Miss Cathy is the name the kids in the neighborhood used to call my mom. I think it spoke to the fact that they liked her more than most adults but still needed to add a title of respect. Most people that meet Miss Cathy are usually drawn to her; find her openness engaging and her salty talk fun. She jokes that now everybody wants to call her “mom”.
I wasn’t one of those kids who thought his mom was the “most beautiful in the world”. In fact, I used to always roll my eyes and was a little put off by how often I’d hear that come out of another child’s mouth. I mean, how narcissistic is that? If your mom is “the most beautiful mother in the world” and she made you, then what does that make you? I always thought it was a back-door way of telling the world how beautiful you think YOU are-but hey, that’s just the musing of a ten year old me.
Don’t get me wrong; of course I thought my mom was pretty. After watching “Carmen Jones” at eight years old I fantasized that Miss Cathy looked a little like Dorothy Dandridge on the rare occasions she’d get dressed up and go out for the night.
For the most part, I grew up with awe and tons of respect for my mom. I was aware that she not only treated me like a kid (which was expected and I resented), but there were times when she’d take me into her confidence and afford me some benefit that made me feel grown up.
Now, she’s seventy-two and looks less like a 50’s movie star and more like a little, round, brown ball of “everybody’s grandma” or that “nice, little, old lady that you can tell anything to.” Her skin is unlined, satiny smooth with a little luster from the Vaseline that she uses as a moisturizer and general “all-in-one” beauty treatment. Her complexion is a rich, warm caramel. She weighs one hundred sixty seven pounds and stands about five-five -that’s when she doesn’t let the osteoporosis get the better of her and stoop any over any further. She’s lost about forty pounds since the beginning of the year and now she has a lot of sagging skin and little muscle tone due to a lifetime of not exercising. She has arthritis in her right knee and a new, cobalt steel left knee courtesy of surgery in April. She has diabetes, high blood pressure and her Alzheimer’s is stage one, as is her dementia.
Never much of a fashion plate, I do applaud her creativeness each day as she dresses herself in a variety of outfits just to be here at home working on one of her “projects”. I found that to be a significant change because when she first got here she couldn’t be bothered much to change out of her housedress. Suemi, my sister in law used to complain that she’d wear the same thing at their house for days on end-a sure sign she was depressed.
But now, she greets each day in a different over-sized, tee shirt that I designed a lifetime ago but that she’s kept pristine and like new, paired with a complementary pair of long shorts or pants. She’s even reaching deep in her closet to wear things that she couldn’t for years because of the weight she’d gained. She may not be fashion forward but she wears everything with a certain élan.
Thursday, September 23, 2010
Wednesday, September 22, 2010
To sausage or not?
Oh my, the mornings start pretty much the same round here like they did when I would come to visit 30 years ago. Miss Cathy: bright eyed, chatty, loud and me: contemplating coffee, and trying to “come into the room” peacefully and quietly as I’m gathering my thoughts for my time journal-ling. My tranquility is usually shattered by a piercing, “GOOD MORNING!” coming from somewhere in the apartment followed by any number of questions that inevitably end with the topic of breakfast.
This particular morn she hesitated before she spoke but she asked, “Do you want sausage for breakfast?” I’ve told her since I was early in my twenties that I don’t just pop out of bed thinking about food-if anything in those days I was thinking of a reasonable passage of time before my first glass of wine-but that’s for another blog.
“No”, I said, “thank you, though,” Then, as if on cue she says,” Oh that’s right, you’re not a morning person.”
No shit! What I am is someone keeping track of her bills and managing her accounts along with my brother, Tony who’s taken the lion’s share of that duty. He’s got almost all of her bills set up for automatic payment online and I forward him the few miscellaneous ones that trickle in that I can’t handle on this end.
Everyday I go through the mail and sort out what needs to be filed, paid or looked over: this includes her many statements from Blue Cross/Blue Shield about medical expenses and then there are the ones from Medicaid. This involves close scrutiny of the date, time, service rendered, what portion was paid and if it’s been double billed or a mistake. The trick with these statements is that they can come months after the office visit or procedure so I have to constantly refer back to my “Mom” journal where I track her appointments, notes of conversations from doctor’s visits, stats and observations about her activities and behavior.
As much as I have decried her life as a civil servant she gets the last laugh because of the great insurance coverage she’s amassed. Don’t get me wrong; I have great respect for her work ethic, knowing that she made the best possible choice for herself career-wise given the times that she grew up in. I also know that her choices made it possible for me to make mine. I’ve had a fabulous life and career; free of the constraints of a 40-hour week, doing work that I hate, confined behind four walls. Yes, I‘ve had freedom but now times are hard and I‘ve no health insurance-hey, life is a trade off.
The medical statements are almost a daily occurrence. Miss Cathy’s been in the hospital three times (once for a knee replacement surgery), rehab twice, and twice monthly doctor visits since January BUT jeez Louise-the statements/bills just keep ‘a coming! And some are still dated back to services rendered in the spring. Ninety percent of then are paid-thank God but there’s always that moment when the statement comes, right before you open the envelope that you’re not sure, what if you’ve finally reached the maximum payout and it’s our turn to start emptying our piggy banks.
But, today is not that day-today all I have to do is file and wonder if it’s not too late to get some of that artery clogging sausage.
This particular morn she hesitated before she spoke but she asked, “Do you want sausage for breakfast?” I’ve told her since I was early in my twenties that I don’t just pop out of bed thinking about food-if anything in those days I was thinking of a reasonable passage of time before my first glass of wine-but that’s for another blog.
“No”, I said, “thank you, though,” Then, as if on cue she says,” Oh that’s right, you’re not a morning person.”
No shit! What I am is someone keeping track of her bills and managing her accounts along with my brother, Tony who’s taken the lion’s share of that duty. He’s got almost all of her bills set up for automatic payment online and I forward him the few miscellaneous ones that trickle in that I can’t handle on this end.
Everyday I go through the mail and sort out what needs to be filed, paid or looked over: this includes her many statements from Blue Cross/Blue Shield about medical expenses and then there are the ones from Medicaid. This involves close scrutiny of the date, time, service rendered, what portion was paid and if it’s been double billed or a mistake. The trick with these statements is that they can come months after the office visit or procedure so I have to constantly refer back to my “Mom” journal where I track her appointments, notes of conversations from doctor’s visits, stats and observations about her activities and behavior.
As much as I have decried her life as a civil servant she gets the last laugh because of the great insurance coverage she’s amassed. Don’t get me wrong; I have great respect for her work ethic, knowing that she made the best possible choice for herself career-wise given the times that she grew up in. I also know that her choices made it possible for me to make mine. I’ve had a fabulous life and career; free of the constraints of a 40-hour week, doing work that I hate, confined behind four walls. Yes, I‘ve had freedom but now times are hard and I‘ve no health insurance-hey, life is a trade off.
The medical statements are almost a daily occurrence. Miss Cathy’s been in the hospital three times (once for a knee replacement surgery), rehab twice, and twice monthly doctor visits since January BUT jeez Louise-the statements/bills just keep ‘a coming! And some are still dated back to services rendered in the spring. Ninety percent of then are paid-thank God but there’s always that moment when the statement comes, right before you open the envelope that you’re not sure, what if you’ve finally reached the maximum payout and it’s our turn to start emptying our piggy banks.
But, today is not that day-today all I have to do is file and wonder if it’s not too late to get some of that artery clogging sausage.
Tuesday, September 21, 2010
Well Hung
The other day I hung new silk drapes throughout the apartment. I’d already hung two panels in the living room a couple weeks ago (I was that anxious to start taking down the very old and very ugly drapes that had sadly hung past their prime).
Not to be outdone, Miss Cathy announced that she had a “project”, too. While I was taking down curtains, valances and hardware that weren’t that chic in the 80’s (when they first went up) she was taking all of the pictures off of the étagère to clean them and dust the shelves. She pulled out “Roger”-that’s the name she gave to the Roll-later (a four wheeled contraption that she can use for balance when she’s walking and can also sit on when she’s tired). She’s had it since her first stint in rehab in January. She has a habit of naming things-animate or otherwise, a floral arrangement she received in the hospital after her knee replacement surgery was introduced to anyone who came into the room as “Oscar”. I won’t begin to tell you the names she had for the hundred or so stuffed teddy bears, lions, birds, dolls and sundry animals that used to dominate the living room. She may not remember where she put the mailbox key but you can bank on her remembering each and every name she’s bestowed on something!
So, we worked side by side in harmony for the most part. Peace was guaranteed because I kept refusing her offer to help. We had a surprise visitor about an hour into our work. Mary Rose, Miss Cathy’s cousin or my cousin (hell, at my age I just accept that someone is a “relative” and call it a day) Anyway, Mary Rose has been visiting mom for a few years now. She’ll stop by and chat with Miss Cathy for hours, and mom always loves her company so I was happy she made a “drive-by”.
With mom gleefully engaged with Mary Rose gossiping about family, I went about cleaning windows and windowsills, folding up the old curtains to donate to Goodwill (Miss Cathy’s idea-personally I think they would be better out of their misery in a land-fill). By early evening the windows were dressed in some of the finest silk that Chad’s employee discount could buy at the high-end store he works in part-time.
After Mary Rose left Miss Cathy took several breaks but sat on “Roger” and dusted away till she finished her “project”. All in all, a very good day!
Not to be outdone, Miss Cathy announced that she had a “project”, too. While I was taking down curtains, valances and hardware that weren’t that chic in the 80’s (when they first went up) she was taking all of the pictures off of the étagère to clean them and dust the shelves. She pulled out “Roger”-that’s the name she gave to the Roll-later (a four wheeled contraption that she can use for balance when she’s walking and can also sit on when she’s tired). She’s had it since her first stint in rehab in January. She has a habit of naming things-animate or otherwise, a floral arrangement she received in the hospital after her knee replacement surgery was introduced to anyone who came into the room as “Oscar”. I won’t begin to tell you the names she had for the hundred or so stuffed teddy bears, lions, birds, dolls and sundry animals that used to dominate the living room. She may not remember where she put the mailbox key but you can bank on her remembering each and every name she’s bestowed on something!
So, we worked side by side in harmony for the most part. Peace was guaranteed because I kept refusing her offer to help. We had a surprise visitor about an hour into our work. Mary Rose, Miss Cathy’s cousin or my cousin (hell, at my age I just accept that someone is a “relative” and call it a day) Anyway, Mary Rose has been visiting mom for a few years now. She’ll stop by and chat with Miss Cathy for hours, and mom always loves her company so I was happy she made a “drive-by”.
With mom gleefully engaged with Mary Rose gossiping about family, I went about cleaning windows and windowsills, folding up the old curtains to donate to Goodwill (Miss Cathy’s idea-personally I think they would be better out of their misery in a land-fill). By early evening the windows were dressed in some of the finest silk that Chad’s employee discount could buy at the high-end store he works in part-time.
After Mary Rose left Miss Cathy took several breaks but sat on “Roger” and dusted away till she finished her “project”. All in all, a very good day!
Monday, September 20, 2010
Do you still see a psychiatrist?
Monday is one of my unofficial “day’s off”, when I give myself permission to sleep a little later and make the focus of the day more me that Miss Cathy. I try not to schedule doctor’s appointments or specific errands for her so that I might be free to roam around, read a book or heaven forbid go to the gym-the most active thing I do these days is jump to conclusions.
Anyway, I’m up late making coffee and I hear Miss Cathy coming around the corner, “Morning! How did you sleep?” “Fine”, I said but of course she didn’t hear me because she wasn’t in the room yet. She asked again and I responded again, this time much lackluster than the first.
“Do you still see a psychiatrist?” she asked. “Uh, no,” I said, wondering where that non-sequester came from, “ I had a “tune-up” in June when I was in KC packing up to come back here but other than that no.”
“Oh”, She said, “I was just wondering because you don’t seem as happy as you used to when you’d come to visit.”
Okay……what am I suppose to do with that? She didn’t elaborate and I didn’t either. Was I suppose to say, “Of course I’m not happy-I’m not visiting! I live here so I don’t get the luxury of indulging your bullshit for a few days then going back to my life free of your judgments, criticisms and constant complaining! No, I’m HERE in a place that was never my home, vacillating on a daily basis form feeling like a parent to a child to maybe myself for a minute or two and that’s when I’m not depressed that I don’t have my life, my apartment, my partner, my things and my fricking day to do as I damn well please instead of tip=toeing around wondering when I’m going to hear “Can you come her for a minute?” so I can fetch you something!”
Of course I didn’t say any of that and I have felt all of that but not lately. I thought things were going better and that I….was…..happy……here.
Anyway, I’m up late making coffee and I hear Miss Cathy coming around the corner, “Morning! How did you sleep?” “Fine”, I said but of course she didn’t hear me because she wasn’t in the room yet. She asked again and I responded again, this time much lackluster than the first.
“Do you still see a psychiatrist?” she asked. “Uh, no,” I said, wondering where that non-sequester came from, “ I had a “tune-up” in June when I was in KC packing up to come back here but other than that no.”
“Oh”, She said, “I was just wondering because you don’t seem as happy as you used to when you’d come to visit.”
Okay……what am I suppose to do with that? She didn’t elaborate and I didn’t either. Was I suppose to say, “Of course I’m not happy-I’m not visiting! I live here so I don’t get the luxury of indulging your bullshit for a few days then going back to my life free of your judgments, criticisms and constant complaining! No, I’m HERE in a place that was never my home, vacillating on a daily basis form feeling like a parent to a child to maybe myself for a minute or two and that’s when I’m not depressed that I don’t have my life, my apartment, my partner, my things and my fricking day to do as I damn well please instead of tip=toeing around wondering when I’m going to hear “Can you come her for a minute?” so I can fetch you something!”
Of course I didn’t say any of that and I have felt all of that but not lately. I thought things were going better and that I….was…..happy……here.
Friday, September 17, 2010
I walked into the kitchen after not enough sleep last night to find Miss Cathy sitting on one of the barstools with a hot comb in her hand straightening her hair.
While I made my coffee I was uncharacteristically engaged her in conversation. My usual morning M.O. is to make my coffee as discretely, and quietly as possible so I can escape to the balcony, the fresh morning air, time to journal and to write to you.
But no, for some strange reason I was filled with a need to “act civil” and engage my mother in a conversation. I told her that I’d been invited by my new friend, Greg, to a party on Saturday. She asked me to describe Greg and I got a little hung up trying to be diplomatic and not call him “chatty”. Noticing my fumbling she said that maybe one of her “old”, country colloquialisms” might fit. Then she launched into one of her long winded set ups about “terms I may not be used to”, “that they were old and southern”, blah, blah, blah-I made the rolling “let’s get to the punch line” gesture with my hands and said, “Spit it out!”
She popped out with,”Blook and a snag.”
Apparently my Aunt Dorothy (who I’m double related to-she’s my aunt on my mother’s side and cousin on my father’s-I know, country folk, it’s a wonder I wasn’t born my own brother). But, I digress, Dorothy, who still lives in Henderson, North Carolina was talking to Miss Cathy yesterday, gossiping about her cousin Mamie. Dorothy said that Mamie was acting like a “Blook and a snag”.
The rough translation for Northerners or anyone of a post-civil War generation is: uncouth or ignorant.
Through the years I’ve heard most of what I thought were all of Miss Cathy’s “colloquialisms” as she calls them but this was a new one. As the old people in Henderson would say, “I neva heard a such!”
While I made my coffee I was uncharacteristically engaged her in conversation. My usual morning M.O. is to make my coffee as discretely, and quietly as possible so I can escape to the balcony, the fresh morning air, time to journal and to write to you.
But no, for some strange reason I was filled with a need to “act civil” and engage my mother in a conversation. I told her that I’d been invited by my new friend, Greg, to a party on Saturday. She asked me to describe Greg and I got a little hung up trying to be diplomatic and not call him “chatty”. Noticing my fumbling she said that maybe one of her “old”, country colloquialisms” might fit. Then she launched into one of her long winded set ups about “terms I may not be used to”, “that they were old and southern”, blah, blah, blah-I made the rolling “let’s get to the punch line” gesture with my hands and said, “Spit it out!”
She popped out with,”Blook and a snag.”
Apparently my Aunt Dorothy (who I’m double related to-she’s my aunt on my mother’s side and cousin on my father’s-I know, country folk, it’s a wonder I wasn’t born my own brother). But, I digress, Dorothy, who still lives in Henderson, North Carolina was talking to Miss Cathy yesterday, gossiping about her cousin Mamie. Dorothy said that Mamie was acting like a “Blook and a snag”.
The rough translation for Northerners or anyone of a post-civil War generation is: uncouth or ignorant.
Through the years I’ve heard most of what I thought were all of Miss Cathy’s “colloquialisms” as she calls them but this was a new one. As the old people in Henderson would say, “I neva heard a such!”
Tuesday, September 14, 2010
I was early this morning because Miss Cathy was up early. Today is voting day and she wanted me to take her. I’m realizing that she gets very wound up the night before she has an appointment to do anything. So, she was up/down a lot last night which kinda interrupted my “down time” because I was very aware of her presence and even though she didn’t ask for anything I was “on alert” that she might, so I wasn’t really relaxed.
I committed to taking her at 9am so I was sure to be ready on time because she had her hat on and was ready to go at 8am. We had abit of a debate back and forth as to whether she needed her voter registration card and it turns out she was right and she didn’t’ need it. At the poling station the people couldn’t have been nicer to us-Miss Cathy especially. A volunteer walked us down a ramp so mom wouldn’t have to traverse stairs and then Margaret, Miss Cathy’s friend from the complex was working there and she helped guide her through the process. I sat on a chair and waited for her and I could see that the electronic voting was a challenge for her but Margaret helped her and even though it took her a little longer than others she cast her vote and on the way out she said, “Well, just like the old folks say-I got that did!”
She was very happy that she’d voted, after all these years she takes the right to vote very seriously, as do I and I could she that she felt a great sense of accomplishment by completing the act. Maybe now she can relax and take a nap.
I committed to taking her at 9am so I was sure to be ready on time because she had her hat on and was ready to go at 8am. We had abit of a debate back and forth as to whether she needed her voter registration card and it turns out she was right and she didn’t’ need it. At the poling station the people couldn’t have been nicer to us-Miss Cathy especially. A volunteer walked us down a ramp so mom wouldn’t have to traverse stairs and then Margaret, Miss Cathy’s friend from the complex was working there and she helped guide her through the process. I sat on a chair and waited for her and I could see that the electronic voting was a challenge for her but Margaret helped her and even though it took her a little longer than others she cast her vote and on the way out she said, “Well, just like the old folks say-I got that did!”
She was very happy that she’d voted, after all these years she takes the right to vote very seriously, as do I and I could she that she felt a great sense of accomplishment by completing the act. Maybe now she can relax and take a nap.
My friend William came over to take me out on Sunday. I was so excited I felt like we were 17 again and one of us had a parents’ car so we could go to “the Mall”. When he arrived I was soooo ready to leave but he wanted to spend some time with “Mom”. I don’t know what I was thinking-he’s know my mother since were in 7th grade. Of course he’d want tot talk to her, they’re so close she calls him one of her “sons” for God’s sake!
I was so impatient and anxious to go that I tried twice to suggest we be on our way and both times I was met with, “Stop rushing!” I was so embarrassed that I went to the dining room table to work on some artwork while they kibitzed.
I think I’d built up this time as being all about “me”. I see William so rarely that I didn’t want to share any of his time with Miss Cathy. “It’s always about her”, I thought, knowing that I sounded AND was acting like a child.
Once we were finally on the road I calmed down and instantly relaxed. Other than a brief tour around the neighborhood and a short sofa-shopping excursion with the upstairs neighbor, Ron I’d not been out of the apartment to socialize.
We headed to a friend’s place that William wanted me to meet because the guy is a fellow artist. Upon arrival it turned out that Greg, our host was having surprise belated birthday dinner for William, which was great. Greg, and his friend Mike couldn’t have been nicer and I had a wonderful time. I felt like one of four guys sitting around sharing a meal, having great conversation and a lot of laughs-especially when William went down memory lane and recounted several of out adventures together through the 30 plus years we’ve known each other.
I didn’t think about Miss Cathy or my new life much at all-other than an 8:30pm call to make sure that she had something to eat and took her meds. I just felt like ”Ty” and not a caregiver and someone in the circumstances I’ve chosen. No, I was just a guy, hanging out. When we left around 10:45pm I couldn’t thank our host and William enough for the evening, I was as high as if I’d done drugs and we all know I haven’t done that since the 80’s. I thought the euphoria of my “big night out” would last me all week but unfortunately reality settled back in by Monday evening.
While I was aware that taking a break, and getting away for awhile was important intellectually-I had no idea how much it would/will help me emotionally.
I was so impatient and anxious to go that I tried twice to suggest we be on our way and both times I was met with, “Stop rushing!” I was so embarrassed that I went to the dining room table to work on some artwork while they kibitzed.
I think I’d built up this time as being all about “me”. I see William so rarely that I didn’t want to share any of his time with Miss Cathy. “It’s always about her”, I thought, knowing that I sounded AND was acting like a child.
Once we were finally on the road I calmed down and instantly relaxed. Other than a brief tour around the neighborhood and a short sofa-shopping excursion with the upstairs neighbor, Ron I’d not been out of the apartment to socialize.
We headed to a friend’s place that William wanted me to meet because the guy is a fellow artist. Upon arrival it turned out that Greg, our host was having surprise belated birthday dinner for William, which was great. Greg, and his friend Mike couldn’t have been nicer and I had a wonderful time. I felt like one of four guys sitting around sharing a meal, having great conversation and a lot of laughs-especially when William went down memory lane and recounted several of out adventures together through the 30 plus years we’ve known each other.
I didn’t think about Miss Cathy or my new life much at all-other than an 8:30pm call to make sure that she had something to eat and took her meds. I just felt like ”Ty” and not a caregiver and someone in the circumstances I’ve chosen. No, I was just a guy, hanging out. When we left around 10:45pm I couldn’t thank our host and William enough for the evening, I was as high as if I’d done drugs and we all know I haven’t done that since the 80’s. I thought the euphoria of my “big night out” would last me all week but unfortunately reality settled back in by Monday evening.
While I was aware that taking a break, and getting away for awhile was important intellectually-I had no idea how much it would/will help me emotionally.
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