During the seemingly endless Chronicles of Florida, we had a brief intermission, in which I noted that Twinks had nearly broken her neck.
Well, she did. Nearly break her neck, that is. Luckily, she only wound up with a case of whiplash, and a bruised and sore back. She had to wear one of those neck collar things for several days, and she had several really uncomfortable nights, but she is pretty much over it now.
I wish I could say the same.
.-._.-._.-._.-._.-._.-._.-._.-._.-._.-._.-._.-._.-._.-.
I was in the kitchen. Twinks was at the kitchen table. She shifted awkwardly in her chair, and for just a moment, I thought she was going to hit her head on the table. Then, everything went into slow motion - that terrible, horrible slow motion where you see it all happening, and you just can't do anything. You can't move fast enough to stop it.
Twinks jerked back, trying to regain her balance in the chair. Now, she and the chair are both going over sideways, but she's trying to fight her way back up. The rounded top of the chair back hits her squarely in the back of the neck, throwing her head to the floor. The chair spins out of control, twisting her legs in the rungs, and slapping her hard on the back.
Then, for one long horrifying moment, everything was completely quiet and still. Even Twinks. Especially Twinks. She wasn't moving, wasn't breathing.
Then she screamed - with pain, fear, and anger all at once. She was trying to push the chair off of her, and I had to scream at her so that she would hear me over her own yelling. Stop moving, or I can't get your legs out of the chair.
It scares you to the marrow when you think your child has either actually killed themself, or nearly. And what really scared me the most, was my reaction to it. I didn't keep it together at all. Ordinarily, I am Cool, Calm, and Collected. Unflappable. But I *screamed* at Twinks; first to stop moving, stop hollering, and then to get up - get up NOW - because this stupid, irrational part of my brain said that if she didn't get up, it meant she was going to die. So, I screamed. Because, you don't scream at a nearly dead kid, right?
So instead of making her lie still on the floor, I made her get up, and sit on the offending chair. I should have called 911, so that the EMT's could stabilize her neck and back. I should have had the paramedics transport her by ambulance to the hospital. But galloping lunacy had set in - and so I told her to go to the potty, because we were going to have to go to The Damn After Hours Clinic, and God Only Knows how long we'll have to sit there, waiting to see a doctor.
Truly, I am just the worst mother. Ever.
It was on the drive to After Hours that I began to regain control of my emotions, and I apologized to Twinks. It was an accident. I should not have yelled. You will be fine, and we will all laugh about this someday. Then, I apologized some more.
We arrived at After Hours, and were put into an exam room in record time. (Apparently, telling the staff that you think your kid might have broken her neck gets their undivided attention) The doctor on duty did not hesitate, and promptly sent us across the street to the E.R. at the Big Hospital.
Dear God in Heaven, if her neck is indeed broken - as the doctor thinks it is - then I have just driven my child clear across the Greater Metro with her head unsupported. With a broken neck. And, possibly a broken back.
The.worst.mother.
Ever.
.-._.-._.-._.-._.-._.-._.-._.-._.-._.-._.-._.-._.-._.-.
We checked in at a desk staffed by an enormous man in blue scrubs. His job, aside from shoving paperwork across the desk, and directing people to the bathroom, seemed to consist entirely of scowling at the occupants of the waiting room in a vaguely threatening manner. The paperwork was quickly dispatched. Scowling Man had told me that we would go in for Triage, and then we would wait "out there" (pointing in the general direction of rows of seats) until called back to a cubicle.
I had called The Wrench while we were en route between the After Hours and the E.R. - but they couldn't find him because his supervisor had loaned him out to another section of the facility. Finally, they took a message, and one of his buddies sprinted clear across the base to find him. The Wrench called just as we were going into Triage; he was out on the dock (the superstructure that surrounds the airplane while it is being worked on), and he only had a few minutes at best to talk. I told him that the After Hours doctor thought she might have broken her neck, and that they had just put a neck-brace thingy on her. He promised to call back as soon as he could, or before he left work, whichever came first. We both forgot that [a] he didn't know which E.R. we were at, and [b] I would have to turn my cell off when we went back into a cubicle.
As we waited that night, we got a True-Life Lesson(TM) about "Why the E.R. is so crowded".
The great majority of the people in the waiting room weren't really "emergency" cases. They needed to see a doctor, to be sure, but they didn't need to be at the E.R. They needed to be at a regular Clinic; maybe an Urgent Care facility. But most of them were just plain old sick.
I had to wonder why these people were there - why didn't they just go to their regular doctor? As time passed, and I listened to the stories told to The Scowling Man at the desk, I realized that we were seemingly the only people there who had insurance of any kind. That we were the only people in the room who had been sent there by a doctor - everyone else who came in had no "regular" doctor.
It became more and more obvious that nearly everyone there had at some point needed to see a doctor, but had not done so. Now, due to neglect , the lack of insurance, or the inability to pay a "regular doctor", their medical condition had reached a point where it had become (in their mind anyway) an "emergency, and so they came to the E.R. to see a doctor. Had they been able to see a doctor in a timely fashion, they wouldn't have been there. Even Twinks, sitting stiffly in pain for more than two hours while we waited for our cubicle, realized this.
I had plenty of time to ponder the situation, and not much else to do. There were no magazines to read, and the TV in the corner was on CNN Headline News, with the sound turned down. I thought about what we would have to do if we didn't have insurance; about how it would change our ability to provide Twinks with all of the medical care that she needs.
I felt very grateful that our HMO would pay for nearly everything, and that I didn't have to worry about how much each and every X-Ray would cost, or if we could afford to get her prescription filled.
I wondered if someday the E.R. wouldn't be an E.R. anymore - because everyone used it like a clinic, and there seemed to be no real emergencies. Maybe those all came in over on the ambulance side.
So we waited patiently (no pun intended) and finally it was Twinks turn. She was briefly examined, X-Rays were ordered, she was examined again. More X-Rays, and another examination. Finally... Finally... we were released. Five pages of "care instructions". Two prescriptions. $200 HMO co-pay. Five+ hours.
The Wrench was home, waiting for us. When he couldn't get through to us on my cell, he decided to go home and wait for us there. We called from the hospital parking garage, to tell him we were on the way home. When we got there, he didn't ask what had happened, he just gently, carefully hugged Twinks, and did not reproach her, or lecture her. He helped tuck her in bed, and fixed her a cup of chocolate ice cream. He pampered her a bit until she fell asleep.
It wasn't until after she was sound asleep that he confessed that he couldn't hear me when I had called him at work. He thought I said "fell off her bike", instead of "maybe broke her neck". He was expecting a skinned up knee, or maybe a broken arm.
As I told him the whole story, he became very pale, and he sat down with a thump. When I was done, he shook his head, then got up and moved quietly down the hallway, to stand in the darkened doorway of Twinks' room. She was still dozing fitfully. We watched her, together, for several minutes.
He turned toward me, and held me tightly. We stood that way for a long time; holding each other, silently grateful that our beautiful daughter was there, sleeping in her own bed.
.-._.-._.-._.-._.-._.-._.-._.-._.-._.-._.-._.-._.-._.-.
Twinks is fine. She still gets a "twinge" if she twists or turns too quickly, but she'll recover completely.
I am still mortified by my behavior. I lost it completely. Very un-Thim like. Not cool. Not cool at all.
The E.R. is still crowded every night. And it likely always will be.
Sunday, July 30, 2006
Friday, July 14, 2006
As one friend comes home again... another departs.
Blazey was missing, and all over BlogLand, we waited, and hoped and prayed that he would come home again to Magazine Mansion.
Blaze is part of Magazine Man's family. Blaze is a handsome, loyal fellow, and came to live with MM and his family after being rescued from a horrible situation.
.-._.-._.-._.-._.-._.-._.-._.-._.-._.-._.-._.-._.-._.-.
As is the case for so many of us, we don't just have *pets*. We have fur-covered friends, shaggy companions, and four-legged family members. Just because they are animals doesn't change the place they occupy in our hearts.
.-._.-._.-._.-._.-._.-._.-._.-._.-._.-._.-._.-._.-._.-.
We were all thrilled to hear about the amazing return of Blazey (Actually, his full name is Blazey Bellow Hoska Boo Boo Ba Doo) to the loving bosom of his family. Magazine Man is an inspiration, and a hero to animal lovers everywhere. His exploits in the name of retrieving Blaze makes even the most devoted pet owner look like a slacker.
To say that he went the distance to bring home Blazey would be a huge understatement.
But even as Blazey was coming home again, to a warm welcome from family and friends, our oldest, number one boy cat Shadow Romeo (aka B the Boy) was fading away.
.-._.-._.-._.-._.-._.-._.-._.-._.-._.-._.-._.-._.-._.-.
B the Boy was, by the vet's best estimate, between three and five years old when we found him. Actually, he found us; there was a tornado bearing down on our little corner of The Greater Metro, and in the middle of this terrible, horrible, storm we heard a scratching and howling outside the front door.
The Wrench opened the door, and B shot in like he had been fired out of a cannon. He bonded instantly with The Wrench; he was Daddy's guy. For the next 18 years.
.-._.-._.-._.-._.-._.-._.-._.-._.-._.-._.-._.-._.-._.-.
By last Friday, July 7th, B the Boy was deteriorating fast, and I knew that it was time to make that last journey. I called the vet's office, and they said to bring him on in. The Wrench was at work, and out in the hangar on a plane - there was no way to reach him.
Our regular vet was not there, but her associate was, and she quickly saw that there was no amount of extraordinary measures that would save our old B the Boy. He had internal bleeding, and his kidneys were failing. His back legs were not working right, and he couldn't sit anymore; he could only stand, or lay awkwardly on one side. Even when he tried to stand, he "tripoded"; he would be all hunched up, with his front legs apart, and his back legs together. His fur was starting to come out in handfuls, and his eyes were beginning to be cloudy. There was blood in his urine, and in his vomit.
It was time.
.-._.-._.-._.-._.-._.-._.-._.-._.-._.-._.-._.-._.-._.-.
B the Boy would never take "No" for an answer - he was always a very *determined* cat. That night that he found us, we took him in, intending to try and find his owners. Within the next day or so, we discovered that his former owner had been a little boy who had died of cancer. B the Boy had been his pet; he had lain faithfully at the boys side day and night. When the little boy died, his parents could not bear to live in their house on the quiet street behind our house; they packed everything up, and they moved away. Apparently, they took everything *but* B the Boy.
When B the Boy arrived at our house, he was in pretty bad shape. Soaking wet, skinny as a rail, and somewhere along the way he had been shot at least twice by a pellet gun; you could feel the pellets under his skin. His paws were raw and ragged, and he was insatiably hungry and thirsty. He probably had been on his own for a month or so. He was exhausted; for the first week all he did was sleep and eat.
Once recovered from his abandonment, he was quite healthy, and very happy to assert his position as number one, senior head cat by greeting all who came to our home. All who entered were appraised of the rules of the house by him in a staccato burst of sing-song noise. If there was big news to be told (for example, he shouted down a Blue Jay outside the window) then he told that next, running alongside you as you moved through the house. He was the only cat I have ever known who came when called with a whistle. And if you sang to him, he would put his face right next to yours, and purr as loudly as he could. He insisted on sleeping between The Wrench and I at night from the very start; he would curl up tightly between us once we were both settled. As he got older, he would spend most days basking in the sunbeams, and playing a little with the other cats. As time passed, his ability to jump as high as he used to diminished due to arthritis, but overall he was still a vibrant, active cat. Although he had been "fixed" before we adopted him, he still tried to "date" the girl kitties... even up until the day before he died. As I indicated before, he was nothing, if not determined.
The only lingering effects of his abandonment seemed to be his loathing of suitcases and empty boxes. Leave an open suitcase on the bed, and he would crawl in, and refuse to move. Place an empty box on the floor, and he would jump in, and couldn't be budged.
.-._.-._.-._.-._.-._.-._.-._.-._.-._.-._.-._.-._.-._.-.
In the last year, his kidneys began to fail, and we tried everything that the vet recommended, but his kidney disease continued to advance. Finally, about two months ago, we quit forcing him to eat the prescription food that the vet recommended, and just let him eat good old Fancy Feast cat food, his favorite. Even though he ate many, many times a day, and drank huge amounts of water, by the end he was down to less than half his normal body weight.
The Wrench knew that his time was running out... and before he left for work, I told him that I was really worried about B the Boy.
An hour after The Wrench left for work, we were on our way to the vet. B the Boy was going downhill really fast, and after a quick telephone consult, the vet said to come on in.
.-._.-._.-._.-._.-._.-._.-._.-._.-._.-._.-._.-._.-._.-.
I took one of The Wrench's old t-shirts with us. I wrapped B the Boy in it, and told him that it was like a hug from his daddy. Twinks and I kissed him and hugged him, and sent kisses and hugs with him for everyone else already there.
After while, Twinks couldn't bear to be in the room, and she slipped out. The girls in the office made sure she was OK. I stayed with B the Boy till the end, because I wanted to make sure that he knew he wasn't alone.
For 18 years, he was our "head cat". It was the least I could do.
Then I stayed a little while longer, because I didn't want to let him go. I sang to him, and I whistled for him one last time, but he couldn't come running; he was gone. The vet and the entire staff were so wonderful, and when I was finally ready to go, they came and tenderly picked him up from my arms.
Farewell, our old boy. We miss you so much. You were quite the character, and there will never be another like you.
.-._.-._.-._.-._.-._.-._.-._.-._.-._.-._.-._.-._.-._.-.
Yes, it happened on my birthday. Bad things happen on "good" days, and good things can happen on "bad" days. It's all a part of life.
Having said that, it didn't make telling The Wrench any easier.
He was in such a good mood when he walked through the door that night.
We cried together, and I reassured him that it was swift, and that I wrapped B the Boy in his old shirt. I told him what the vet said, and that there was nothing left for us to try. We cried some more; and then that night, when there was an empty spot on the bed, we cried again.
.-._.-._.-._.-._.-._.-._.-._.-._.-._.-._.-._.-._.-._.-.
Yesterday, in the mail, there was an envelope from the vet's office. They sent a card, signed by everyone. They each included a favorite memory, or a positive comment about B the Boy. We all cried again.
.-._.-._.-._.-._.-._.-._.-._.-._.-._.-._.-._.-._.-._.-.
The house is much quieter now.
Our cat food bill has dropped by more than half.
None of the other cats have taken his place. There is no one to curl up between The Wrench and I; no one stands on the kitchen windowsill to stave off the evil Blue Jays in the back yard. No one greets us when we come home, with a "report" on all that happened while we were out; no one comes when we whistle.
But I'm willing to bet that on the other side, there was a happy little boy who greeted his old friend with open arms again.
Blaze is part of Magazine Man's family. Blaze is a handsome, loyal fellow, and came to live with MM and his family after being rescued from a horrible situation.
.-._.-._.-._.-._.-._.-._.-._.-._.-._.-._.-._.-._.-._.-.
As is the case for so many of us, we don't just have *pets*. We have fur-covered friends, shaggy companions, and four-legged family members. Just because they are animals doesn't change the place they occupy in our hearts.
.-._.-._.-._.-._.-._.-._.-._.-._.-._.-._.-._.-._.-._.-.
We were all thrilled to hear about the amazing return of Blazey (Actually, his full name is Blazey Bellow Hoska Boo Boo Ba Doo) to the loving bosom of his family. Magazine Man is an inspiration, and a hero to animal lovers everywhere. His exploits in the name of retrieving Blaze makes even the most devoted pet owner look like a slacker.
To say that he went the distance to bring home Blazey would be a huge understatement.
But even as Blazey was coming home again, to a warm welcome from family and friends, our oldest, number one boy cat Shadow Romeo (aka B the Boy) was fading away.
.-._.-._.-._.-._.-._.-._.-._.-._.-._.-._.-._.-._.-._.-.
B the Boy was, by the vet's best estimate, between three and five years old when we found him. Actually, he found us; there was a tornado bearing down on our little corner of The Greater Metro, and in the middle of this terrible, horrible, storm we heard a scratching and howling outside the front door.
The Wrench opened the door, and B shot in like he had been fired out of a cannon. He bonded instantly with The Wrench; he was Daddy's guy. For the next 18 years.
.-._.-._.-._.-._.-._.-._.-._.-._.-._.-._.-._.-._.-._.-.
By last Friday, July 7th, B the Boy was deteriorating fast, and I knew that it was time to make that last journey. I called the vet's office, and they said to bring him on in. The Wrench was at work, and out in the hangar on a plane - there was no way to reach him.
Our regular vet was not there, but her associate was, and she quickly saw that there was no amount of extraordinary measures that would save our old B the Boy. He had internal bleeding, and his kidneys were failing. His back legs were not working right, and he couldn't sit anymore; he could only stand, or lay awkwardly on one side. Even when he tried to stand, he "tripoded"; he would be all hunched up, with his front legs apart, and his back legs together. His fur was starting to come out in handfuls, and his eyes were beginning to be cloudy. There was blood in his urine, and in his vomit.
It was time.
.-._.-._.-._.-._.-._.-._.-._.-._.-._.-._.-._.-._.-._.-.
B the Boy would never take "No" for an answer - he was always a very *determined* cat. That night that he found us, we took him in, intending to try and find his owners. Within the next day or so, we discovered that his former owner had been a little boy who had died of cancer. B the Boy had been his pet; he had lain faithfully at the boys side day and night. When the little boy died, his parents could not bear to live in their house on the quiet street behind our house; they packed everything up, and they moved away. Apparently, they took everything *but* B the Boy.
When B the Boy arrived at our house, he was in pretty bad shape. Soaking wet, skinny as a rail, and somewhere along the way he had been shot at least twice by a pellet gun; you could feel the pellets under his skin. His paws were raw and ragged, and he was insatiably hungry and thirsty. He probably had been on his own for a month or so. He was exhausted; for the first week all he did was sleep and eat.
Once recovered from his abandonment, he was quite healthy, and very happy to assert his position as number one, senior head cat by greeting all who came to our home. All who entered were appraised of the rules of the house by him in a staccato burst of sing-song noise. If there was big news to be told (for example, he shouted down a Blue Jay outside the window) then he told that next, running alongside you as you moved through the house. He was the only cat I have ever known who came when called with a whistle. And if you sang to him, he would put his face right next to yours, and purr as loudly as he could. He insisted on sleeping between The Wrench and I at night from the very start; he would curl up tightly between us once we were both settled. As he got older, he would spend most days basking in the sunbeams, and playing a little with the other cats. As time passed, his ability to jump as high as he used to diminished due to arthritis, but overall he was still a vibrant, active cat. Although he had been "fixed" before we adopted him, he still tried to "date" the girl kitties... even up until the day before he died. As I indicated before, he was nothing, if not determined.
The only lingering effects of his abandonment seemed to be his loathing of suitcases and empty boxes. Leave an open suitcase on the bed, and he would crawl in, and refuse to move. Place an empty box on the floor, and he would jump in, and couldn't be budged.
.-._.-._.-._.-._.-._.-._.-._.-._.-._.-._.-._.-._.-._.-.
In the last year, his kidneys began to fail, and we tried everything that the vet recommended, but his kidney disease continued to advance. Finally, about two months ago, we quit forcing him to eat the prescription food that the vet recommended, and just let him eat good old Fancy Feast cat food, his favorite. Even though he ate many, many times a day, and drank huge amounts of water, by the end he was down to less than half his normal body weight.
The Wrench knew that his time was running out... and before he left for work, I told him that I was really worried about B the Boy.
An hour after The Wrench left for work, we were on our way to the vet. B the Boy was going downhill really fast, and after a quick telephone consult, the vet said to come on in.
.-._.-._.-._.-._.-._.-._.-._.-._.-._.-._.-._.-._.-._.-.
I took one of The Wrench's old t-shirts with us. I wrapped B the Boy in it, and told him that it was like a hug from his daddy. Twinks and I kissed him and hugged him, and sent kisses and hugs with him for everyone else already there.
After while, Twinks couldn't bear to be in the room, and she slipped out. The girls in the office made sure she was OK. I stayed with B the Boy till the end, because I wanted to make sure that he knew he wasn't alone.
For 18 years, he was our "head cat". It was the least I could do.
Then I stayed a little while longer, because I didn't want to let him go. I sang to him, and I whistled for him one last time, but he couldn't come running; he was gone. The vet and the entire staff were so wonderful, and when I was finally ready to go, they came and tenderly picked him up from my arms.
Farewell, our old boy. We miss you so much. You were quite the character, and there will never be another like you.
.-._.-._.-._.-._.-._.-._.-._.-._.-._.-._.-._.-._.-._.-.
Yes, it happened on my birthday. Bad things happen on "good" days, and good things can happen on "bad" days. It's all a part of life.
Having said that, it didn't make telling The Wrench any easier.
He was in such a good mood when he walked through the door that night.
We cried together, and I reassured him that it was swift, and that I wrapped B the Boy in his old shirt. I told him what the vet said, and that there was nothing left for us to try. We cried some more; and then that night, when there was an empty spot on the bed, we cried again.
.-._.-._.-._.-._.-._.-._.-._.-._.-._.-._.-._.-._.-._.-.
Yesterday, in the mail, there was an envelope from the vet's office. They sent a card, signed by everyone. They each included a favorite memory, or a positive comment about B the Boy. We all cried again.
.-._.-._.-._.-._.-._.-._.-._.-._.-._.-._.-._.-._.-._.-.
The house is much quieter now.
Our cat food bill has dropped by more than half.
None of the other cats have taken his place. There is no one to curl up between The Wrench and I; no one stands on the kitchen windowsill to stave off the evil Blue Jays in the back yard. No one greets us when we come home, with a "report" on all that happened while we were out; no one comes when we whistle.
But I'm willing to bet that on the other side, there was a happy little boy who greeted his old friend with open arms again.
Wednesday, July 12, 2006
The Chronicles of Florida: Homeward Bound
Quick reference: Day 1 * Day 2 * Day 3 * The Introduction * The Liar, The Witch, & The Wardrobe *
We have left The Village behind, and are wending our way toward The Florida Turnpike once again.
It will take three days of driving to arrive home.
.-._.-._.-._.-._.-._.-._.-._.-._.-._.-._.-._.-._.-._.-.
That first day, I cried for hours. Drove, and cried. Twinks - having fulfilled her duties as Navigator on the way down - either dozed or played with her GameBoy DS.
We made good time that first day, and things went well enough despite the intermittent showers we drove through. We were looking forward to stopping for a break (and maybe a bit of ice cream) when we came upon yet another huge traffic accident.
This one had just happened, literally moments before we crested the rise. It was on the other side of the Interstate, and I saw cars going in crazy directions, some headed for our side of the road, trying not to rear-end one another. Right in the center of the highway, a minivan, not that dissimilar to the one I was driving was still rocking back and forth... on it's roof. People were running up to the minivan, tugging on the doors.
I had to keep driving - and try to keep my focus on the other vehicles around me, some of which were drifting a bit as their own drivers craned their necks to see as they passed. We prayed for the people in the upside-down van, and for the people in the other cars, and kept going.
A little bit shaken, we stopped for ice cream, and we still made it to the Slippery Tub hotel in time for dinner. This time, we were armed with a rubber bath mat I had purchased, and so we showered in relative safety. I did a load of laundry in the guest laundromat, and Twinks had a fast dip in the pool. We retired early, because we knew that the next day we would be driving in the rain, and we would also have the most difficult part of the journey again - that mad vertical dash across my former home state. I knew if we could get on the road early enough, we would be able to avoid rush hour in the two big cities that we had to pass through - and I also knew that we would (hopefully) hit a gap in the weather system that might allow us to drive between the storms.
Having safely showered, we loaded the minivan, and checked out of the Slippery Tub, and headed out the morning of Day Two: The Return Journey Home. We did dodge most of the rain until well after lunch, and we also beat the rush hour traffic as we had hoped. After we made it through the second big city, Twinks took a little nap, and I found a radio station that was :::gasp!::: actually NOT playing country music... The miles ticked by, and we continued to make good time. The rain finally caught us about 100 miles away from our next hotel (the nice, new Holiday Inn Express). While Twinks was snoozing, we passed another accident scene: a semi tumped over on it's side. Luckily, traffic was fairly light, and the gapers block was small.
When we got to the nice, shiny-new Holiday Inn Express, we found that the rain had been there, and was gone for the day. This meant one thing: we had to eat dinner, and FAST, Mom, because *someone* wanted to get in the pool! We accomplished dinner, and we filled the minivan with gas (one less thing to do in the morning) and then I pulled into the hotel parking lot, where Twinks bounced out, room key in hand, to get her swimsuit on. By the time I got to the room, she was ready to go to the pool, and so I sat by the pool for a while, and she goofed off in the water. It was a lovely evening, with a sweet, rain-cooled breeze, and as the clouds scudded away, the stars popped out. I took a picture of The Twinkster in the pool with my cell phone, and sent it home to Daddy.
We both slept well that night, and the next morning we were up early, and ready to go... Home! Since it was a Saturday, we didn't have to worry about rush hour traffic. The hotel's front desk manager told me about a great shortcut that saved us about 20 miles, and a ton of frustration, routing us around a huge construction project. No rain on this day - only blue skies, and warm sunshine!
We called The Wrench every time we stopped, to update him on our progress. He was glad to know we were on our way home again; we were eager to get there. He is my rock in times of crisis, and I had missed him so much while we were in Florida. Even though we spoke every day on the phone, and emailed each other, I still wanted him there with me. But, he had been busy at home... going to work, taking care of the kitties and the gerbils, and keeping the home fires burning.
We ate lunch at a Subway that was inside a HUGE, extremely busy truck stop along the Interstate highway, and we stopped a couple of more times, for potty breaks and leg-stretching, but overall the afternoon went by faster than I thought it would. Usually, the last stretch home seems to take forever, but today we sailed across the landscape, rejoicing when we finally picked up one of the radio stations from The Greater Metro.
We got home, and Twinks shot out of the van, and into The Wrench's arms like she was jet-propelled. Then, he and I were hugging, and kissing, and I knew for sure we were *home*.
The Wrench insisted on unloading the minivan, and after we had a bit of time to clean up and relax, he drove us up the road to our favorite little cantina for dinner - our sweet, familiar, Saturday night family ritual - and then he took us home again.
Home.
To sleep in our own beds, and awake in our own rooms, and know that for another day, at least, we are Home Again.
Absence does indeed make the heart grow fonder.
Home is, in fact, where the heart is.
.-._.-._.-._.-._.-._.-._.-._.-._.-._.-._.-._.-._.-._.-.
It was a long, physically and emotionally exhausting trip. I found that I have been growing up a little bit more, becoming a source of help and strength for my mother. I also found myself praying more, thankful that we drove nearly 3000 miles without incident. I realized that while I *can* handle a crisis without The Wrench, I still want him by my side, good times or bad.
So, yes, I learned some things on my summer vacation. And it wasn't perfect; it didn't all work out the way I hoped it would.
But in the end, I wouldn't change anything. Because this, like all of the events in our lives, this has shaped me, and become a part of who I am.
I'm just hoping that my *next* vacation won't be as... life changing!
We have left The Village behind, and are wending our way toward The Florida Turnpike once again.
It will take three days of driving to arrive home.
.-._.-._.-._.-._.-._.-._.-._.-._.-._.-._.-._.-._.-._.-.
That first day, I cried for hours. Drove, and cried. Twinks - having fulfilled her duties as Navigator on the way down - either dozed or played with her GameBoy DS.
We made good time that first day, and things went well enough despite the intermittent showers we drove through. We were looking forward to stopping for a break (and maybe a bit of ice cream) when we came upon yet another huge traffic accident.
This one had just happened, literally moments before we crested the rise. It was on the other side of the Interstate, and I saw cars going in crazy directions, some headed for our side of the road, trying not to rear-end one another. Right in the center of the highway, a minivan, not that dissimilar to the one I was driving was still rocking back and forth... on it's roof. People were running up to the minivan, tugging on the doors.
I had to keep driving - and try to keep my focus on the other vehicles around me, some of which were drifting a bit as their own drivers craned their necks to see as they passed. We prayed for the people in the upside-down van, and for the people in the other cars, and kept going.
A little bit shaken, we stopped for ice cream, and we still made it to the Slippery Tub hotel in time for dinner. This time, we were armed with a rubber bath mat I had purchased, and so we showered in relative safety. I did a load of laundry in the guest laundromat, and Twinks had a fast dip in the pool. We retired early, because we knew that the next day we would be driving in the rain, and we would also have the most difficult part of the journey again - that mad vertical dash across my former home state. I knew if we could get on the road early enough, we would be able to avoid rush hour in the two big cities that we had to pass through - and I also knew that we would (hopefully) hit a gap in the weather system that might allow us to drive between the storms.
Having safely showered, we loaded the minivan, and checked out of the Slippery Tub, and headed out the morning of Day Two: The Return Journey Home. We did dodge most of the rain until well after lunch, and we also beat the rush hour traffic as we had hoped. After we made it through the second big city, Twinks took a little nap, and I found a radio station that was :::gasp!::: actually NOT playing country music... The miles ticked by, and we continued to make good time. The rain finally caught us about 100 miles away from our next hotel (the nice, new Holiday Inn Express). While Twinks was snoozing, we passed another accident scene: a semi tumped over on it's side. Luckily, traffic was fairly light, and the gapers block was small.
When we got to the nice, shiny-new Holiday Inn Express, we found that the rain had been there, and was gone for the day. This meant one thing: we had to eat dinner, and FAST, Mom, because *someone* wanted to get in the pool! We accomplished dinner, and we filled the minivan with gas (one less thing to do in the morning) and then I pulled into the hotel parking lot, where Twinks bounced out, room key in hand, to get her swimsuit on. By the time I got to the room, she was ready to go to the pool, and so I sat by the pool for a while, and she goofed off in the water. It was a lovely evening, with a sweet, rain-cooled breeze, and as the clouds scudded away, the stars popped out. I took a picture of The Twinkster in the pool with my cell phone, and sent it home to Daddy.
We both slept well that night, and the next morning we were up early, and ready to go... Home! Since it was a Saturday, we didn't have to worry about rush hour traffic. The hotel's front desk manager told me about a great shortcut that saved us about 20 miles, and a ton of frustration, routing us around a huge construction project. No rain on this day - only blue skies, and warm sunshine!
We called The Wrench every time we stopped, to update him on our progress. He was glad to know we were on our way home again; we were eager to get there. He is my rock in times of crisis, and I had missed him so much while we were in Florida. Even though we spoke every day on the phone, and emailed each other, I still wanted him there with me. But, he had been busy at home... going to work, taking care of the kitties and the gerbils, and keeping the home fires burning.
We ate lunch at a Subway that was inside a HUGE, extremely busy truck stop along the Interstate highway, and we stopped a couple of more times, for potty breaks and leg-stretching, but overall the afternoon went by faster than I thought it would. Usually, the last stretch home seems to take forever, but today we sailed across the landscape, rejoicing when we finally picked up one of the radio stations from The Greater Metro.
We got home, and Twinks shot out of the van, and into The Wrench's arms like she was jet-propelled. Then, he and I were hugging, and kissing, and I knew for sure we were *home*.
The Wrench insisted on unloading the minivan, and after we had a bit of time to clean up and relax, he drove us up the road to our favorite little cantina for dinner - our sweet, familiar, Saturday night family ritual - and then he took us home again.
Home.
To sleep in our own beds, and awake in our own rooms, and know that for another day, at least, we are Home Again.
Absence does indeed make the heart grow fonder.
Home is, in fact, where the heart is.
.-._.-._.-._.-._.-._.-._.-._.-._.-._.-._.-._.-._.-._.-.
It was a long, physically and emotionally exhausting trip. I found that I have been growing up a little bit more, becoming a source of help and strength for my mother. I also found myself praying more, thankful that we drove nearly 3000 miles without incident. I realized that while I *can* handle a crisis without The Wrench, I still want him by my side, good times or bad.
So, yes, I learned some things on my summer vacation. And it wasn't perfect; it didn't all work out the way I hoped it would.
But in the end, I wouldn't change anything. Because this, like all of the events in our lives, this has shaped me, and become a part of who I am.
I'm just hoping that my *next* vacation won't be as... life changing!
Sunday, July 09, 2006
The Chronicles of Florida: The Liar, The Witch, & A Wardrobe...
If you have just joined us, and you want to catch up (or refresh your memory - let's face it, it took me forever to get this done) here is an index of sorts:
Day 1 - I am briefly and frighteningly possessed by a junior high escapee. Vacation Officially Begins.
Day 2 - I regress linguistically, and find myself sounding like an extra from "Gone With The Wind". Or, Kelly ;)
Day 3 - Finally, finally, finally we are at my Mom's, and we find out that many things are not as they seem.
The Chronicles Begin: An introduction is required
=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-
Now that you have a bit of the backstory regarding The Stepdad, let's meet the major players in this little drama. Some of them you may already know:
The Wrench - Handsome, loving, hard-working husband of the author.
Twinkle, aka Twinks - effervescent, lovable and loving 12 year old. Daughter of the author.
Mom - Mother of the author, and maternal grandmother of the lovely Twinkle.
The Stepdad - That Guy that Mom Married After Daddy Died.
The Daughters of Doom and Gloom - Offspring of The Stepdad. They are relatively interchangeable, not unlike Lego pieces.
Old Buddy - The Stepdad's best friend since before Kindergarden. Has known The Stepdad for more than 75 years.
Old Biddy - Wife of Old Friend. Has known both The Stepdad, and Old Buddy for more than 70 years.
The Location - Florida, Atlantic coast. Sun, sand, Seniors and theme parks. "The Village" is the the "Retirement Community" where Mom and The Stepdad live.
.-._.-._.-._.-._.-._.-._.-._.-._.-._.-._.-._.-.
So, finally we were here. Mom's apartment building. We were one floor down, and over a hallway, but we were here, and I hoped to spend the next week or so catching up with Mom and making sure that she was as OK as possible (given the circumstances).
It was The Day After Day 3, (yes, I know. That would make it DAY 4, but I'm tired of counting...) and we got up, got dressed, and took the stairs up to their apartment. The entire complex is self-contained within one huge building that curves alongside an inland lake. You can move from one area to another without ever leaving the interior of the building; additionally, the building has survived (intact) all of the hurricanes in the last twenty years. They are truly in a self-contained little community. There are generators to keep elevators working and lights on during a storm. There are huge storm shutters on all of the windows. The walls are 24 inches thick, and the roofs are doubled and reinforced. The kitchens and dining halls are also self-contained, and can operate for up to two weeks, feeding not only all of the occupants of the Village, but all of the employees, and their families too. The employees are notable for their neat, clean uniforms (Burgundy polo shirts, and khaki pants) and their bland, blank expressions.
The night before, as we were talking, I could not help but notice how dangerously depressed Mom seemed to be. I knew that it was likely because of all of the bad news she had just gotten from her doctor, but it frightened me to see her like that.
Now, the next morning, I could see the apartment in the daylight. It was still small, but at least it was full of the light and sunshine that Mom loves so much. Their view isn't much; mostly the parking lot we met them in last night, and one of the streets that meanders through The Village. They can see a bit of the gardens that are tended by some of the residents, and the "green break" that creates a visual barrier between The Village and the property next door.
We still couldn't talk freely yet - The Stepdad has a tendency to dominate any conversation that Mom and I try to have, so we have learned over the years to just wait until he is out of the room. Instead, we all talk about the trip we just completed, and the plans The Stepdad has made to entertain us.
Finally, The Stepdad goes for his morning walk around the grounds, and Mom and I can talk. We go straight to the topic of her health. We talk frankly about what she wants to do if she does have breast cancer. We talk about the strokes, and I discover that she is more afraid of those, than of the possibility of cancer. We cry a little bit more, and then I tell her that no matter what happens, I am not going to allow her to go through this alone. We talk about options, both extreme and realistic. I am trying to determine what my next move should be.
.-._.-._.-._.-._.-._.-._.-._.-._.-._.-._.-._.-._.-._.-.
The next evening is a "formal dinner" at The Village. Twinks and I have packed only lightweight, summer play clothes - we were caught unprepared for this event. And so, the saga of The Wardrobe began.
The Stepdad seemed to be inordinately upset with the notion that we had arrived without "adequate" provisions for such an event. Mom and I pull together an outfit for Twinks, and after a hurried and fruitless shopping expedition, we forage through her closet to find something for me to wear. It isn't the most fashionable outfit I've ever worn - the word "serviceable" comes to mind - but it works.
The Wardrobe is an issue The Stepdad will keep harping on for the next several days.
That is, until he finds something *new* to talk about.
.-._.-._.-._.-._.-._.-._.-._.-._.-._.-._.-._.-.
Fast forward three days. The Stepdad, Twinks, and I are out by the community pool. Aside from one other occupant, we have the pool to ourselves. I am sitting on the deck, under the shade of the cabana that runs the length of the pool. Twinks is hopping in and out of the pool, and is happily paddling about while the palm trees wave gently in the wind. The Stepdad is treading water near the edge of the pool; he and I are discussing Mom's health.
As he often does, The Stepdad tells me things "in confidence". Quite often, these things that are so "important" are either obvious downright lies, complete fabrications, or as in this case, wishful thinking run amok.
Enter The Liar.
The Stepdad tries to sell me a bill of goods that even my blind grandma could tell was a load of shit with her bad eye. He tells me that Mom doesn't want to move home again - that in fact, it was her idea to move to The Village. He tells me that every time they have moved (four times in the last thirteen years) it has been *her* idea, and that he just wants to go back to his old hometown Two Hours East of our house.
There is more - all of it is untrue. Much of it is him trying to shift blame or focus from his own actions to someone else, in this case Mom. I believe that he is genuinely scared by her current health crisis, and perhaps is seeking to insure that I don't blame him later for the outcome. As I sit there and listen to what he is saying, I realize that he is trying to lay the groundwork for something; what it is I can't yet discern.
What The Stepdad doesn't know (and to hear him tell it, he knows *everything*) is that after every one of our "confidential conversations" Mom and I have a debriefing session. We have been doing this since shortly after they were married when The Stepdad tried to convince me that Mom would prefer it if I just stayed at home and never visited - because it made her so sad when we left! He even told me that Mom asked him to speak to me, and that if I didn't want to upset her further, I should not ever mention it. I was so upset by that conversation that I went directly and privately to Mom, to find out if it were true (and of course it wasn't) and since then, she and I have made it a point to always compare notes after these little "chats".
As is usual, almost all of what The Stepdad has said is malarkey; Mom and I sort out the truth, and I remind her that since I cannot trust The Stepdad to tell me the truth about anything, she needs to keep good lines of communication open with me during this whole health crisis.
The Liar resurfaces several more times before we leave for home; he is a recurring character in each of our visits with Mom.
I wish he would learn to trust me, but I believe he never will. I am the Enemy Sworn; I am the one person in this world who Mom would leave The Stepdad for. And he knows it. He knows that if I called her, and begged her - if she had to choose between The Stepdad, and me... she would choose me. Every time.
It drives him crazy.
.-._.-._.-._.-._.-._.-._.-._.-._.-._.-._.-._.-.
Finally, the day before we are set to leave, the truth begins to come to light. The bits and pieces of the groundwork that The Stepdad threw down out at the pool come together.
The Daughters of Doom and Gloom are lobbying for their daddy to come home. To live Two Hours East again. Bring That Woman You Married if you must, daddy dear, but come home where we can keep an eye on you...
...and your money.
Amazingly, The Stepdad is seriously considering moving back to Two Hours East.
I have to restrain myself from jumping up and down, and yelling with glee. This is *good* news - because for the first time in 10 years, they would be living just Two Hours East, instead of a three to four day car trip, or an all-day airline/rental car extravaganza. Mom prods him to finally admit that the reason they are moving is because they are both so unhappy at The Village. Nothing is as they thought it would be, and they are both ready to move - anywhere. Mom wants to come home - to The Greater Metro, to live just down the street from us if at all possible - but The Stepdad flatly refuses to move anywhere near us. Mom's face tightens when he says that; it is the first time he has ever actually said those words in her presence. She knows that he has told me this before; he refuses to live anywhere close to us, because he believes that we would "meddle" in their lives, and that we would be "underfoot" too much. But until this moment, he has never said this to her directly.
Never mind the fact that they will be living just *minutes* from The Daughters of Gloom and Doom. Who knows? Maybe he really does want to forge a connection of some sort with his children before he dies. I personally hope he does - I think it would be terribly sad for all of them if he were to pass away without reaching out to them at least once more.
It is during this same conversation when The Stepdad made another mistake - the one that I fear may ultimately end their marriage.
He actually asked me to cover the loss that they will incur if they were to move back to Two Hours East. He even named a figure: $31,000.
His meaning was clear to everyone in the room: "If you want your Mom closer, here's the price".
Mom blanched at this - and sharply told him that it is not my responsibility to make up for his mistake. He leaves the room, telling us he is going for a walk. And for the first time ever, my Mom talks with me about leaving The Stepdad. About divorce. She decides she will do nothing for now, but I can see that her resolve is forming, becoming stronger. She is tired of all of the crap. Tired of moving every three to four years. Tired of him trying to force a wedge between her and her family. Tired of feeling like a bird in a gilded cage.
All I can do is tell her that she always will have a place with us - for as long as she wants. The Wrench, Twinks and myself all three would happily make room for her. Hells Bells, we would even make room for The Stepdad, too. We just want Mom home. We all miss her so much.
.-._.-._.-._.-._.-._.-._.-._.-._.-._.-._.-._.-.
The primary reason that Mom and The Stepdad are now living at The Village was because Old Buddy moved here several years ago. Old Buddy had talked incessantly with The Stepdad about The Village. About how wonderful it was. About how great the food was, the weather was, and how much fun they would all have if The Stepdad and Mom would just move on down to Florida. In the interim, Old Buddy married Old Biddy. Old Buddy and Old Biddy are the reigning "King and Queen" of The Village. They sit at the "head table" in the dining room, and hold court from start to finish at each meal. I have known Old Buddy since Mom and The Stepdad got married; our families all spent one rather memorable summer Up North At The Lake Cabins during which I learned that Old Buddy cheats like a madman at Gin Rummy, and has a stash of Cubans that Fidel himself would be proud of. Old Buddy is a great old guy - who just happens to be married to a real Witch.
When Mom and The Stepdad first arrived at The Village, things were great with Old Buddy & Biddy. However, as the weeks passed, Mom noticed that rumors had begun circulating about her health. Other women would come up to her, and tell her that they hoped she would be alright, and that she shouldn't worry because there would be no shortage of people to help The Stepdad. (Remember, this is a "retirement community, and the number of available, vertical men is nearly zero. When one does become "available" there is a whole cadre of old women that instantly seeks to "comfort" or "care" for him.) When Mom finally tracked down the source of the rumors, it was... Old Biddy. Over the course of the next month or so, things began to deterioate between The Stepdad and Old Buddy. Finally, Old Buddy told The Stepdad that Old Biddy "didn't like them anymore" and that he hoped they would understand, but Old Biddy just wasn't comfortable around them. The Stepdad and Old Buddy are still friends - but Old Biddy tries to keep them apart, so they meet twice a week for billiards and cigars downstairs. No Girls Allowed.
Needless to say, The Stepdad and Mom are upset about this turn of events; moving to The Village was supposed to mean that Old Buddy and The Stepdad would get to spend their "sunset years" together. Old Biddy continues to spread rumors about Mom - the latest one she started while I was there was that Mom had Alzheimers, and The Stepdad was going to divorce her. This has resulted in a twittering flock of blue-haired ladies following The Stepdad about, everywhere he goes, each one ready and able to "help him out" just as soon as they can move Mom over to the Alzheimers Unit and call in the attorneys.
Mom = sharp as a tack.
Old Biddy = The Witch.
Old Biddy, by the way, *hates* children. Loathes them. Despises them. Absolutely, positively, completely. So it was with much glee that on our last night at Dinner, Twinks and I stopped by their table, to throw our arms around "Uncle Old Buddy" and cover him with kisses, and tell him to be sure to come and visit us soon. "Uncle Old Buddy" laughed, and hugged and kissed us in return, telling us to be sure to visit again soon. The Old Biddy Witch recoiled in horror as Twinks moved towards her, and then visibly relaxed when Twinks turned back around the other way to give Uncle Old Buddy one last "smackerooni" good-bye. I know it was silly, and we probably shouldn't have done it, but it gave us all a big laugh when we were back up in Mom and The Stepdad's apartment!
.-._.-._.-._.-._.-._.-._.-._.-._.-._.-._.-._.-.
The worst part of leaving for me is knowing that I'll be so far away from Mom. That if something does happen to her, there is 30 hours of driving time, or a full day of airports and rental car counters between us.
I have done all I can do here at The Village. Mom is between specialists, and we are all still waiting for more news. The only good thing that we have heard during our visit is that the doctors office has managed to find the last mammogram that Mom had before they moved here, and it is on the way for comparison purposes. To help prevent any more strokes, she is taking a couple of additional prescriptions; at least I have the small comfort of knowing that her medication is hopefully working to help protect her.
I hate this nagging feeling that I can't fully trust The Stepdad when he tells me that he is going to take good care of Mom. Because I know him to be selfish, and I know that he resents my presence in their life. So when I leave, there is always an uneasy feeling within me; I want more than anything to just scoop Mom up, and bring her home so that I know she is safe and healthy.
But I can't. It's her decision to make - and because he treats her so well, and he loves her so much, and (ironically) he never seems to lie to *her* - she stays with him. For the time being, at least. As I have said before, I don't meddle in other peoples marriages.
Now it's time to go, and we stood in the muggy morning light, the heat already rebounding from the asphalt in the parking lot. Mom promised to call me with the results from the next round of doctors visits.
I promised to call her every day until she told me to stop.
The Stepdad hugged us, and told us to be safe - and then Mom and I were hugging and crying in the parking lot again, only this time because we were leaving. I didn't want to let go; I didn't want to leave not knowing if everything was going to be OK.
They stood in the parking lot, waving until we turned the corner.
I cried all the way north to Orlando.
Next, finally: Home
Day 1 - I am briefly and frighteningly possessed by a junior high escapee. Vacation Officially Begins.
Day 2 - I regress linguistically, and find myself sounding like an extra from "Gone With The Wind". Or, Kelly ;)
Day 3 - Finally, finally, finally we are at my Mom's, and we find out that many things are not as they seem.
The Chronicles Begin: An introduction is required
=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-
Now that you have a bit of the backstory regarding The Stepdad, let's meet the major players in this little drama. Some of them you may already know:
The Wrench - Handsome, loving, hard-working husband of the author.
Twinkle, aka Twinks - effervescent, lovable and loving 12 year old. Daughter of the author.
Mom - Mother of the author, and maternal grandmother of the lovely Twinkle.
The Stepdad - That Guy that Mom Married After Daddy Died.
The Daughters of Doom and Gloom - Offspring of The Stepdad. They are relatively interchangeable, not unlike Lego pieces.
Old Buddy - The Stepdad's best friend since before Kindergarden. Has known The Stepdad for more than 75 years.
Old Biddy - Wife of Old Friend. Has known both The Stepdad, and Old Buddy for more than 70 years.
The Location - Florida, Atlantic coast. Sun, sand, Seniors and theme parks. "The Village" is the the "Retirement Community" where Mom and The Stepdad live.
.-._.-._.-._.-._.-._.-._.-._.-._.-._.-._.-._.-.
So, finally we were here. Mom's apartment building. We were one floor down, and over a hallway, but we were here, and I hoped to spend the next week or so catching up with Mom and making sure that she was as OK as possible (given the circumstances).
It was The Day After Day 3, (yes, I know. That would make it DAY 4, but I'm tired of counting...) and we got up, got dressed, and took the stairs up to their apartment. The entire complex is self-contained within one huge building that curves alongside an inland lake. You can move from one area to another without ever leaving the interior of the building; additionally, the building has survived (intact) all of the hurricanes in the last twenty years. They are truly in a self-contained little community. There are generators to keep elevators working and lights on during a storm. There are huge storm shutters on all of the windows. The walls are 24 inches thick, and the roofs are doubled and reinforced. The kitchens and dining halls are also self-contained, and can operate for up to two weeks, feeding not only all of the occupants of the Village, but all of the employees, and their families too. The employees are notable for their neat, clean uniforms (Burgundy polo shirts, and khaki pants) and their bland, blank expressions.
The night before, as we were talking, I could not help but notice how dangerously depressed Mom seemed to be. I knew that it was likely because of all of the bad news she had just gotten from her doctor, but it frightened me to see her like that.
Now, the next morning, I could see the apartment in the daylight. It was still small, but at least it was full of the light and sunshine that Mom loves so much. Their view isn't much; mostly the parking lot we met them in last night, and one of the streets that meanders through The Village. They can see a bit of the gardens that are tended by some of the residents, and the "green break" that creates a visual barrier between The Village and the property next door.
We still couldn't talk freely yet - The Stepdad has a tendency to dominate any conversation that Mom and I try to have, so we have learned over the years to just wait until he is out of the room. Instead, we all talk about the trip we just completed, and the plans The Stepdad has made to entertain us.
Finally, The Stepdad goes for his morning walk around the grounds, and Mom and I can talk. We go straight to the topic of her health. We talk frankly about what she wants to do if she does have breast cancer. We talk about the strokes, and I discover that she is more afraid of those, than of the possibility of cancer. We cry a little bit more, and then I tell her that no matter what happens, I am not going to allow her to go through this alone. We talk about options, both extreme and realistic. I am trying to determine what my next move should be.
.-._.-._.-._.-._.-._.-._.-._.-._.-._.-._.-._.-._.-._.-.
The next evening is a "formal dinner" at The Village. Twinks and I have packed only lightweight, summer play clothes - we were caught unprepared for this event. And so, the saga of The Wardrobe began.
The Stepdad seemed to be inordinately upset with the notion that we had arrived without "adequate" provisions for such an event. Mom and I pull together an outfit for Twinks, and after a hurried and fruitless shopping expedition, we forage through her closet to find something for me to wear. It isn't the most fashionable outfit I've ever worn - the word "serviceable" comes to mind - but it works.
The Wardrobe is an issue The Stepdad will keep harping on for the next several days.
That is, until he finds something *new* to talk about.
.-._.-._.-._.-._.-._.-._.-._.-._.-._.-._.-._.-.
Fast forward three days. The Stepdad, Twinks, and I are out by the community pool. Aside from one other occupant, we have the pool to ourselves. I am sitting on the deck, under the shade of the cabana that runs the length of the pool. Twinks is hopping in and out of the pool, and is happily paddling about while the palm trees wave gently in the wind. The Stepdad is treading water near the edge of the pool; he and I are discussing Mom's health.
As he often does, The Stepdad tells me things "in confidence". Quite often, these things that are so "important" are either obvious downright lies, complete fabrications, or as in this case, wishful thinking run amok.
Enter The Liar.
The Stepdad tries to sell me a bill of goods that even my blind grandma could tell was a load of shit with her bad eye. He tells me that Mom doesn't want to move home again - that in fact, it was her idea to move to The Village. He tells me that every time they have moved (four times in the last thirteen years) it has been *her* idea, and that he just wants to go back to his old hometown Two Hours East of our house.
There is more - all of it is untrue. Much of it is him trying to shift blame or focus from his own actions to someone else, in this case Mom. I believe that he is genuinely scared by her current health crisis, and perhaps is seeking to insure that I don't blame him later for the outcome. As I sit there and listen to what he is saying, I realize that he is trying to lay the groundwork for something; what it is I can't yet discern.
What The Stepdad doesn't know (and to hear him tell it, he knows *everything*) is that after every one of our "confidential conversations" Mom and I have a debriefing session. We have been doing this since shortly after they were married when The Stepdad tried to convince me that Mom would prefer it if I just stayed at home and never visited - because it made her so sad when we left! He even told me that Mom asked him to speak to me, and that if I didn't want to upset her further, I should not ever mention it. I was so upset by that conversation that I went directly and privately to Mom, to find out if it were true (and of course it wasn't) and since then, she and I have made it a point to always compare notes after these little "chats".
As is usual, almost all of what The Stepdad has said is malarkey; Mom and I sort out the truth, and I remind her that since I cannot trust The Stepdad to tell me the truth about anything, she needs to keep good lines of communication open with me during this whole health crisis.
The Liar resurfaces several more times before we leave for home; he is a recurring character in each of our visits with Mom.
I wish he would learn to trust me, but I believe he never will. I am the Enemy Sworn; I am the one person in this world who Mom would leave The Stepdad for. And he knows it. He knows that if I called her, and begged her - if she had to choose between The Stepdad, and me... she would choose me. Every time.
It drives him crazy.
.-._.-._.-._.-._.-._.-._.-._.-._.-._.-._.-._.-.
Finally, the day before we are set to leave, the truth begins to come to light. The bits and pieces of the groundwork that The Stepdad threw down out at the pool come together.
The Daughters of Doom and Gloom are lobbying for their daddy to come home. To live Two Hours East again. Bring That Woman You Married if you must, daddy dear, but come home where we can keep an eye on you...
...and your money.
Amazingly, The Stepdad is seriously considering moving back to Two Hours East.
I have to restrain myself from jumping up and down, and yelling with glee. This is *good* news - because for the first time in 10 years, they would be living just Two Hours East, instead of a three to four day car trip, or an all-day airline/rental car extravaganza. Mom prods him to finally admit that the reason they are moving is because they are both so unhappy at The Village. Nothing is as they thought it would be, and they are both ready to move - anywhere. Mom wants to come home - to The Greater Metro, to live just down the street from us if at all possible - but The Stepdad flatly refuses to move anywhere near us. Mom's face tightens when he says that; it is the first time he has ever actually said those words in her presence. She knows that he has told me this before; he refuses to live anywhere close to us, because he believes that we would "meddle" in their lives, and that we would be "underfoot" too much. But until this moment, he has never said this to her directly.
Never mind the fact that they will be living just *minutes* from The Daughters of Gloom and Doom. Who knows? Maybe he really does want to forge a connection of some sort with his children before he dies. I personally hope he does - I think it would be terribly sad for all of them if he were to pass away without reaching out to them at least once more.
It is during this same conversation when The Stepdad made another mistake - the one that I fear may ultimately end their marriage.
He actually asked me to cover the loss that they will incur if they were to move back to Two Hours East. He even named a figure: $31,000.
His meaning was clear to everyone in the room: "If you want your Mom closer, here's the price".
Mom blanched at this - and sharply told him that it is not my responsibility to make up for his mistake. He leaves the room, telling us he is going for a walk. And for the first time ever, my Mom talks with me about leaving The Stepdad. About divorce. She decides she will do nothing for now, but I can see that her resolve is forming, becoming stronger. She is tired of all of the crap. Tired of moving every three to four years. Tired of him trying to force a wedge between her and her family. Tired of feeling like a bird in a gilded cage.
All I can do is tell her that she always will have a place with us - for as long as she wants. The Wrench, Twinks and myself all three would happily make room for her. Hells Bells, we would even make room for The Stepdad, too. We just want Mom home. We all miss her so much.
.-._.-._.-._.-._.-._.-._.-._.-._.-._.-._.-._.-.
The primary reason that Mom and The Stepdad are now living at The Village was because Old Buddy moved here several years ago. Old Buddy had talked incessantly with The Stepdad about The Village. About how wonderful it was. About how great the food was, the weather was, and how much fun they would all have if The Stepdad and Mom would just move on down to Florida. In the interim, Old Buddy married Old Biddy. Old Buddy and Old Biddy are the reigning "King and Queen" of The Village. They sit at the "head table" in the dining room, and hold court from start to finish at each meal. I have known Old Buddy since Mom and The Stepdad got married; our families all spent one rather memorable summer Up North At The Lake Cabins during which I learned that Old Buddy cheats like a madman at Gin Rummy, and has a stash of Cubans that Fidel himself would be proud of. Old Buddy is a great old guy - who just happens to be married to a real Witch.
When Mom and The Stepdad first arrived at The Village, things were great with Old Buddy & Biddy. However, as the weeks passed, Mom noticed that rumors had begun circulating about her health. Other women would come up to her, and tell her that they hoped she would be alright, and that she shouldn't worry because there would be no shortage of people to help The Stepdad. (Remember, this is a "retirement community, and the number of available, vertical men is nearly zero. When one does become "available" there is a whole cadre of old women that instantly seeks to "comfort" or "care" for him.) When Mom finally tracked down the source of the rumors, it was... Old Biddy. Over the course of the next month or so, things began to deterioate between The Stepdad and Old Buddy. Finally, Old Buddy told The Stepdad that Old Biddy "didn't like them anymore" and that he hoped they would understand, but Old Biddy just wasn't comfortable around them. The Stepdad and Old Buddy are still friends - but Old Biddy tries to keep them apart, so they meet twice a week for billiards and cigars downstairs. No Girls Allowed.
Needless to say, The Stepdad and Mom are upset about this turn of events; moving to The Village was supposed to mean that Old Buddy and The Stepdad would get to spend their "sunset years" together. Old Biddy continues to spread rumors about Mom - the latest one she started while I was there was that Mom had Alzheimers, and The Stepdad was going to divorce her. This has resulted in a twittering flock of blue-haired ladies following The Stepdad about, everywhere he goes, each one ready and able to "help him out" just as soon as they can move Mom over to the Alzheimers Unit and call in the attorneys.
Mom = sharp as a tack.
Old Biddy = The Witch.
Old Biddy, by the way, *hates* children. Loathes them. Despises them. Absolutely, positively, completely. So it was with much glee that on our last night at Dinner, Twinks and I stopped by their table, to throw our arms around "Uncle Old Buddy" and cover him with kisses, and tell him to be sure to come and visit us soon. "Uncle Old Buddy" laughed, and hugged and kissed us in return, telling us to be sure to visit again soon. The Old Biddy Witch recoiled in horror as Twinks moved towards her, and then visibly relaxed when Twinks turned back around the other way to give Uncle Old Buddy one last "smackerooni" good-bye. I know it was silly, and we probably shouldn't have done it, but it gave us all a big laugh when we were back up in Mom and The Stepdad's apartment!
.-._.-._.-._.-._.-._.-._.-._.-._.-._.-._.-._.-.
The worst part of leaving for me is knowing that I'll be so far away from Mom. That if something does happen to her, there is 30 hours of driving time, or a full day of airports and rental car counters between us.
I have done all I can do here at The Village. Mom is between specialists, and we are all still waiting for more news. The only good thing that we have heard during our visit is that the doctors office has managed to find the last mammogram that Mom had before they moved here, and it is on the way for comparison purposes. To help prevent any more strokes, she is taking a couple of additional prescriptions; at least I have the small comfort of knowing that her medication is hopefully working to help protect her.
I hate this nagging feeling that I can't fully trust The Stepdad when he tells me that he is going to take good care of Mom. Because I know him to be selfish, and I know that he resents my presence in their life. So when I leave, there is always an uneasy feeling within me; I want more than anything to just scoop Mom up, and bring her home so that I know she is safe and healthy.
But I can't. It's her decision to make - and because he treats her so well, and he loves her so much, and (ironically) he never seems to lie to *her* - she stays with him. For the time being, at least. As I have said before, I don't meddle in other peoples marriages.
Now it's time to go, and we stood in the muggy morning light, the heat already rebounding from the asphalt in the parking lot. Mom promised to call me with the results from the next round of doctors visits.
I promised to call her every day until she told me to stop.
The Stepdad hugged us, and told us to be safe - and then Mom and I were hugging and crying in the parking lot again, only this time because we were leaving. I didn't want to let go; I didn't want to leave not knowing if everything was going to be OK.
They stood in the parking lot, waving until we turned the corner.
I cried all the way north to Orlando.
Next, finally: Home
Wednesday, July 05, 2006
The Chronicles of Florida: By way of an introduction...
We started our vacation here. Then, there was Day 2. We *finally* made it to Mom's on Day 3! After a (minor, but frightening) Medical Emergency that required an Intermission to our story, we return you now to the morning after Day 3, which would technically be Day 4, and...
In order for you to understand things, I can see that we will have to backtrack a bit at this point, Gentle Reader. Our astute friend Kelly noticed that I seem to consider That Guy That Mom Married After Daddy Died (hereinafter known as The Stepdad) to be a bit *problematic*.
Kelly is a very smart woman, indeed.
The Stepdad is a complex issue.
You see, after my Dad died (in 1990) Mom was shattered. She and Daddy had been so much in love; he truly adored her, and she thought that he would always be her Knight in Shining Armor. He died way too young; he was only 58, and was full of plans for their retirement. He was smart, funny, and feisty. He was a Korean War Vet, a true patriot, and a Master Mason. When I was born, in 1960, he was in the delivery room (something unheard of back then). He was my hero, and my best friend.
He loved me as only a Daddy loves his little girl, and to his very last day, he never let me forget how much he loved me.
Daddy thought that The Wrench was simply "The Best Guy Ever", and was delighted when after our whirlwind 9-day courtship, we announced our engagement. He took the The Wrench into his heart - and into his beloved, sacred garage. They bonded so quickly and completely that I knew without a doubt that The Wrench was The One For Me. When Daddy was dying, The Wrench sat by his side for hours, and did whatever he could to make Daddy as comfortable as he could be.
After he was gone, there was this huge Dad-shaped hole in our world. For the first year, Mom worked on auto-pilot, getting up every morning, getting dressed, eating meals, doing what had to be done... but she was just existing. Marking time. During the second year, she decided to go back to college - not for a degree (she already has a Masters Degree in Education) but to take all of the "fun" classes that she never got to take when she was in school. Art classes mostly - The Wrench and I would come over, and find her (literally) knee-deep in one art project or another. After the second year passed, she began to talk about finding someone - a companion. A friend. Someone her age. She didn't want to get "serious", but she didn't want to be alone, either.
Mom spent some time going around with a widower from church - a nice enough fellow, but significantly older than her, and she knew he was looking for another wife. The Wrench and I encouraged her to keep looking for someone that she might "click" with. She picked up a copy of a local Christian singles paper... and there was an ad that she decided to respond to. An ad that had been placed by The Stepdad.
The Stepdad was, on the surface, much like my dad. Similar occupation, similar physical appearance, both were veterans, and The Stepdad was instantly and fully smitten with Mom. Financially speaking, he was roughly Mom's equal; their investments differed. From their first date, there was nothing he wouldn't do for her. She nervously arranged to bring him by our little cottage in The City one evening for after-dinner drinks and dessert. The Wrench and I saw that she was happy with him, and we could tell right away how much he liked her.
Time passed - just a few months, but it was enough, and they decided to move in together. The problem was, The Stepdad lived two hours away, in the next state to the east. The other problem was that The Stepdad had daughters from a previous marriage, and he had - from the start - tried to treat me as one of his own daughters. (His daughters, however, treated me more like Cinderella, but that's another story for another day...)
This all sounds tolerable enough on paper. But the reality was, I was (at the time) a 34 year old woman. I had already had a Dad, thank you very much, the best dad ever, and I still missed him tremendously. Especially now, because I was pregnant with The Little Sprout (who was actually Baby Twinks, but we didn't know it yet) I didn't want "another" dad; I didn't need The Stepdad to be a "father" to me. I was hoping we would form a friendship of sorts, knowing that my Mom would be the glue that bound us together. I always figured that as time passed, I might be able to accept him more as a "father figure", but I didn't know if I would ever be able to call him "Dad".
And, I didn't want to be anyone else's daughter. It felt like being a traitor to my own father.
I'll be the first to admit it - it was an extremely emotional time for me. I was pregnant, and we were struggling just to get through the first trimester. We were all on pins and needles, since I had lost our first two babies. My Mom was moving away - two hours away, which seemed like forever at that point - and The Wrench and I were in the process of buying and moving in to Mom (and Dads) old house. Not exactly the best time to try and forge a relationship with your Moms new husband, but thats the way life goes sometimes, right? Things might have been OK, except that The Stepdad made this HUGE mistake about The Wrench and I, and it has taken years for me to understand why, and years for us to build a relationship based on trust and truth.
You see, That Guy's daughters live over there, two hours to the east also. They are physically beautiful, always well-dressed, cultured women. They are prominent in their local social and arts scene - they have well-dressed, handsome husbands who appear at the appropriate moments, and say the appropriate things, and then disappear again until they are required for another event. Their children are fully equipped with the latest electronic gadgets and toys, and they always drive expensive, late-model vehicles. The daughters each have an address in only the best part of town - and they only shop at stores that offer the best of everything. They dine at the finest restaurants. They have personal trainers and tennis pros, and golf pros on speed dial. They have the best plastic surgeons to keep everything lifted and/or tucked.
And they sit like sleek, beautifully coiffed vultures on the fence of The Stepdad's life. Simply put, they are waiting for him to die. Should one of them ever deign it necessary to actually pick up the phone and call The Stepdad, the first question out of her mouth is "So, you're not dead yet?" When The Stepdad told The Daughters of Gloom and Doom that he intended to marry my Mom, their first collective response was to demand a pre-nup and an ironclad will to insure that she would NOT be able to walk out with anything that was "rightfully theirs".
The HUGE mistake that The Stepdad made was lumping us in with them. He assumed, before even meeting me, and certainly before getting to know me at all, that I was like they were - and that my only interest in my mothers well-being involved any possible financial gains I might accrue. That any interest I might appear to have in him would similarly involve the possibility of being included in his will. Even once he knew us, he could not fathom that we had no desire for the money; it was outside the realm of possibility for him.
The Stepdad never had the kind of life that our family had. Until he met my Mom, no one in his adult life had ever loved him for just... him. His first wife, and his daughters were always far more interested in his earning potential than in anything else. He didn't realize that I might not care about the money - any money. I just wanted my Mom to be happy. I just wanted my Mom to have someone who would love her and care for her. And it has taken him all of these last 12 years to even begin to grasp that.
Until I came to know The Daughters of Gloom and Doom, I had never even thought about what would happen after my Mom passed away. Oh, I knew I would have to plan a funeral, and notify people, and do some legal stuff, but it isn't something I dwell upon. It certainly isn't something that I *plan* for. But The Daughters of Gloom and Doom - they have it all planned out. How The Stepdads funeral will be. Where it will be. What the flowers will be like, who will do the catering, and - of course - what they will wear.
And then, what they will do with his money.
Needless to say, The Stepdad holds a fairly small opinion of The Daughters of Gloom and Doom. His own children, and he can hardly stand to be around them. It has taken him all these years to see that The Wrench and I are not like them. Hell,"not like them" is an understatement. We aren't even in their same species.
So, things have been a bit, um, *rocky* at times between The Stepdad and I. He almost always approaches me as an adversary; I tend to view him warily at best.
To give credit where credit is due, he is a wonderful Grandfather to Twinks. He loves her - absolutely and positively loves her - just as if she were his own flesh and blood. He is tremendously proud of her, and I appreciate the fact that he treats her as his own (much to the chagrin of The Daughters of Gloom and Doom) The Stepdad has been every bit as good a Grandpa to Twinks as my own Dad would have been. For that, if nothing else, I would owe him a debt of gratitude. And he loves my Mom. He cares for her, and he encourages her to continue with her art, and her quilting. He made one of her life-long dreams come true, building her a home on the ocean, so that she could watch the tides come and go, and walk the beaches that she loves so much whenever she wanted to. And whenever she has been ill, he has taken her to the finest and best doctors that he can find. As long as she is happy being married to him, I am fine with it. I do not meddle in other peoples marriages.
I appreciate all The Stepdad has done for Mom. I really do. But what I don't appreciate, and what still bothers me after all these years is the fact that he steadfastly refuses to believe that I don't have some ulterior motive.
And *that*, Gentle Reader, is what you need to know as a preface to the rest of this story, that continues to unfold even as I write this tonight...
Next: The Chronicles begin...
In order for you to understand things, I can see that we will have to backtrack a bit at this point, Gentle Reader. Our astute friend Kelly noticed that I seem to consider That Guy That Mom Married After Daddy Died (hereinafter known as The Stepdad) to be a bit *problematic*.
Kelly is a very smart woman, indeed.
The Stepdad is a complex issue.
You see, after my Dad died (in 1990) Mom was shattered. She and Daddy had been so much in love; he truly adored her, and she thought that he would always be her Knight in Shining Armor. He died way too young; he was only 58, and was full of plans for their retirement. He was smart, funny, and feisty. He was a Korean War Vet, a true patriot, and a Master Mason. When I was born, in 1960, he was in the delivery room (something unheard of back then). He was my hero, and my best friend.
He loved me as only a Daddy loves his little girl, and to his very last day, he never let me forget how much he loved me.
Daddy thought that The Wrench was simply "The Best Guy Ever", and was delighted when after our whirlwind 9-day courtship, we announced our engagement. He took the The Wrench into his heart - and into his beloved, sacred garage. They bonded so quickly and completely that I knew without a doubt that The Wrench was The One For Me. When Daddy was dying, The Wrench sat by his side for hours, and did whatever he could to make Daddy as comfortable as he could be.
After he was gone, there was this huge Dad-shaped hole in our world. For the first year, Mom worked on auto-pilot, getting up every morning, getting dressed, eating meals, doing what had to be done... but she was just existing. Marking time. During the second year, she decided to go back to college - not for a degree (she already has a Masters Degree in Education) but to take all of the "fun" classes that she never got to take when she was in school. Art classes mostly - The Wrench and I would come over, and find her (literally) knee-deep in one art project or another. After the second year passed, she began to talk about finding someone - a companion. A friend. Someone her age. She didn't want to get "serious", but she didn't want to be alone, either.
Mom spent some time going around with a widower from church - a nice enough fellow, but significantly older than her, and she knew he was looking for another wife. The Wrench and I encouraged her to keep looking for someone that she might "click" with. She picked up a copy of a local Christian singles paper... and there was an ad that she decided to respond to. An ad that had been placed by The Stepdad.
The Stepdad was, on the surface, much like my dad. Similar occupation, similar physical appearance, both were veterans, and The Stepdad was instantly and fully smitten with Mom. Financially speaking, he was roughly Mom's equal; their investments differed. From their first date, there was nothing he wouldn't do for her. She nervously arranged to bring him by our little cottage in The City one evening for after-dinner drinks and dessert. The Wrench and I saw that she was happy with him, and we could tell right away how much he liked her.
Time passed - just a few months, but it was enough, and they decided to move in together. The problem was, The Stepdad lived two hours away, in the next state to the east. The other problem was that The Stepdad had daughters from a previous marriage, and he had - from the start - tried to treat me as one of his own daughters. (His daughters, however, treated me more like Cinderella, but that's another story for another day...)
This all sounds tolerable enough on paper. But the reality was, I was (at the time) a 34 year old woman. I had already had a Dad, thank you very much, the best dad ever, and I still missed him tremendously. Especially now, because I was pregnant with The Little Sprout (who was actually Baby Twinks, but we didn't know it yet) I didn't want "another" dad; I didn't need The Stepdad to be a "father" to me. I was hoping we would form a friendship of sorts, knowing that my Mom would be the glue that bound us together. I always figured that as time passed, I might be able to accept him more as a "father figure", but I didn't know if I would ever be able to call him "Dad".
And, I didn't want to be anyone else's daughter. It felt like being a traitor to my own father.
I'll be the first to admit it - it was an extremely emotional time for me. I was pregnant, and we were struggling just to get through the first trimester. We were all on pins and needles, since I had lost our first two babies. My Mom was moving away - two hours away, which seemed like forever at that point - and The Wrench and I were in the process of buying and moving in to Mom (and Dads) old house. Not exactly the best time to try and forge a relationship with your Moms new husband, but thats the way life goes sometimes, right? Things might have been OK, except that The Stepdad made this HUGE mistake about The Wrench and I, and it has taken years for me to understand why, and years for us to build a relationship based on trust and truth.
You see, That Guy's daughters live over there, two hours to the east also. They are physically beautiful, always well-dressed, cultured women. They are prominent in their local social and arts scene - they have well-dressed, handsome husbands who appear at the appropriate moments, and say the appropriate things, and then disappear again until they are required for another event. Their children are fully equipped with the latest electronic gadgets and toys, and they always drive expensive, late-model vehicles. The daughters each have an address in only the best part of town - and they only shop at stores that offer the best of everything. They dine at the finest restaurants. They have personal trainers and tennis pros, and golf pros on speed dial. They have the best plastic surgeons to keep everything lifted and/or tucked.
And they sit like sleek, beautifully coiffed vultures on the fence of The Stepdad's life. Simply put, they are waiting for him to die. Should one of them ever deign it necessary to actually pick up the phone and call The Stepdad, the first question out of her mouth is "So, you're not dead yet?" When The Stepdad told The Daughters of Gloom and Doom that he intended to marry my Mom, their first collective response was to demand a pre-nup and an ironclad will to insure that she would NOT be able to walk out with anything that was "rightfully theirs".
The HUGE mistake that The Stepdad made was lumping us in with them. He assumed, before even meeting me, and certainly before getting to know me at all, that I was like they were - and that my only interest in my mothers well-being involved any possible financial gains I might accrue. That any interest I might appear to have in him would similarly involve the possibility of being included in his will. Even once he knew us, he could not fathom that we had no desire for the money; it was outside the realm of possibility for him.
The Stepdad never had the kind of life that our family had. Until he met my Mom, no one in his adult life had ever loved him for just... him. His first wife, and his daughters were always far more interested in his earning potential than in anything else. He didn't realize that I might not care about the money - any money. I just wanted my Mom to be happy. I just wanted my Mom to have someone who would love her and care for her. And it has taken him all of these last 12 years to even begin to grasp that.
Until I came to know The Daughters of Gloom and Doom, I had never even thought about what would happen after my Mom passed away. Oh, I knew I would have to plan a funeral, and notify people, and do some legal stuff, but it isn't something I dwell upon. It certainly isn't something that I *plan* for. But The Daughters of Gloom and Doom - they have it all planned out. How The Stepdads funeral will be. Where it will be. What the flowers will be like, who will do the catering, and - of course - what they will wear.
And then, what they will do with his money.
Needless to say, The Stepdad holds a fairly small opinion of The Daughters of Gloom and Doom. His own children, and he can hardly stand to be around them. It has taken him all these years to see that The Wrench and I are not like them. Hell,"not like them" is an understatement. We aren't even in their same species.
So, things have been a bit, um, *rocky* at times between The Stepdad and I. He almost always approaches me as an adversary; I tend to view him warily at best.
To give credit where credit is due, he is a wonderful Grandfather to Twinks. He loves her - absolutely and positively loves her - just as if she were his own flesh and blood. He is tremendously proud of her, and I appreciate the fact that he treats her as his own (much to the chagrin of The Daughters of Gloom and Doom) The Stepdad has been every bit as good a Grandpa to Twinks as my own Dad would have been. For that, if nothing else, I would owe him a debt of gratitude. And he loves my Mom. He cares for her, and he encourages her to continue with her art, and her quilting. He made one of her life-long dreams come true, building her a home on the ocean, so that she could watch the tides come and go, and walk the beaches that she loves so much whenever she wanted to. And whenever she has been ill, he has taken her to the finest and best doctors that he can find. As long as she is happy being married to him, I am fine with it. I do not meddle in other peoples marriages.
I appreciate all The Stepdad has done for Mom. I really do. But what I don't appreciate, and what still bothers me after all these years is the fact that he steadfastly refuses to believe that I don't have some ulterior motive.
And *that*, Gentle Reader, is what you need to know as a preface to the rest of this story, that continues to unfold even as I write this tonight...
Next: The Chronicles begin...
Subscribe to:
Posts (Atom)