The Real Blog

Well, I've decided to use this space to talk about the trials and tribulations of living with my mom.  She's 85 and lives with us in the back of our house.  She built an addition on it 5 years ago, and life here sure isn't how I imagined it. 

First, let me say that she was the very best most amazing mom that anyone could wish for.  She has always been my dearest friend.  Hey, I'm not saying we didn't have our issues when I was growing up, but looking back, it was relative paradise, compared to many upbringings.  Bottom line is, she did her job.  She inspired me to love self, love life and always do unto others as you would have them do unto you.  She was open minded and always trusted and believed in me.

Life has changed... for mom... and for me.  At 85, she's paranoid, accusatory and very hard to live with.  I need to write about it.  Probably, my whole family needs to write about it.  We need an outlet.  

At this point, mom doesn't go out much.  I think she is ashamed of herself, which is very sad.  She is not growing old gracefully in my opinion.  She feels bad about the way she looks, the way she thinks, the way her body won't do what she wants it to anymore.  And we have become her outlet for venting this shame and the anger that manifests in her as a result.  

I have spent many hours in the past few years thinking about, talking about how to help her.  At some point I realized that all I ever wanted growing up was to make her happy... to ease her struggle... to see her smile and know that I put it there.  And it worked to a degree, but not totally.  Looking back, I think she was always depressed on some level... things were never just right... there was always something stopping her from being happy... I so don't want to pass on the legacy.

I could never really convince her that beauty was only skin deep.  She's hated the way she looked since I can remember....It always baffled me that she somehow instilled values and behaviors in me that she had never come to terms with herself.  But now, as I have a daughter of my own, I realize that she did it with the best intentions... of wanting to help me "not be like her."  She made up an imaginary friend - Sterling the Spider, because she was terrified of spiders and didn't want me to be.  She taught me that when I'm bored, look around and find someone to do something nice for.  And damn, it worked and it still does!   One of her mantras to me through my early life was, "Stand up for what you believe in."  That was something she struggled with her whole life...standing up for what she believed in.  I believed her when she said it was because she stuttered, but I think it was much more than that.  She was afraid.  And she didn't want me to be.  

We always want our children to bypass our own shortcomings, don't we?  I'm not sure we succeed all the time, but we try, and our children will try and theirs will try... and so it goes... 

So, in my efforts to please my mom... to bring her joy and happiness .... to be free of the constraints of homeownership-financial and otherwise... in her twilight years, we moved her in.  It was a struggle from the beginning, honestly.... 

I remember our jaunts to Home Depot and Lowes to pick out appliances, hardware, other things for her new apartment in our home.  She didn't feel like putting makeup on, so she'd wear sunglasses all the time.  But they weren't prescription, so she couldn't see a thing with them on... And, they were dark in the stores and distorted her color sense severely.  I couldn't convince her that nobody cared how her eyes looked.  Instead, it became a huge struggle to shop.  She couldn't see; her hearing was failing rapidly; she wouldn't take off the glasses in the stores.  She really seemed to have no regard for my frustration.  That's what many of our issues come down to.  Mom has lost her ability to empathize... and it was probably her strongest suit as a mother and friend.  She still empathizes pretty well with strangers, and with my son and brother.  

But I could go on with history forever, and I'm sure it will infiltrate the blog throughout, but right now, I need to vent the little things...the things that build up over time that need to be said... and thought about more... 

Last night, I came in from work around 7:00.  I'm handing to Abby now:

Abby: I was sitting on the computer, mom was starting dinner and Nana came in to chat.  She asked where Mark was and Mom said he wasn't home yet.  And Nana said, "oh, then it must have been someone else teasing me."  We both looked at her for explanation.  She said something about someone "mocking her" while she was in the shower. At first Mom and I were puzzled and asked her what she meant. She started telling us how she left all her other doors (door between our kitchen and her house, and her bedroom door) unlocked, but closed. She said she was singing in the shower to let anyone that might come in  know that she was in there. (her words) Then she said that she heard someone mocking her singing right out side her bathroom door (which was locked), then she said they tried to get into the bathroom. 

(At this time I didn't know at what time she was saying these things occurred. I had been home from work since 1pm and was scrap-booking off and on upstairs till mom came home. Birch was here but had been sleeping all day because he worked the night before till 3am. He left for work again at 2pm. ) 

Nana then asked who was in the house when she was showering, at first I just said I was home and she was silent, then remembering Birch had been sleeping here earlier I mentioned his name as well. As soon as I said he had been here, she said that he must had done it. I looked at her and said Nan, Birch would never try and get into your bathroom while you were in there. (He still knocks on the door between our houses loudly and yells to her so she knows whenever he is coming in) She poo-pooed my  comments about birch not doing it, until Mom cleared up the fact that Birch had been long gone by the time she was in the shower, which just left me home with Nana at the time of the shower. I explained to her that I was upstairs most of the day. I had come in earlier right after I got home from work but I hadn't gone in since then. At this time she was avoiding eye contact with me and ignoring all my comments. I was getting upset at this point because she had now convinced herself that I was trying to tease her while she was in the bathroom. Mom stepped in very calmly and tried to reason with her and was like "Maybe it was the cat.  Mom, Abby would never do that to you nor would she lie to you like your saying." Nana responded loudly with "somebody's lying" as she looked at me. I called for my mother's support and Mom said there was nothing she could do, once Nana convinces herself of something no one can turn her around. Nana stormed out yelling at mom " since when do you believe your children over adults!" and slammed her door. I followed her about a foot into your house and said to her "how could you think I would do that to you." she responded with " I don't know, how could you!" and she looks at you with this look and I can't really explain it, it's like she lowers her eyebrows and she makes her face contort with anger, it's like she's seeing red. and I just don't get it. She's living with people that have done nothing but care for her. She thinks we're all out to get her and it just hurts.

Ok, so that was Abby.  She hardly talked to us all night last night.  When I took her dinner, she said she'd already eaten.  I especially bought and cooked cod cuz it's her favorite....  

So this morning, Mom comes in and asks me if I've seen her cigarettes.  I asked her if she meant the pack?  She answers, "What piece?"  The hearing thing is very hard, but gives us many moments of comic relief.  Like the time she we asked her how she liked the turkey sausage?   She says, "Oh, the perky sausage was great."   But anyway, this morning she was missing the whole plastic bag that all her cigarettes were in.  That was about 3 hours ago.  I told her I didn't know where the bag was and I'm not sure I ever even saw it.  She assumed her annoyed (not quite angry) accusatory demeanor when I asked more about it.  She was obviously a little ticked off when she went back in.  I'm going to see if she found it yet... right now.  

Well!  It's about 45 minutes later.... I went in to her place to find out that not only is the bag of 5 packs of cigarettes lost, but she hasn't had a cigarette in 3 hours.  I guess she was too angry.  I would have gladly given her some of my pack.  But she couldn't/wouldn't ask.  And let me add here that whenever I am out, I will always bum some from her when I'm out... no 2nd thoughts... And she would normally let me know in her passive aggressive way that she was down to her last 3 cigarettes and rationing them.  I always tell her to let me know ahead of time and I'll gladly get them for her.... But it's an inconvenience when it becomes an emergency.  So, at my brother's suggestion, i'm getting her cartons.  

So anyway, I sat down and talked to her asking all the details of when she had them last, what she remembers, etc.  Honestly, I would have gone out and just bought her more, but the weather is not inviting me outside unless absolutely necessary.  See, even after she tells me everything she remembers, it's not enough...because there's the element of the memory itself.  There are understandable lapses at this point in time.   She may have forgotten what she was doing and thrown them out - unlikely, but still a possibility.   So I put on a pair of her rubber gloves from her last hospital jaunt.  I found them while rummaging through her drawers for the plastic bag full of cigarettes.  Incidentally, I also found another pill stash of hers.  2 celebrex and a blood pressure pill and a plavix.  The trash proves fruitless, but I did notice the original carton from which the errant packs had come, and I registered its location in my own aging temporal lobe.  At that point, Mark calls.  I relay the dilemma.  He says she threw a bag out in the main trash can the other day.  So I go outside, find the bag and dig through a myriad of eggshells, grease dredgings, dirty tissues, cigarette butts and ashes and probably 10 empty packs.  Back in her house, I sit down on the edge of the bed looking at the empty carton in her bedroom trash and try to think like  mom.  She would have wanted to hide them from me, because that's the way she is now.  She often thinks people are taking her stuff.  She accuses.  We help her look.  Mostly we find the things.  Sometimes we don't.  She has lost money she says, but I suspect she finds it later and doesn't mention it.  She stashes things everywhere that she thinks are in jeopardy of being taken... the operative word being "thinks."  No one has ever taken anything from her without saying so.  But the cigarettes?  I knew she kept them in her middle drawer.  That's where she always puts cartons when she has them.  She would take packs out and not remember how many were left.  Or she'd forget that I told her I took a pack and when I gave her one back, she'd just opened it and smoked it.  So she'd lose track of how many there were.  And I always be the fall guy.  Let me just state here for the record that I have never taken anything from her (as an adult) that I didn't tell her I took.  And I always paid her or replaced the item.  So I believe her fears, though unfounded, drive her to stash just about anything.  So I'm sitting there, thinking like her.  I had looked in all the obvious places and come up with zilch, so now I have to look in the more remote areas... like her discombobulated bathroom drawers.  I figured, if she remembered putting them in "the back of the drawer," maybe she just had the drawers confused.  Thought I hit pay dirt at one point, but it was a bag of permanent supplies.  At this point, I should also mention that while rooting, I found about 8 different places she has stashed jewelry, and about 4 different spots where coins are hidden.  She has a can from old shortbread cookies in the bottom of one of the drawers.  I got excited thinking maybe she forgot about them - they're my favorite. I opened the box and found quarters wrapped up in similar bundles with saran wrap.  Don't ask.  I won't.  I can't imagine.  About to leave the bathroom sink area and move on to the linen closet, I opened the cabinet under the sink...and there they were... just as she described.  The plastic bag with 6 packs instead of 5 in it - the bag was pushed to the back of the cabinet.  She was hiding them from me I guess.  Good job, Mom!  I showed her the bag and she says very seriously and almost still accusingly, "Well, I don't remember putting them in there."  Indeed!  I'm sure that a little part of her, if not a big part (but I just don't want to believe it's a big part) thinks that someone put them there to mess with her.  That's a very common one around here.  She thinks people bang on the walls of her house from the outside in the middle of the night.  Oh lordie, I could go on.  But I won't.  

All's well.  She has her precious.  She has her TV and her kitty cat in her lap.   And she has her depression and her anger and what appears to be constant disdain for me.   And I remain sorry.  For what reason, I don't know.  But I'm sorry.  I can't make it better.  And I want to learn how to stop trying to make her happy.  It's distracting and consuming.  And I can't.  I have nothing to be sorry for.  I think I'd end up with sainthood if I were catholic.  But I do know that I've done everything possible to remove the obstacles that she believes are in the way of her happiness.  I've taken on that role...that responsible grateful daughter role - all my life.   And I did it again today and found her cigarettes.  

I feel guilty that I'm tired of removing her obstacles....that at this point in my life, I resent it... the time it takes, the patience and understanding.  Even though I know on an intellectual level that her conjured obstacles are all basically bullshit.  I know that we only find happiness from within.... it's all about our attitude toward any situation.  We always have a choice in every situation how to view it, judge it, whatever.  But it's our choice.  

That's it for today... that's enough, right? 

Clueless

Well this is all new and exciting.  A BLOG!  Not sure who I'll be sharing it with, or if I'll be sharing it at all.  It's very disconcerting to write things and imagine the reactions ... especially if you write things about the people reading the blog.  That's why I haven't written publicly too often... I worry about hurting people's feelings....  And that's far from the intent.  Usually the intent is a simple story... an event... a feeling, good or bad... just something worth telling someone about....  So, I'm thinking about blogging all the things I can't tell people about for multi-layered reasons... But then there's the times when I find myself telling a story that is just a little too paralelled with the person I'm telling it to... like I want them to "get" the point of it... but I don't even realize what I'm doing ... I swear it's unconscious...and I'm well into the story... when I realize, I kind of have a choice... to change the story and wiggle out of the whole thing gracefully, or go on with it and deal with the reaction.  Usually, I think I do a little of both ...  

So if I blog and don't tell anyone I know about it, then, will anyone get to read it beside me? And do I even care?  I'm totally green in the blog department... I had no idea how they worked at all until a couple of weeks ago.  I think I had an attitude toward them in general - like, what a waste of time to be reading the trials and life lessons of people I don't know.  I think too - that reading the comment section of so many news articles and the old message boards on AOL in the 90's soured me toward "sharing" with strangers on the internet.  Maybe it was the boards I chose, but it sure seemed like everyone was on a major "me" trip and was shoving their opinions down each others' throats, and often in a less than polite fashion.   Or they were trying to "get" something from other people; or they thought they were "special" and had some "special" message to put forth.  Still, I was drawn to them.  I'd wake up in the morning and it was as if my computer sucked me in like Svengali.  I'd read the few emails in the mailbox.  Hardly anyone was online in 94 when I bought our first computer, so believe me, 3 or 4 was a lot of contacts back then - at least in my circle of friends.  Then I'd go like a lemming to the chatroom or message board and read the new posts and make comments.  I learned about things I never knew existed -  like what the hell is a "fluffer?"  I went over 40 years without knowing that word...other than as part of an advertising campaign for marshmallow goo.  So I learned a lot from those places.... and I spent a lot of money on internet time.  

So, looking back, I believe I was bored and deliberately distracting myself from the boredom of housekeeping and mom-hood.  I didn't know what direction to take at that point in my life.   My children were in grammar school at the time.  And I really was never drawn to housework... I love to cook - but dishes?  ugh!   I remember hearing Ann Richards back then, talking about her gravestone and I so identified..... I can't find the quote on the web, but she says something to the effect that she doesn't want her tombstone to sing the accolades of a good housekeeper!   

But here I was spending upwards of 6 hours a day distracting myself from the real world... I'm sure it went beyond that sometimes too, and if the hubby was home, we were both vying for the computer.  But I bought it for the kid's education!!!!  Seriously!!!

Oh, I have to let any potential blog readers know that I could have to just stop in the middle of writing like now!!!!