A Place for Mom

"Senior Community" shopping. For a 57 year-old snob. I'm 31. Here's the rub.

On Tuesday the 13th, I called her at her house. I couldn't understand much of what she was saying. She wasn't completing sentences. She was talking about people that I don't know. She was abrasive and impatient when I questioned her about her state of mind. Then the fire alarm started. She was totally confused, babbling about the burglar alarm and someone named Greg. She hung up on me. Pensacola 911 connected me with her local Police Department. While I was on the phone with them, her fire monitoring system called and requested that units be sent to her house immediately.

She was taken by ambulance to the ER for "general disorientation." She was admitted as procedure dictates for observation following smoke inhalation. She is still there because she's nuts.

My mother has been a headcase for as long as I've been alive. No, I wasn't a trying baby. I'm sure her troubles started long ago; I can only bear witness though, for the last couple of decades. When I say "headcase" I mean that she has psychological and neurological issues with medical records so vast that they could only be transported by a fleet of 18-wheelers, an aircraft carrier or all the pack animals in the world.

She has hydrocephalus (too much fluid on her brain), clinical depression with an extensive history of suicide attempts, intense and unresolved migraine headaches, a degenerative bone condition, morbid obesity, the symptoms of early onset Alzheimer's including memory and balance problems. (For the record, she couldn't remember a series of 3 words for more than 3 minutes but she did know the names of The Real Housewives of New Jersey.) She doesn't eat properly, sleep properly, exercise at all, or treat people with anything resembling respect, kindness or compassion. Did I mention that she herself is a Doctor? As if all of the above isn't enough, she's fucking brilliant.

So tell me, if you can, how in the hell am I going to get her into an assisted living facility that usually only takes people 62 years and older in near perfect health? And if I manage that charade, how am I going to afford to keep her in there when she (wonder of all wonders) lives for another 30 years? And how is she not going to get herself kicked out for being a total bitch (Just this week she asked a poor tech trying to start an IV if he was having an attitude with her because she's a doctor.)

And what sin or as is more probable, sins have I committed to deserve this? I know, I know - This isn't about me. It's about finding a safe place for a smart, savvy and somewhat capable person to thrive.

I feel like my life once again is at the mercy of her every whim. As an only child, what else am I to do but come running most every time she calls? There's NO ONE ELSE - so please, please don't suggest that I call her bluff for attention, or ostracize her for bad behavior. I've tried everything - remember this has been going on my entire life. She is truly ill and truly needs serious help. But that has been true for a very long time.

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Jiggity Jig

I'm home. I know, it's a little sooner than I anticipated. Dawn's going to have to tell you about that. I'm too tired.

I was only there for about 48 hours, but each one hung heavy. Madison, a northern suburb of Jackson where my mother's house is, has grown up a lot since I left there in 97, so I'm not very comfortable with getting around. All of that was to explain how I ended up at the grocery store .25 mile from my Dad's house instead of the one .25 mile from my mom's house. Honestly that one is only about 2.5 miles from my Dad's house, but every inch counts in this relationship.

I imagined myself alternately as a mouse in a maze and some sort of night-vision-goggle bespecled Special Ops recon scout type. I was armed only with my buggy, a hastily compiled list, and the intense desire to survive a.k.a get the hell out of there with everything on the list and without seeing anyone that I know, or knew as the case certainly is.

I did my dead level best to keep my head down, only lifting my eyes at the top of each aisle to check the item sign and make sure the coast was clear of familiar faces.

By the time I got back to the car and had conned a poor passerby into taking the buggy for me, I was sweating, shaking and hyperventalating. After I wove my way back to my mother's house I opened a beer, lit a cigarette and all but cursed her for forcing me back to this hell-hole of a geographic dot.

God, how I hate Mississippi!

Leave it to my Mom to alienate the last person who gives a rat's ass about her. So I got to come home today. Dawn was happy I was coming, of course. When I got here, she was waiting on the porch with a pair of beers, hanging up with Propane. She had a paint brush in her hand.

Pictures of the complete project tomorrow. If you're prone to vomiting brought on by intense sweetness, skip tomorrow's post.

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Truth, Truth and Nothing But

Here it is. I have to go to Jackson, Mississippi (F*#k!) armed only with a Power of Attorney. I have to take control of my mother's finances, put her house on the market, file her taxes, apply for a mortgage and somehow get her back in the car to bring her back to Florida. I'm doing this because she has just in the last few days revealed that she has been diagnosed with Early Onset Alzheimer's. Again, F*#k!

Complication: I have to take William and Ray with me because Dawn has been called into work this week. Attorney, Accountant, Banker, Realtor with 2 toddlers in tow.

I sat down with Dawn to try and think of someone that could care for them for a few days.

Options: 1 set of Grandparents live right down the road in the next town. They're out of town until tonight and are somewhat infamous for their lackluster enthusiasm for extended visits from the boys. They're more the get them for the afternoon and bring them home sort. So, moving along.

Option 2: My dad and his wife and their 3 semi-adult children all live in Jackson. Perfect, right? Not so much. I'm pretty much totally estranged from them. (I'm gay. And I divorced a member of the service to be gay. Oh! And my new love interest has 2 brown children. AND as if all of that isn't scandalous enough, Dawn's ethnicity is also in question. You all know about those black folks that live in the frozen tundra of North Dakota, right?)

I finally just cracked up. Dawn said, "What is so funny?" I said, "You want to hear some real shit? Listen to this."

I reviewed for her the above options. We again came to the conclusion that both were no-gos. I said, "We are all but totally surrounded by blood relatives that should be jumping at the chance to have these boys for a few days, but instead I'm over here wondering how much it would cost to fly in Nanny Lesbo or Jude's R from clear across the country. That's messed up."

And that, my friends, is the truth.


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Quiet Time

My twins, Faith and William are playing in the toy room for Quiet Time right now. They weren't grown in the same belly and they don't have the same blood and they don't have the same birthday. But my twins they are, nonetheless. She is brown-skinned and bossy to his lily-white passiveness. They adore each other.

They are playing a make-believe game that involves a vacation. The destination? Mississippi. I am waiting with trepidation for the day that they realize that one of them is "black" and the other is "white" and that this is only part of the reason that we don't go there to visit my old family who doesn't acknowledge half of my True Family (Again, see how I show respect with capital letters) and so doesn't actually SEE the half that they do acknowledge because "their" half is so in love with the "others." Poor stupid bastards.




Mississippi. What a disaster. I have had such mixed feelings about the place of my origination. Not my birth. I wasn't born (became full of life) until Dawn saw me. Before that I was just a hollow body being magnetically or chemically drawn from stop to stop, like the beginning of the old Oregon Trail game where you go from the general store to the farm to the cart-makers shed until you had all the supplies/experiences that would get me to Fort Rucker, Alabama where she was waiting.

Mississippi. I have no idea what to tell my children, especially my brown children. Will the white-guilt that I was brought up with show on my face and in my words when I am faced with the darkest eyes I've ever seen asking me about the N word or about Ole Miss or about Medgar Evers or God Forbid It!, about myself? How can I possibly explain how I managed to pull myself from the mucky sludgey hypocrisy that is modern Misissippi?

Will I tell them that their little faces sealed the deal? That they are why I will never go back?

Will they look at me differently? Will they look at my mother differently? Is that the day that they will finally be able to pinpoint what her fucking problem is? Oh, God, will they look at their brothers differently and hold them guilty by bloodline?

All this is Ms. Moon's fault. She wrote about that little red-haired baby being so adoptable because he's "white" and "cute." The truth of that pissed me off and made me ashamed again to be who I was and from whom I was from. Shame is such a haunting emotion. It periodically raises its ugly head and stirs my scarred but newly sensible soul into a mid-season tornado of regret, anger and cheap wine. Shit.

Mississippi - My Muddy Monster.

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Here Comes the Sun

When I've answered, "Where were you guys?" with "Mississippi." every person has said something like, "Oh, fun!" or "Did you have fun?" or "I wish I could get away for a weekend." as if he/she is jealous of my excursion. Let me clear this up right now. Since I moved from the glorious mirage-like hamlet that is Oxford, MS, I have not had fun in that state. My family is full of loony bigots who think that I am a total crazy for not loving Mississippi and the legacy that it carries and for not wanting to continue that legacy and "What do you mean you don't want your children around me?" My dad fancies himself a progressive. That's a story for another day. So the short answer is NO!, I didn't have fun.

My grandfather is dying. He's in the last stages of Alzheimer's. He didn't know me. I'm glad I went and saw him, but it was horrible.

I didn't get to see Sissy. My folks wouldn't let her come with us to the zoo and she decided to not come with our dad when I met with him. I don't know what's going on.

My dad has promised a new passion for our relationship. I'm a big sucker and said OK. Again. He breaks my heart. I really do think he loves me. But he's boy, a stupid boy. I keep giving him a pass for that handicap but then end up expecting more of him than any boy has ever been capable of. And then I am crushed. Again. So we'll see.

BUT . . .It was made bearable by the 5 faces that went with me. Our kids LOVE a road trip. They each pack their car bags with treasured toys and books and whatever little activity pack I let them con me into buying. (This time it was those reusable stickers and landscape boards. Never again.) We get a new audiobook for each trip and the kids revel in it. This time I proudly announced the title as, "The Tale of Despereaux." Shrieks of excitement.

And Dawn, perfect Dawn. She spent the entire trip taking up my slack with the children. She did it without a sigh or complaint. She missed no opportunity to tell me that I am big and strong and that I am doing a great job and not to worry we were going home soon and that she was going with me and would be with me forever and ever and that I have a new family now that loves me and Becca, look at those kids - look how happy they are - we live for them now, not these crazies.

All of this to say - Mississippi sucks, but after being there I am always refreshingly reminded of how much I love my Dawn and our children and my house and Florida and my dog and all of her cohorts. I choose life. And I'm really happy.

Home

We made it. Thank God and every Kennedy that has ever graced this land of ours. Mississippi was treacherous, as always. I promise a complete recounting later. For now, I'll share with you 2 gems that I saw. Both were clearly visible signs along Highway 49.

"Family Life Church
Penecost . . . At Its Best!"


"I'm Single. I'm Beautiful. I'm Avaliable." This sign hung on the side of a trailer at a Mobile Home Dealership. It was written in Hot Pink on a Black sign and had lip prints and hearts all over it. Classy.