Sunday, August 19, 2012


Ok, so my last post was probably too ebullient by at least a half-measure more than was even remotely required, or warranted.

Expectations ran high. Way too high. And so I retrench on what I think is exactly the amount of freedom I think I may have gained.

This week  I need to: take my mother to see her doctor for her usual long list of complaints and supposed needs. Then, I will take her to meet with the management of the establishment in which she currently resides, to sign a residency agreement.  This will require a long conversation to remind her that she has agreed to move there permanently. Then, we must pack her room up, here in the house, rent a van, load it with her belongings, and fill her new room at the retirement residence with her stuff.

Throughout this I will be peppered with her repeated questions and whining demands. There will be hysterics and possibly tears, might I add. And that's just on my part. Ha.

But that is just the beginning. This week we must also: go through the trashed remains of what is Anthony's mother's former home. The place looks like a drug den that went horribly wrong. So, no expensive bling or even anything slightly nice or normal left behind. Every single room is trashed. The fridge is full of moldering remnants of God-knows what science experiment gone wrong. Penicillin anyone? Every room is a fright scene of dumped out drawers, clothing strewn everywhere (horribly, I spotted one of Doris' old, yellowed bras on the dining room floor amid the shitty detritus thrown about), bed-bugs firmly entrenched through the bowels of the varied mattresses lying (where else?) right on the floors, and everywhere, the contents of what used to be a home, a place where a family grew up, tossed about, violated and left to rot where they lay on the once beautiful hardwood floors. It makes me sick. Did I mention that the paintings on the walls are splattered with the strewn contents of who-knows-what drinks, thrown by John when something didn't please him?

I'd so love to kick his skinny pathetic narcissistic ass all the way to the end of the street, and then push him over the edge of the planet into outer space.

But wait, there's more! In between performing these services for our respective mothers, neither of whom, by-the-way, attempted to plan for this eventuality, and perhaps, by so doing, might not have, oh,  LAID THIS GRIEF on their kids, I will also try to get the deck on the back of my house stained before summer's warm days drain away, fix the patio stones I've been trying to get straightened for about 4 years, to be exact, and deal with the fact that school starts in two weeks and my children have a few needs themselves in that regard. Of course, just to casually mention, Anthony will throughout all, ACTUALLY WORK AT A REAL HIGH-PRESSURE JOB, I will continue to ATTEMPT TO HOLD DOWN SOMETHING RESEMBLING A CONSULTANCY WITH AN EVER-PATIENT PARTNER, and bid on contracts, or just some little shat like that, and the house will continue to run smoothly, laundry done on time, nutritious meals served, all bills paid as required, the place kept moderately clean. Oh, and the dog exercised daily, you bet.

My children. Their needs so often get swallowed up by the ravening, voracious demands of their extremely elder, never-endingly greedy grand-mother and step-grandmother. By greedy, I'm talking resources. They think nothing of asking for most of our time, a heck of a lot of energy, and I won't even get into the strain on the medical system. The needs and requirements (real or imagined) of these women never end. I've come up with a name for the likes of them and their ilk, these aging human vacuums.

Seniors, Inc. They are like a mighty corporation, eating everything in its path with no regard for morality, ethics or what could even just pass as common politeness. They are old, and they want it all. And no one dare stand up to them.

In my mom's case, her needy-greedy routine has been a pro-active approach to the world ever since I can remember. With Anthony's mother, the opposite is true. She didn't ask for much in the past, but refused to take any wise counsel, became (and still does) hostile and angry at any suggestions that she may need help, and now that she's loony-tunes, the mess she created has been dumped in our laps.

And again, by "mess", I'm not just talking physical mess, although that is huge. It's the amount of time, energy and resources she's now sucking. Just dealing with John alone has become Anthony's full-time ulcer these days.

Before you judge me a tad harshly, just let me say: have you had to deal with anyone who remotely resembles what I've described in this blog? Until you have, not a word. 

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