Tuesday, May 08, 2012

Hearts can be that way

My younger sister sent me a rare personal message at Facebook regarding my mother. She had an unusual day, talking up a storm to my older sister, Susan. I guess I need not say Susan since the other older sister is now deceased. That is unusual because Mother, as she wished her children had called her, seldom talks at all. Like many afflicted with Alzheimer's disease, her body is in this world, but her mind is not.

After the unusual day, Mom, as we kids always called her, stopped eating and drinking. Younger sister, Dorothy thinks her time is near. She knows we can not predict death; wonders if the end will come on Mother's Day or brother Richard's birthday. Have not gotten any updates.

I daily wait for that call to tell me the news; than inform the family that I will not be coming home for our mother's funeral. In the back of my head, I think Mom must be waiting to see me one more time before she moves on to the Great Beyond. Or at least to hear my voice. I stopped calling some time ago.

It may have been when I returned to California in 2005, living on the streets. It may have been I was still on the east coast trading chores for room and board. I have no recall of visiting her during that time period. Other than when she was hospitalized.

There had been frantic phone calls. On death's bed. We did not speak too much that day. As usual, too many sisters, and in-laws in the room at the time. I showed her my Love Anna stamp. I was not sure she understood that I created the stamp from a photo she took of a flower in her garden. Um, need to Insert Image with this post, eh.

At that time, Mom was in great pain. Something to do with her uterus and black blood. Doctor would not operate due to her age and condition. Mother looked so sad. I felt bad for her. So helpless lying in that bed. I wondered, ever after, due to no operation to correct the problem whatever it was, if the pain and problem persisted.

Poor communication, I guess. Sister Susie used to telephone to give me long technical updates about everyone's health issues or less technical updates about family issues and happenings. I do not know why she stopped doing so ~ I mean when I was living indoors at my daughter's home. I am definitely out of the loop.

No e-mails either. She told a daughter she was not sure if she had my current e-mail address. It is the same e-mail I had back in the days when her husband was still alive and we used to correspond on a fairly regular basis. Sister Dorothy still hates me; resents me for imagined crimes and for things that I had no control over.

Omigod, Santa gave me a little Miss Revlon doll and she did not. Stuff like that. Jeeze, about time to get over it, or put the blame on Santa, not me. Whatever.

Reason I no longer call is because Dorothy let her man friend move into my mother's home. He made it so uncomfortable for family to visit. He insults them and acts like he owns the house; as if it is his mother, not ours. I have not liked the man every since the time I asked him and my sister to leave the mobile home I was living in at the time. Story there, but this post is not about that.

My mother is bed ridden, does not answer the phone, basically does not know who people are and seldom talks. My sister works, meaning I would likely have to go through Bob, her man, if I want to speak to my mother. No way do I want to spend cell phone minutes getting in a conversation with him. He talks as much as my sister.

I did have regular phone service when I lived on Magnolia Avenue; could afford to pay for toll calls. Maybe I did call during that time period. Can no longer afford to waste cell phone minutes for idle chatter. Exception: my son and daughters. It is an odd way to live. I miss the old days when I did communicate with siblings. When I called my mother back then, she did not have much to say. Conversations were strained. If it were a holiday ~ never missed calling to wish her a happy whatever ~ she was quick to pass the phone to a sibling or in-law.

Poor excuses not to call my mother.

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