Let me preface this by noting that as of
this moment, my mother is doing fairly well. What follows is the twelfth in a series of posts I wrote
over the last 2 weeks or so after arriving in northern California to care for
my ailing mother. I had intermittent Internet access, and used what time I did
have access keeping up with my online classes. Each post is dated the day I
wrote it.
April 3, 2010
OK, the allusion to the Godfather might seem a bit over the top, but read on . . .
My mother had another good day today. She continues to get a little stronger everyday, and today she even asked that we order her favorite pizza for dinner! One thing that hasn’t changed, however, is that she continues to be cold. I was worried about being cold here, but it hasn’t been an issue because we’re keeping the house at 86-87°; I am actually going outside in the rain to cool off. My mom is wearing a long sleeved t-shirt, a sweatshirt, a sweater, sweat pants, socks, and some down slippers I got her when I lived in CT and she is still cold. She sleeps in all those clothes and we cover her with 3 blankets and a down comforter. I suppose her body is burning a lot of calories to heal, and she’s not taking in all that many calories. She’s also lost 35 lbs, so she no longer has that to keep her warm. She’s also not moving around much—from the bed to the wheel chair to the port-a potty and back with an occasional walk that included several steps. I am hoping the PT gets her up and moving this week. I think she’ll feel more confident about walking once he shows her she can.
My frustration with my sister Karen finally reached a peak last night. I’d been trying to call her for days, but she wasn’t answering her calls or returning my messages, so I texted her the following: “No more stalling; I’m leaving Tues whether you’re here or not. If anything happens, it’s on you. How often over the yrs has she helped you? She deserves better.”
OK, I will admit it was pretty heavy-handed, but in my defense I was exhausted and incredibly frustrated. She and I had been talking about this for weeks, and each time I tried to pin her down about when she was going to get here, she’d come up with some lame excuse about needing more time to figure out what to do. I know I should not demand of others what I expect from myself, but all I could think about was that I had dropped everything and hopped in the car as soon as my mom asked me to come, yet my sister, after weeks of time to plan, couldn’t make a decision. I’d come to the conclusion that she really didn’t want to come and that she wasn’t going to—that she had been stringing me along just as she did all those years ago.
Simply put, Karen is someone who never has and never will get her act together. It took me a long time to learn that lesson. She has never been on her own, and has spent her life, to quote a line from Joni Mitchell, “moving from man, to man, to man.” In fact, she doesn’t leave one until she has another one in the wings. And she makes terrible choices. I can’t recall how many times when I was in college she’d call me because some guy had beaten her up or she’d been arrested or something. And every time I’d jump in, send her money, and beg her to come home. Of course, I wouldn’t hear from her again until the next crisis. This went on for years before I finally gave her one last shot. I was in grad school and just scrapping by; she begged me to put something on a charge card and promised she would pay me each month—even if it was just a dollar; of course, I never heard from her—no note, no dollar in the mail. It may seem petty, but that was it for me. Until this situation with our mother, we’d probably spoken four times over the last 15 years.
In fact, one of the reasons I chose to go to grad school on the other side of the country was to get disentangle myself from Karen and my mom. Although she hasn’t had a drink since March 1, my mother has been an alcoholic since long before I was born, and she has always been one nasty drunk. Between her drinking and my sister’s constant crises, I was felt like I was being eaten alive. Certainly moving across the country didn’t solve everything, but it gave me the distance I needed to begin to see that I could make choices they never considered. I have really worked to build a different life for myself, and thankfully, with the love and support of incredible friends, my wonderful sisters Marianne and Barb, and now my fabulous husband, I have. And now here I am, back in the midst of the family drama I’ve managed to distance myself from for the past 15 years.
Although she hadn’t been taking my calls, it seems Karen had read my text. This morning she called while I was out taking a walk and told my mom she’d made a reservation and would be arriving the afternoon of the 11th. By the time I got back from my walk, my mom had decided since Karen wasn’t coming until the 11th and would be leaving on the 18th for a court appearance, it wasn’t worth it to her to pay for Karen’s flight (of course, Karen has no job and no income other than some sort of disability that I know nothing about and would like to keep it that way). She asked that I call Karen and tell her not to make or to cancel the reservation. I did. Of course, Karen didn’t answer, so in the hope of catching her before she made the reservation I sent her the following text: “Mom’s decided since you can’t come ‘til next Sun and have to leave soon after not to bother; she doesn’t want to spend the $ unless you can come sooner.”
The proverbial shit hit the fan, and it was all texted to me. Although I tried to explain (all via texting since she wouldn’t take my call) none of this was my idea and that mom was worried about how much every thing—the surgery, the hospital, the facility, the hospital again, the meds and doc visits—was going to cost, and so was being cautious about spending money, I must have received 17 texts in record time telling me off, telling me she was now stuck with covering the cost of the ticket, and finally moving into a pity party the likes of which I have never seen.
Now, I can see how Karen could be pissed. I’d texted her last night with an ultimatum, and now I was conveying my mother’s message not to bother coming. If she hadn’t been so full of excuses over the last couple of weeks about why she couldn’t settle on a date, I might actually feel like she had been wronged. But frankly I don’t really give a rat’s ass about how she feels. She’s an adult with 3 adult children, and it’s about damn time she starts taking responsibility for her life and for her decisions. Our mother may be ill, but she’s no body’s fool; she knew all the excuses and postponements were because when it came right down to it, Karen didn’t want to come. She’s too busy partying with her friends to take the time to think about someone other than herself. That may sound harsh, but it’s the truth. I’ve recently learned that her children have pretty much written her off because she’s been pulling some of the same kind of crap with them—saying she’ll be some place or will do some thing and then not showing up or not doing what she’d agreed to do.
Ok, enough ranting about how inconsiderate and irresponsible my sister Karen is. In the long run, it’s probably better than she’s not coming; my mom doesn’t need all the drama that comes with Karen; it will only worry her, and right now she needs to focus on getting better.
I keep thinking these posts will get shorter since, as far as I can tell, the crisis is over. Ha!
April 3, 2010
OK, the allusion to the Godfather might seem a bit over the top, but read on . . .
My mother had another good day today. She continues to get a little stronger everyday, and today she even asked that we order her favorite pizza for dinner! One thing that hasn’t changed, however, is that she continues to be cold. I was worried about being cold here, but it hasn’t been an issue because we’re keeping the house at 86-87°; I am actually going outside in the rain to cool off. My mom is wearing a long sleeved t-shirt, a sweatshirt, a sweater, sweat pants, socks, and some down slippers I got her when I lived in CT and she is still cold. She sleeps in all those clothes and we cover her with 3 blankets and a down comforter. I suppose her body is burning a lot of calories to heal, and she’s not taking in all that many calories. She’s also lost 35 lbs, so she no longer has that to keep her warm. She’s also not moving around much—from the bed to the wheel chair to the port-a potty and back with an occasional walk that included several steps. I am hoping the PT gets her up and moving this week. I think she’ll feel more confident about walking once he shows her she can.
My frustration with my sister Karen finally reached a peak last night. I’d been trying to call her for days, but she wasn’t answering her calls or returning my messages, so I texted her the following: “No more stalling; I’m leaving Tues whether you’re here or not. If anything happens, it’s on you. How often over the yrs has she helped you? She deserves better.”
OK, I will admit it was pretty heavy-handed, but in my defense I was exhausted and incredibly frustrated. She and I had been talking about this for weeks, and each time I tried to pin her down about when she was going to get here, she’d come up with some lame excuse about needing more time to figure out what to do. I know I should not demand of others what I expect from myself, but all I could think about was that I had dropped everything and hopped in the car as soon as my mom asked me to come, yet my sister, after weeks of time to plan, couldn’t make a decision. I’d come to the conclusion that she really didn’t want to come and that she wasn’t going to—that she had been stringing me along just as she did all those years ago.
Simply put, Karen is someone who never has and never will get her act together. It took me a long time to learn that lesson. She has never been on her own, and has spent her life, to quote a line from Joni Mitchell, “moving from man, to man, to man.” In fact, she doesn’t leave one until she has another one in the wings. And she makes terrible choices. I can’t recall how many times when I was in college she’d call me because some guy had beaten her up or she’d been arrested or something. And every time I’d jump in, send her money, and beg her to come home. Of course, I wouldn’t hear from her again until the next crisis. This went on for years before I finally gave her one last shot. I was in grad school and just scrapping by; she begged me to put something on a charge card and promised she would pay me each month—even if it was just a dollar; of course, I never heard from her—no note, no dollar in the mail. It may seem petty, but that was it for me. Until this situation with our mother, we’d probably spoken four times over the last 15 years.
In fact, one of the reasons I chose to go to grad school on the other side of the country was to get disentangle myself from Karen and my mom. Although she hasn’t had a drink since March 1, my mother has been an alcoholic since long before I was born, and she has always been one nasty drunk. Between her drinking and my sister’s constant crises, I was felt like I was being eaten alive. Certainly moving across the country didn’t solve everything, but it gave me the distance I needed to begin to see that I could make choices they never considered. I have really worked to build a different life for myself, and thankfully, with the love and support of incredible friends, my wonderful sisters Marianne and Barb, and now my fabulous husband, I have. And now here I am, back in the midst of the family drama I’ve managed to distance myself from for the past 15 years.
Although she hadn’t been taking my calls, it seems Karen had read my text. This morning she called while I was out taking a walk and told my mom she’d made a reservation and would be arriving the afternoon of the 11th. By the time I got back from my walk, my mom had decided since Karen wasn’t coming until the 11th and would be leaving on the 18th for a court appearance, it wasn’t worth it to her to pay for Karen’s flight (of course, Karen has no job and no income other than some sort of disability that I know nothing about and would like to keep it that way). She asked that I call Karen and tell her not to make or to cancel the reservation. I did. Of course, Karen didn’t answer, so in the hope of catching her before she made the reservation I sent her the following text: “Mom’s decided since you can’t come ‘til next Sun and have to leave soon after not to bother; she doesn’t want to spend the $ unless you can come sooner.”
The proverbial shit hit the fan, and it was all texted to me. Although I tried to explain (all via texting since she wouldn’t take my call) none of this was my idea and that mom was worried about how much every thing—the surgery, the hospital, the facility, the hospital again, the meds and doc visits—was going to cost, and so was being cautious about spending money, I must have received 17 texts in record time telling me off, telling me she was now stuck with covering the cost of the ticket, and finally moving into a pity party the likes of which I have never seen.
Now, I can see how Karen could be pissed. I’d texted her last night with an ultimatum, and now I was conveying my mother’s message not to bother coming. If she hadn’t been so full of excuses over the last couple of weeks about why she couldn’t settle on a date, I might actually feel like she had been wronged. But frankly I don’t really give a rat’s ass about how she feels. She’s an adult with 3 adult children, and it’s about damn time she starts taking responsibility for her life and for her decisions. Our mother may be ill, but she’s no body’s fool; she knew all the excuses and postponements were because when it came right down to it, Karen didn’t want to come. She’s too busy partying with her friends to take the time to think about someone other than herself. That may sound harsh, but it’s the truth. I’ve recently learned that her children have pretty much written her off because she’s been pulling some of the same kind of crap with them—saying she’ll be some place or will do some thing and then not showing up or not doing what she’d agreed to do.
Ok, enough ranting about how inconsiderate and irresponsible my sister Karen is. In the long run, it’s probably better than she’s not coming; my mom doesn’t need all the drama that comes with Karen; it will only worry her, and right now she needs to focus on getting better.
I keep thinking these posts will get shorter since, as far as I can tell, the crisis is over. Ha!
I am so glad to hear your mom is doing better.
I have a brother who acts very much like your sister. I've just accepted that he will never grow up.
Posted by: Seeking Solace | Apr 11, 2010 at 06:22 AM
Very, very nicely done!
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