Out of the Barrel but Still in the Funhouse

So, this week found me in the barrel again, because my brothers and I didn't include the mom in the funeral festivities surrounding my dad's older sister Nellie.  Mom almost didn't find out about it, but one of the brothers mentioned it.  And because I was within striking distance, I got the brunt of her anger.  She was pretty pissed, because, as she says, "They are my family too!!!".  And in hindsight (God, how I hate hindsight) she was right.  She would have remembered the cousins and probably some of the others in attendance.  It just seemed at the time that she wouldn't have tolerated the long drive or the long service.  Our mistake.  However . . .

After a day or so, the water in the barrel went down.  I went this afternoon to spend time with her, and immediately upon entry to her house, I was led to the bathroom for a serious discussion.  It seems that "those guys out back" had stolen the spindle that holds her toilet paper to the wall.  NOW WHAT WAS SHE SUPPOSED TO DO?????????  Those Goddam guys anway.  After entering the kitchen, I saw that Brother Tom had left me a note, which to my dismay had me rolling on the floor.  Of COURSE it was me who had stolen that spindle! 

Anyway, off to Big Lots we went to find another spindle (an 80 cent expenditure).  It took her nearly 35 minutes to get it out of the package and onto the fixture with toilet paper, but she did it.  And then lamented that she just couldn't afford to buy one of these things every day.  She is certain that when this one comes up missing, she is finally going to call the police.

I'm so clueless about how to handle these things.  I always reassure her that I know how concerned she is about her safety and about "those guys out back".  I always offer to move in with her and stay.  I often suggest that if her fears get worse she can always opt to move to another location.  But all of these suggestions are still met with negative responses.  I think this winter is going to precipitate some drastic changes, whether she and I like them or not.  It's hard for me to wish for an "event", but I do anyway.  A bout with some sort of sickness, or a trip on the stairs, something to transition her into a care facility, which will take the pressure off of her and off us.  I guilt sometimes in the middle of the night about these things.  We all know how this is going to end, and it won't be a good end.  Eventually, she is going to forget more and more, even to the point of not knowing how to swallow or eat or get to the bathroom.  It is taking a toll on my brother Tom and on me.  I am sometimes filled with resentment that so many of mom's good friends have simply written her off or don't find time in their busy schedules to spend an hour a week with her.  Something to break up the monotony of her counting the hours in her day.

I'm not very good at being maudlin, but I'm pretty good at knowing what's coming down the road.  Another few Christmases, and that's it.  My retirement now isn't what it's going to be after that.  I want palm trees and a Harley and some fun and excitement, I would love to wade out knee deep to catch my lunch.  Before I forget why I waded out knee deep in the first place . . . more later of course!

Sometimes I feel like an idiot

But in a good way.  Yesterday was such a good day.  I spent it with brother Tom.  We went car shopping together.  I so seldom get to spend a whole day with him, and we had a really good time.  We drove up route 20 through Girard and Fairview, stopped and drove a Suzuki (small, fun, affordable, and the salesman was really cute), went all the way to Peach Street, drove a RAV4, wasn't very impressed, then stopped at the Honda place, drove a CRV, and I really liked it.  Wound up walking away though, because the salesmen weren't willing to bend much. 

Today I went to mom's and got her washed and dressed for her afternoon with her friend.  Then I took off for the laundromat, where I did a couple of loads of laundry.  Read the paper while I was there and spied another CRV in Edinboro that I hope to take a look at this week.  Then I went back to mom's and took advantage of her absence to do her laundry and some cleaning and also cleared out a bunch of drawers in her bedroom.  I swear there were at least 187 pairs of socks in there, most of which had no elastic left in them.  Ran into a couple of stashes of chocolate, which I left where I found them.

When I got home, Butter and I sat out on the porch together in the sun, even though it was really freaking cold, and then we went in and put clean sheets on the bed.  Here is where we sleep; guess which pillow Butterball sleeps on.  

The quilt is one mom made for me some time ago.  She made one for every one of her family members.  Mine is predominantly pink, and that always kind of grated on me, because she knows that pink is one of my least favorite colors.  But she must have known that I could never give it away.  She was so talented when it came to sewing and creating things.  I remember her making us mother/daughter outfits when I was little. She used to knit and crochet too.  None of those talents were passed to me.  But I still have the quilt.

So, anyway, the reason I'm feeling a little like an idiot is that I am pretty content.  I love taking care of my mom, even though some days I think I will pull out my hair.  I have such a sense of satisfaction when she looks good and laughs and has a great day and I've managed to do some things that will make her life easier.  If this makes me some sort of simpleton, then so be it. 

I will leave you with a picture of Butterball, who has a penchant for wanting to play in the empty clothes basket.  I like making her happy too.   I'm holding all of you , especially my good friend Todd, in the light, as my Quaker girlfriend says.  And Butter says, "Hi."

In the Barrel

Well, this is a pretty descriptive picture of mom.  She is but a shadow of her former self.  The title of this entry describes how my brothers and I feel when one of us becomes the target of mom's anger.  And we all get a turn in the barrel. 

Wednesday morning at mom's was unremarkable, it's one of days when I go over and try to get her in some sort of shape for "date night" with her friend.  She is usually pretty amenable to my suggestions of washing her hair and changing her clothes (though I don't think she will get into the shower again till spring).  But for some reason, this day was different.  She took great offense at my suggestion that the clothes she had on should be changed, and when I pointed out the spillage on her shirt, that's when she invited me to leave (after throwing her house keys at me).  So I did just that.  It wasn't the first time I'd been invited to leave, so I didn't really give it much thought.  Usually when I go back an hour or so later, all has been forgotten.  This time, though, when I came through the door at noon, I had morphed into a monster who had stolen her fudge, and she was very distraught at the sight of me.  I didn't stay, and instead left her in the hands of brother Mike, who fixed lunch for her and found the fudge where she had hidden it in the microwave. 

I always try not to take these incidents personally, but it's always hard when you think your mom hates your guts.  So, to end on a better note, I went back yesterday and all was well.  We got the hair washed and the clothes changed and had a really happy day.  Wonder who will be next in the barrel . . .