become more independent and nothing bad had happened in a long time.

I agreed with her that she as doing wonderfully and I was very proud of her but regardless of her progress, she simply cannot live alone ever again and no matter how much she forgets that fact I will have to remind her.

She said she understood what I was saying and she wouldn’t fight what my brother and I thought was best.

To say I was relieved would be an understatement, I’d been walking around for days gearing up for battle and her was the moment and there was no fight.

I suggested to her that maybe this time her experience might be different, she’s more mobile, more independent and maybe that would help her feel less confined and restricted. That seemed to register and she brightened a bit, she said that made sense and she offered that it might not be so bad knowing it would only be for a week and then she’d get to come home again.

Just as she said that there was a knock at the door. It was Adele come to pick her up for an “outing” so she was off shopping and I would get to have some “time off” in the middle of the day.

Deja frickin' vu

OMG, I just had what was almost the exact same conversation I had with Miss Cathy a few weeks ago and a few weeks before that! It was all about my “not seeming like I was happy here”…….what? Again with this? Somebody get me a rock so I can just beat myself to death and get it over with already.

Okay, so the first time we had this talk “maybe” she was sensing something that was there, the second time, not so much and today…well, today I’d just come back from a long walk and was feeling pretty content. It was the first time in about a week I’d had any exercise so I was feeling all blissed out and happy that I’d done something good for myself (and now that’s all shot to shit after talking to her).

We’d still be talking if her phone hadn’t begun to ring. Thank God for whoever was on the other end of the line. She took the call, which was my cue to escape.

Now that I’m safely on the balcony (she wouldn’t dare come out here-too windy) and had a moment to reflect on all that was said I think I’m starting to understand where all of this is coming from-or part of it at least.

First of all, I knew something was up when I came back from my walk and she was sitting quietly in her room (the sitting wasn’t a clue but the quiet sure was). I was on my way to my bathroom for a shower when I looked in and saw her sitting on the edge of her bed, slumped over into herself, looking forlorn-not a good sign.

So (against my better judgment, knowing that all my serenity would be out the window the minute I engaged her) I asked her if anything was wrong.

“Well” she sighed, “It just doesn’t seem like you’re happy here.” And so it began-again. I told her that she was mistaken, that I’m just “me” and adjusting as best I can. I stood in the doorway as she launched into her reasons for worry. I stood there for the better part of an hour, listening as she went over old territory and some new, but the bottom line is that we’ve had this conversation before.

Since this isn’t my first time at this particular rodeo I listened differently, past the minutia and details so what I heard was different from the other conversations on this particular topic. I didn’t dispute what she had to say (and I definitely didn’t argue with her) but I didn’t just accept all that she had to say as “facts” either, rather I challenged her to see that what she was talking about were her “feelings” and it didn’t necessarily have to be true, for me anyway.

It dawned on me listening to her this time that she pieces together (or so it seems to me) statements or conversations (out of context) and weaves them into a narrative where the only conclusion that she can come up with is that I must be unhappy or I’d be acting in a way that she, either a) understood or 2) would want me to “be” living with her.

I think she might be feeling guilt over my making the choice to live with her so she’s projecting her own unhappiness of the situation onto me. I also think she’s worried that I’m going to bail on her or worse-stay here and make what time she’s got left miserable.

I’m here because I want to be here (hell, I volunteered) and now that this year has unfolded the way that it has I truly believe that this is where I’m suppose to be at this time in my life. So, I probably need to reassure her more.

The take away for me is that I’m not doing a very good job of giving her a sense of security.