So, the movers came, and Mom's "stuff" is here.
And there are boxes *everywhere*.
Chaos reigns supreme.
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Poor Twinks.
It is hard enough to be her, without all of the crap we have had going on around here. The never-ending pain, the crushing load of homework she has this year (all Advanced Placement/Honors classes; now you know why she hasn't blogged in months) and the usual stuff that 13 year-old girls go through alone is enough to bear.
Nowadays, the living room, the library, the game room, and my office are full to bursting with moving cartons and her Grandma's furniture. This means that if -by some miracle - she can get all of her homework done before bedtime, she can't get to her video games, she can't get to the air hockey table, the pinball machine, or even her favorite books. So, it's either The Sims2 or repeats on The Disney Channel or Nickelodeon, or one of her library books from school.
Twinks is truly a creature of habit - she likes for things to be predictable, and organized. This has been tough for her; every day boxes, furniture and sometimes, entire rooms are being shuffled around. My "office" is now a corner of the dining room table, and an extra briefcase that I can drag from room to room along with my laptop. Gone are our quiet afternoons together as she does her homework; now I am typically unloading boxes and trying to figure out what I can cook for dinner that will please the majority of those dining at my table that evening.
She has been a wonderfully, remarkably, patient kid through all of this. I wish I had a way to really reward her for being so good. Don't misunderstand - it hasn't all been bad for her - with Grandma living here, she suddenly has another ally. She gets to spend as much time with Mom as she wants - and she wants to spend all of it that she can with Mom. Even if it is to just sit on the floor near Grandma and do homework, she is content to know that her beloved Grandma is going to be here with us now, and for the rest of her life.
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Every day, I try to make a tiny dent in this huge pile of boxes. Every day I open a few more; so far it is clear that the movers did an excellent job; nothing has been broken. In many ways it has been like Christmas for me, seeing things that I had forgotten about. It has touched my heart to learn what Mom had saved, what she had treasured for so many years. Often, we never get to see what our parents kept of our childhoods until they are gone, but I have been given a rare gift. Mom shares it with me freely, and happily.
Last night, hidden in the bottom of a suitcase, I found some of the letters I had sent to Mom over the years. There were also pictures of Daddy, and some other small mementos of her life previous to The Stepdad. Before I could ask the obvious question, she just shook her head, and patted my shoulder gently, and said "He (meaning the Stepdad) would have thrown those things away if he had found them, honey. I can't tell you how many of my things I have fished out of the trash cans over the years." It makes me sad and angry to think that my Mom has had to hide entire portions of her life like it was something bad or wrong; to know that someone discarded her personal belongings in an attempt to "erase" the parts of her past that he didn't like, or want her to remember.
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So, this is how I spend my days.
Unpacking, sorting, stacking, folding, and putting things away.
As the piles of boxes grow smaller, my determination to help my Mom live the life she should have been living grows. Every day she makes a bit more progress, buy she is still really damaged and fragile. It scares me sometimes to think about how close we were to losing her just six weeks ago.
With every box that is emptied, a new part of her life begins again - a little more of her freedom is restored.
A quiet little rebellion, right here in the middle of all of these boxes.
Sunday, April 22, 2007
Wednesday, April 11, 2007
Resurrection
I suppose in some ways it is fitting that all of this has played out over Easter weekend.
Events have unfolded very quickly, and dramatically.
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While things are not "done" by a long shot, on Easter Sunday my Mom experienced her own personal resurrection. She stepped forward, and in a shaky voice confronted the man who was at once her husband and her captor. She told him that she couldn't live there with him any more. That she was going to live with us, and that she was happy there. That she didn't love him the way he wanted her to.
Seemingly oblivious to the fact that the woman standing before him was clearly healthier and happier than she had been in many years, his response was...
"What about me?"
Followed shortly by "What am I supposed to do?" and "How can you hurt ME like this?"
Breaking away from his selfish introspection for a moment, he rounded on me; "It's all YOUR fault! You are taking her away from me! This is what you have wanted all along, and now YOU are killing ME!".
As predicted, he cried. He begged. He pleaded. And then he made a really huge mistake.
He threatened suicide. Not once, but several times.
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In a desperate, last ditch attempt to stop her from leaving, he promised that if she would just stay, he would bring her over to see us any time she wanted. Then, as we moved closer to the door, he cried out that he had never been "invited" to live with us, and that if we would only ask him one more time, he would love to be a part of our family!
It was at this point that I finally spoke, for the first time since Mom had begun the confrontation.
"One more time?" I asked him, incredulous. "One more time? Are you KIDDING me? How many times over the years have you and I discussed this? I tried - and tried - and TRIED to tell you that this day was coming - that Mom wanted to live with us - and you refused to hear it. She begged you to move back to our home town, to be nearer to her family, and you told both of us that you would NEVER step foot into my home state again, let alone in my home town, and now you want me to ask you ONE MORE TIME?
Forget it. I'm done, she's done, we're all done with you. It's over."
Mom quietly agreed. "It's over."
And with that, it was.
Over.
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As soon as we were underway, I started dialing. The first call was to the Head Daughter (of The Daughters of Doom & Gloom). I greeted her, and told her briefly what had happened. She agreed to notify the other Daughters, and asked me to keep her posted as events continued to unfold.
This exchange might seem a bit strange to you - after all, in the past I have been less than kind regarding The Daughters. What you don't know is that the Head Daughter had called me several days before. To tell me some things. Chief among them was how The Stepdad's previous wife had committed suicide, and that she was really, really worried about my Mom going back into that situation. Because even The Daughters could see just how bad the situation was.
That previous wife she mentioned - we hadn't ever heard of. He hadn't been married twice before, as he had told Mom. He had been married THREE times. He conveniently "forgot" to mention that his last wife before Mom had killed herself.
I also learned during the course of that call that The Daughters haven't been waiting for The Stepdad to die so that they could get his money - they knew that he had written them out of the will several years ago when he was in a snit over some perceived slight. The Daughters had, however, been trying to keep an eye on my Mom, all of them afraid that she would not be strong enough to get out from under The Stepdad's watchful eye before she was too weak and too beaten down. Ironically, The Daughters are all scared of The Stepdad, too. It turns out that I've been the only one for years and years who has ever stood up to him. Answers the whole "Gee, I wonder why he doesn't like me" question rather neatly.
In an interesting little quirk, it turns out that The Daughters were all scared of *me* too. They thought that I didn't like them - and had been told that I wished to have nothing to do with them. Mom's health crisis finally forced them to call me, even though they were afraid to.
The Daughters aren't perfect, but I learned enough during that call to realize that The Stepdad was using an old, and very common trick to try and keep everyone dancing on the strings as he wished them to: Divide and conquer.
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The next call was to the retirement community that they have been living in since last summer. I spoke to a member of the management team, and indicated that The Stepdad had not only just received this bad news - that his wife was moving away to live with her family - but that he had threatened to do harm to himself. I indicated how concerned I was about his welfare, and asked her to please check on him every day. She promised that she would, and took my cell number so that she could call me with "updates".
I thanked her, and ended the call. I already knew what was going to happen.
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Less than two hours later, just as we were getting home again, my cell rang. It is the lady from the retirement community.
The Stepdad has been admitted to a local psych ward. He would be there for at least seven days, possibly up to fourteen days.
Let this be a lesson to you: Do not ever threaten suicide. Ever. No matter how dramatic you think it might be.
You'll get an opportunity to wear one of those oh-so-fashionable suits that buckle down the back... at least until the sedatives kick in.
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I rarely call in favors. And I have never done so on a holiday before.
One more phone call, 15 minutes later, and I have a moving truck, boxes, packing materials and a crew of four for the next day starting at dawn, and for as long as it takes to get Mom's things packed and out of there, and over here.
Sometimes, it isn't *who* you know, it's what you know about them...
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I am swimming in an ocean of lists now - change of address forms, medical paperwork, bank accounts, and more - all must be dealt with. There is the (not so small) matter of integrating all of Mom's things into our home; we were cramped for space to begin with, and with two households crammed into one space, we will have to give over two rooms simply to store things until we can assimilate everything as best we can.
I sense an enormous garage sale in my future.
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There is still the matter of the divorce itself; her portion of the retirement community fees to be refunded, her will must be updated.
We have already begun talking about expanding the house, or perhaps seeking another house better suited to our newly expanded family.
It's going to be an interesting summer.
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Mom is here, and safe, and getting happier, healthier, and stronger every day. She's been resurrected - literally and figuratively.
Best. Easter. Ever.
Amen.
Events have unfolded very quickly, and dramatically.
._.-._.-._.-._.-._.-._.-._.-._.-._.-._.-._.-._.-._.-.
While things are not "done" by a long shot, on Easter Sunday my Mom experienced her own personal resurrection. She stepped forward, and in a shaky voice confronted the man who was at once her husband and her captor. She told him that she couldn't live there with him any more. That she was going to live with us, and that she was happy there. That she didn't love him the way he wanted her to.
Seemingly oblivious to the fact that the woman standing before him was clearly healthier and happier than she had been in many years, his response was...
"What about me?"
Followed shortly by "What am I supposed to do?" and "How can you hurt ME like this?"
Breaking away from his selfish introspection for a moment, he rounded on me; "It's all YOUR fault! You are taking her away from me! This is what you have wanted all along, and now YOU are killing ME!".
As predicted, he cried. He begged. He pleaded. And then he made a really huge mistake.
He threatened suicide. Not once, but several times.
._.-._.-._.-._.-._.-._.-._.-._.-._.-._.-._.-._.-._.-.
In a desperate, last ditch attempt to stop her from leaving, he promised that if she would just stay, he would bring her over to see us any time she wanted. Then, as we moved closer to the door, he cried out that he had never been "invited" to live with us, and that if we would only ask him one more time, he would love to be a part of our family!
It was at this point that I finally spoke, for the first time since Mom had begun the confrontation.
"One more time?" I asked him, incredulous. "One more time? Are you KIDDING me? How many times over the years have you and I discussed this? I tried - and tried - and TRIED to tell you that this day was coming - that Mom wanted to live with us - and you refused to hear it. She begged you to move back to our home town, to be nearer to her family, and you told both of us that you would NEVER step foot into my home state again, let alone in my home town, and now you want me to ask you ONE MORE TIME?
Forget it. I'm done, she's done, we're all done with you. It's over."
Mom quietly agreed. "It's over."
And with that, it was.
Over.
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As soon as we were underway, I started dialing. The first call was to the Head Daughter (of The Daughters of Doom & Gloom). I greeted her, and told her briefly what had happened. She agreed to notify the other Daughters, and asked me to keep her posted as events continued to unfold.
This exchange might seem a bit strange to you - after all, in the past I have been less than kind regarding The Daughters. What you don't know is that the Head Daughter had called me several days before. To tell me some things. Chief among them was how The Stepdad's previous wife had committed suicide, and that she was really, really worried about my Mom going back into that situation. Because even The Daughters could see just how bad the situation was.
That previous wife she mentioned - we hadn't ever heard of. He hadn't been married twice before, as he had told Mom. He had been married THREE times. He conveniently "forgot" to mention that his last wife before Mom had killed herself.
I also learned during the course of that call that The Daughters haven't been waiting for The Stepdad to die so that they could get his money - they knew that he had written them out of the will several years ago when he was in a snit over some perceived slight. The Daughters had, however, been trying to keep an eye on my Mom, all of them afraid that she would not be strong enough to get out from under The Stepdad's watchful eye before she was too weak and too beaten down. Ironically, The Daughters are all scared of The Stepdad, too. It turns out that I've been the only one for years and years who has ever stood up to him. Answers the whole "Gee, I wonder why he doesn't like me" question rather neatly.
In an interesting little quirk, it turns out that The Daughters were all scared of *me* too. They thought that I didn't like them - and had been told that I wished to have nothing to do with them. Mom's health crisis finally forced them to call me, even though they were afraid to.
The Daughters aren't perfect, but I learned enough during that call to realize that The Stepdad was using an old, and very common trick to try and keep everyone dancing on the strings as he wished them to: Divide and conquer.
._.-._.-._.-._.-._.-._.-._.-._.-._.-._.-._.-._.-._.-.
The next call was to the retirement community that they have been living in since last summer. I spoke to a member of the management team, and indicated that The Stepdad had not only just received this bad news - that his wife was moving away to live with her family - but that he had threatened to do harm to himself. I indicated how concerned I was about his welfare, and asked her to please check on him every day. She promised that she would, and took my cell number so that she could call me with "updates".
I thanked her, and ended the call. I already knew what was going to happen.
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Less than two hours later, just as we were getting home again, my cell rang. It is the lady from the retirement community.
The Stepdad has been admitted to a local psych ward. He would be there for at least seven days, possibly up to fourteen days.
Let this be a lesson to you: Do not ever threaten suicide. Ever. No matter how dramatic you think it might be.
You'll get an opportunity to wear one of those oh-so-fashionable suits that buckle down the back... at least until the sedatives kick in.
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I rarely call in favors. And I have never done so on a holiday before.
One more phone call, 15 minutes later, and I have a moving truck, boxes, packing materials and a crew of four for the next day starting at dawn, and for as long as it takes to get Mom's things packed and out of there, and over here.
Sometimes, it isn't *who* you know, it's what you know about them...
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I am swimming in an ocean of lists now - change of address forms, medical paperwork, bank accounts, and more - all must be dealt with. There is the (not so small) matter of integrating all of Mom's things into our home; we were cramped for space to begin with, and with two households crammed into one space, we will have to give over two rooms simply to store things until we can assimilate everything as best we can.
I sense an enormous garage sale in my future.
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There is still the matter of the divorce itself; her portion of the retirement community fees to be refunded, her will must be updated.
We have already begun talking about expanding the house, or perhaps seeking another house better suited to our newly expanded family.
It's going to be an interesting summer.
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Mom is here, and safe, and getting happier, healthier, and stronger every day. She's been resurrected - literally and figuratively.
Best. Easter. Ever.
Amen.
Saturday, April 07, 2007
Dancing on pins and needles
Put out the dog, grab a frosty beverage, and settle in. This is long one, kids. Maybe a record-breaker.
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Nearly four weeks have passed since Mom called.
My Mom has been living here with us.
The Stepdad is still living Two Hours East.
And while they have "talked" every day, nothing is getting resolved. The Stepdad is losing ground quickly, and every day her resolve grows a bit stronger to simply stay here. With us.
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Let's step into the Wayback Machine, and set the dial for 1993, three years after my father died.
Mom was beginning to feel really lonely. We tried back then to get her to come and live with us, but at the time, she flatly refused. She kept saying that we needed our privacy, and our time together as a couple. She was worried she would "interfere" in our lives. She wanted a companion closer to her age - someone who had the same cultural and generational references as she did.
So, she happened to pick up a local singles publication, and while idly flipping through it one afternoon found an advertisement from a gentleman who was about 10 years her senior. On paper, he seemed to be nearly ideal, and after several long phone calls, they arranged to meet.
Once they met, the relationship progressed nicely. It was weird for me, sure, but as long as my Mom was happy, I tried to keep my mouth firmly shut. He had been married before - twice, he told us. His first wife left him, and his second wife died of cancer at about the same time that my Dad had died.
He seemed just completely enchanted by Mom. And, also a bit possessive, but I convinced myself that I was just being paranoid - that I didn't want to accept him, because it felt like I was being a traitor to Daddy somehow. I ignored that persistent little voice that said that this guy was trouble, with a capital T.
I should have paid better attention to that little voice inside me.
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The first hints of trouble came very, very early on. The night that Mom brought the (soon-to-be) Stepdad by our little house down in the Greater Metro, I knew then that he and I would likely never get along. The first clue was in his attitude; he treated both The Wrench and I with a great deal of suspicion, and some outright hostility. That first meeting was more interrogation than genial greeting, and when it was done and they were pulling out of the driveway, The Wrench turned to me and said softly, "Wow. What the Hell did we do to him?"
From the start, The Stepdad was antagonistic towards us. We felt as though we had somehow pissed him off - but couldn't figure out what we had done, other than simply *exist*. The very fact that we were... alive seemed to be enough to set him off.
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After a just a short while, The Stepdad had begun to pressure Mom to move in with him - Two Hours East. They were both tired of the long-distance thing, and they seemed so genuinely happy together that it made sense to us, even if TW & I didn't care for The Stepdad. Most of the time, Mom went Two Hours East to visit him, and spend the weekend; he rarely came here. The inference always was that his house was somehow "better". It was indeed newer. It was also quite dramatic, with soaring glass walls that looked over an urban forest from it's hilltop vantage point. By this time, we knew that we were pregnant with Baby Twinks, and everyone on both sides of our families were on pins and needles, waiting to see if we would lose this baby as we had lost our first two babies. The Stepdad, seemingly oblivious to all of the tension and drama, calmly made arrangements for the moving company to come and pack Mom's things for the move Two Hours East.
I was about halfway through the pregnancy when the move was accomplished. The Wrench and I promptly put our little house down in The Greater Metro on the market, and moved out to Mom and Dad's "old" house. The plan was that we were going to do a rent-to-own with Mom once the baby was born; she didn't really want to sell the house outright at that point, and we were glad to have a little break on the rent until our other house sold.
One week to the day after we moved in, The Stepdad began "agitating" with us. Why weren't we paying rent? Why didn't we just get a bridge loan, or a better realtor, or ... The obvious implication was that we were screwing Mom on the deal. Never mind the fact that the whole thing had been her idea; we were the bad guys.
Mom told him gently but firmly that it was none of his business, and to leave us alone about it. He did so, but only when Mom was around. If we found ourselves alone in a room with The Stepdad, snarky little remarks would be thrown our way like verbal darts. It was now clear to The Wrench and I that not only did The Stepdad not like us, he seemed to actively hate us.
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They were married several months after Twinks was born, at Mom's insistence. She refused to "live in sin" for any longer. He didn't want to get married - said it was just a stupid scrap of paper. The only time (until four weeks ago) in their relationship that she put her foot down was the day she told him that she would either be married - or gone.
If they had to do it, then he wanted City Hall, or a Justice of the Peace. She wanted her Church, or a wedding chapel at the very least. They compromised, and got married at a lovely little private chapel in the woods, not far from their home. Once the decision was made, they were able to get a date within the week. The Stepdad had a very short "to do list" with only one item: he was supposed to call and tell us.
He "forgot".
My mother was devastated when I didn't attend her wedding.
I was devastated to find out that she had gotten married, and we hadn't been invited.
The Stepdad shrugged it off.
He told Mom that I was being "too sensitive".
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Fast forward a couple of years. Toddler Twinks is finally walking, and completely charms everyone who meets her. About once a month, weather permitting, we make the drive Two Hours East to see Mom and The Stepdad. I have tried remain civil to The Stepdad, reminding myself that he is her husband now, and that I don't have to like him, I only have to treat him with the same respect I wish to be treated with. Fair enough, right?
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To give him credit where credit is due, The Stepdad has been an excellent grandfather to Twinks, ever since she was born. He adores her, and even though he is (technically) her step-grandfather, he couldn't be more proud of her if she was truly his own grandchild. He seems to loathe me - but tells strangers and friends what a marvelous grandchild he has, and is the first to show off pictures of her, and brag of every accomplishment.
His own grandchildren - he won't give the time of day to them.
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One bright, crisp spring morning after we arrive Two Hours East for a visit, Mom nervously tells us that they are going to move. East again. More east - to live by the ocean, on a bay where dolphins dance on the waves, and huge sea turtles paddle lazily along. The beach is clean, and private, with silky white sand, and all sorts of lovely seashells. The house that will be built will face the sea; Mom will have a suite of rooms on the top floor that overlooks the bay, and the ocean beyond. It is her dream come true, courtesy of The Stepdad.
I try to be happy for her. After all, as long as this is what she wants, then it is what I want for her too. And while I can't imagine my Mom living so far away, I know that we will still be best friends.
After the house by the ocean is built, I take toddler Twinks to visit. Twinks and I have our own suite of rooms on the first floor, with a private entrance. When we fly in, we must rent a car, and travel another three hours (including a ferry boat ride) to just to get there. We are expected to be "at table" on time for meals, not "bother" Mom, (and especially not bother The Stepdad) and generally stay out of his way. After about the second day, our very presence obviously bothers him; he asks when we will be leaving at every meal. Mom tells me to just ignore him, however, it becomes increasingly difficult with each day that passes.
They live in the house by the ocean for about five years. We try to visit at least twice a year, and Twinks carries home buckets of seashells and sand after every trip. I carry home an image of my Mom, clearly unhappy, and me, unable to do anything about it.
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One day, the call comes from Mom; they will be selling the lovely house by the ocean, and moving inland - to the Baltimore/DC area.
They settle on a place far enough out of the cities that it is quiet, with a small-town feel, but close enough that everything (including BWI airport) is within a 90 minute drive.
This house is also custom-built, and it overlooks a valley where the lights of the town twinkle below at night, and the sun sets beyond the mountains. Again, we have a suite of rooms on the main floor, however there is no private entrance this time; we use the front door. The "rules" remain the same, as does the uncomfortable feeling I have everytime I am around The Stepdad. In fact, things seem to be deteriorating, despite my attempts to remain civil.
At this house, the trouble begins on our first visit. I have not even carried the suitcases in from the car, and The Stepdad pulls me aside to ask "exactly how long it is that you will be staying" and to firmly admonish me that "next time you should consider just calling, because it upsets your mother so much when you visit".
I am in shock - despite his obviously hostile attitude in the past, Mom and I have always managed to enjoy ourselves, and we have long ago agreed to just ignore his childish, selfish behavior.
I wait, I bide my time, and after The Stepdad has retired to his study for the evening, I ask Mom point-blank if she would prefer that we not come to visit at all. If it really does bother her. If she wants us to leave in the morning.
Mom is shocked - and very upset. And for the first time since they married, she confesses; tells me that she isn't really happy, and hasn't been for years. That she had begged him to return home, here to our little corner of The Greater Metro. That she wants to live near us, so that she can go to Twinks school events, and attend her home Church, and watch her grow up, and spend time with us - her family.
His response to her was that he would never, ever again step foot in our home state - let alone our home town. And then he refused to discuss it with her again.
But he delighted in telling me - every time that we visited, every time I spoke to him on the phone, every single time... that *they* would never, ever move home again. That Mom didn't want to live near us. And that if the opportunity ever presented itself, he would move both of them as far from me as he possibly could.
And after about 5 years in that house, he very nearly succeed when he moved them off to Florida.
We all remember The Chronicles of Florida, right?
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There is more to this tale than what I can relate here - much, much more. So much more that I will simply have to tell you this:
The Stepdad has spent the last fourteen or fifteen years actively trying to separate my Mom and I. We have learned (from his own children, The Daughters of Doom and Gloom, no less) that he did the same thing with his previous wife - he tried to keep her all to himself, and eventually cut her off completely from friends and family, not unlike what he has been doing with my Mom.
His previous wife - the one he told us died of cancer - finally committed suicide she was so unhappy.
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When Mom finally called me nearly a month ago, she was ill. Very ill. Physically, she had some kind of stomach virus that had left her dangerously dehydrated, and unable to keep any food in her at all. She was scared to eat, because it just came right back out again - and she was so weak and tired that she could barely toilet herself. Her medications were all messed up - somehow she had multiple bottles of three prescriptions, and thought she was supposed to take a dose from each. Other prescriptions clearly indicated on the labels that they should not be taken together; one prescription she was known to be allergic to, but she had valiantly tried to take the medicine anyway because The Stepdad told her she wasn't "really allergic, she was just being a wimp".
She was so dehydrated by the time I arrived that she could produce no urine, no sweat, no tears, no saliva. I was shocked, and horrified. As always, I had thrown a cooler into the minivan, filled with bottled water, juice and pop. I bundled her into the minivan, handed her a bottle of water, and as she began to drink the water, we drove straight home. I called our family physician on my cell phone, explained what was going on, and set up an emergency appointment for the next morning. I briefly considered taking her straight to the E.R. , but decided this time to listen to my gut. I knew what she needed, and it wasn't just water. It was also to be home again.
About two hours later, she was safely here - home - and I started counting. There were more than 30 bottles. Early the next morning, we went to see our doctor, and he calmly and patiently worked his way through the pile of prescription bottles. When he was done, she had five bottles of medicine. Two more have been set aside for the moment until she is healthier and stronger. The rest are either duplicates, or are contraindicated with the other medications that she is taking. There is also that one infamous bottle that she really is allergic to.
Just getting the medication straightened out made her feel better, and a little bit in control. Within twelve hours of arriving home again, she was rehydrating nicely, and had begun to eat soft solids.
She began sleeping at night again; her insomnia disappeared the instant her head hit the pillow.
In less than a week, she was strong enough to take her meals at the table. She began to laugh again (for the first time in months) and she began to get out - into the fresh air and sunshine - and live like a normal person again. She ate pizza, and watched movies, and slept late. She got her hair cut the way she wanted it to be, and she bought new make-up.
After two weeks, she told us that we had rescued her - had saved her life, and that she was so glad to be *home* again. Here, with her family. She wants to stay here. She wants to live with here with us, for the rest of her life. We are all (yes, all three of us, including TW) thrilled at the prospect. There has been a Mom-shaped hole in our world, and to think that she might stay here with us forever makes me so happy.
All the people I love in the world under one roof.
Happy Happy Happy!
._.-._.-._.-._.-._.-._.-._.-._.-._.-._.-._.-._.-._.-.
Yesterday, she told us that she knows for sure that she doesn't want to be married to The Stepdad any more. That she doesn't love him like a wife should love a husband. That she is tired of being bullied, and emotionally and verbally abused. That his possessiveness is suffocating her. That she can't live as she has - isolated and cut off from friends and family, essentially a prisoner in her own home. That she has been so depressed and unhappy for the last several years that she just wanted to stop... living.
._.-._.-._.-._.-._.-._.-._.-._.-._.-._.-._.-._.-._.-.
This weekend, we have to go Two Hours East, to take Mom over to get some personal things, and she will confront The Stepdad (something she has only done once in fourteen years).
He is going to try and persuade her to stay. He will use every ounce of charm that he can muster to try and convince her to stay. He will make promises that he has no intention of keeping in order to "save face" in front of us. He will beg and plead - and probably cry, too.
She will have to be strong. She will have to remember why she wants the divorce, why she wants to live here with us. She will have to face her greatest fears, and tell him that she isn't coming back to live with him. Ever again.
We'll be right there with her, supporting her, and protecting her. But until it's over...
We will all be dancing on pins and needles.
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Nearly four weeks have passed since Mom called.
My Mom has been living here with us.
The Stepdad is still living Two Hours East.
And while they have "talked" every day, nothing is getting resolved. The Stepdad is losing ground quickly, and every day her resolve grows a bit stronger to simply stay here. With us.
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Let's step into the Wayback Machine, and set the dial for 1993, three years after my father died.
Mom was beginning to feel really lonely. We tried back then to get her to come and live with us, but at the time, she flatly refused. She kept saying that we needed our privacy, and our time together as a couple. She was worried she would "interfere" in our lives. She wanted a companion closer to her age - someone who had the same cultural and generational references as she did.
So, she happened to pick up a local singles publication, and while idly flipping through it one afternoon found an advertisement from a gentleman who was about 10 years her senior. On paper, he seemed to be nearly ideal, and after several long phone calls, they arranged to meet.
Once they met, the relationship progressed nicely. It was weird for me, sure, but as long as my Mom was happy, I tried to keep my mouth firmly shut. He had been married before - twice, he told us. His first wife left him, and his second wife died of cancer at about the same time that my Dad had died.
He seemed just completely enchanted by Mom. And, also a bit possessive, but I convinced myself that I was just being paranoid - that I didn't want to accept him, because it felt like I was being a traitor to Daddy somehow. I ignored that persistent little voice that said that this guy was trouble, with a capital T.
I should have paid better attention to that little voice inside me.
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The first hints of trouble came very, very early on. The night that Mom brought the (soon-to-be) Stepdad by our little house down in the Greater Metro, I knew then that he and I would likely never get along. The first clue was in his attitude; he treated both The Wrench and I with a great deal of suspicion, and some outright hostility. That first meeting was more interrogation than genial greeting, and when it was done and they were pulling out of the driveway, The Wrench turned to me and said softly, "Wow. What the Hell did we do to him?"
From the start, The Stepdad was antagonistic towards us. We felt as though we had somehow pissed him off - but couldn't figure out what we had done, other than simply *exist*. The very fact that we were... alive seemed to be enough to set him off.
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After a just a short while, The Stepdad had begun to pressure Mom to move in with him - Two Hours East. They were both tired of the long-distance thing, and they seemed so genuinely happy together that it made sense to us, even if TW & I didn't care for The Stepdad. Most of the time, Mom went Two Hours East to visit him, and spend the weekend; he rarely came here. The inference always was that his house was somehow "better". It was indeed newer. It was also quite dramatic, with soaring glass walls that looked over an urban forest from it's hilltop vantage point. By this time, we knew that we were pregnant with Baby Twinks, and everyone on both sides of our families were on pins and needles, waiting to see if we would lose this baby as we had lost our first two babies. The Stepdad, seemingly oblivious to all of the tension and drama, calmly made arrangements for the moving company to come and pack Mom's things for the move Two Hours East.
I was about halfway through the pregnancy when the move was accomplished. The Wrench and I promptly put our little house down in The Greater Metro on the market, and moved out to Mom and Dad's "old" house. The plan was that we were going to do a rent-to-own with Mom once the baby was born; she didn't really want to sell the house outright at that point, and we were glad to have a little break on the rent until our other house sold.
One week to the day after we moved in, The Stepdad began "agitating" with us. Why weren't we paying rent? Why didn't we just get a bridge loan, or a better realtor, or ... The obvious implication was that we were screwing Mom on the deal. Never mind the fact that the whole thing had been her idea; we were the bad guys.
Mom told him gently but firmly that it was none of his business, and to leave us alone about it. He did so, but only when Mom was around. If we found ourselves alone in a room with The Stepdad, snarky little remarks would be thrown our way like verbal darts. It was now clear to The Wrench and I that not only did The Stepdad not like us, he seemed to actively hate us.
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They were married several months after Twinks was born, at Mom's insistence. She refused to "live in sin" for any longer. He didn't want to get married - said it was just a stupid scrap of paper. The only time (until four weeks ago) in their relationship that she put her foot down was the day she told him that she would either be married - or gone.
If they had to do it, then he wanted City Hall, or a Justice of the Peace. She wanted her Church, or a wedding chapel at the very least. They compromised, and got married at a lovely little private chapel in the woods, not far from their home. Once the decision was made, they were able to get a date within the week. The Stepdad had a very short "to do list" with only one item: he was supposed to call and tell us.
He "forgot".
My mother was devastated when I didn't attend her wedding.
I was devastated to find out that she had gotten married, and we hadn't been invited.
The Stepdad shrugged it off.
He told Mom that I was being "too sensitive".
._.-._.-._.-._.-._.-._.-._.-._.-._.-._.-._.-._.-._.-.
Fast forward a couple of years. Toddler Twinks is finally walking, and completely charms everyone who meets her. About once a month, weather permitting, we make the drive Two Hours East to see Mom and The Stepdad. I have tried remain civil to The Stepdad, reminding myself that he is her husband now, and that I don't have to like him, I only have to treat him with the same respect I wish to be treated with. Fair enough, right?
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To give him credit where credit is due, The Stepdad has been an excellent grandfather to Twinks, ever since she was born. He adores her, and even though he is (technically) her step-grandfather, he couldn't be more proud of her if she was truly his own grandchild. He seems to loathe me - but tells strangers and friends what a marvelous grandchild he has, and is the first to show off pictures of her, and brag of every accomplishment.
His own grandchildren - he won't give the time of day to them.
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One bright, crisp spring morning after we arrive Two Hours East for a visit, Mom nervously tells us that they are going to move. East again. More east - to live by the ocean, on a bay where dolphins dance on the waves, and huge sea turtles paddle lazily along. The beach is clean, and private, with silky white sand, and all sorts of lovely seashells. The house that will be built will face the sea; Mom will have a suite of rooms on the top floor that overlooks the bay, and the ocean beyond. It is her dream come true, courtesy of The Stepdad.
I try to be happy for her. After all, as long as this is what she wants, then it is what I want for her too. And while I can't imagine my Mom living so far away, I know that we will still be best friends.
After the house by the ocean is built, I take toddler Twinks to visit. Twinks and I have our own suite of rooms on the first floor, with a private entrance. When we fly in, we must rent a car, and travel another three hours (including a ferry boat ride) to just to get there. We are expected to be "at table" on time for meals, not "bother" Mom, (and especially not bother The Stepdad) and generally stay out of his way. After about the second day, our very presence obviously bothers him; he asks when we will be leaving at every meal. Mom tells me to just ignore him, however, it becomes increasingly difficult with each day that passes.
They live in the house by the ocean for about five years. We try to visit at least twice a year, and Twinks carries home buckets of seashells and sand after every trip. I carry home an image of my Mom, clearly unhappy, and me, unable to do anything about it.
._.-._.-._.-._.-._.-._.-._.-._.-._.-._.-._.-._.-._.-.
One day, the call comes from Mom; they will be selling the lovely house by the ocean, and moving inland - to the Baltimore/DC area.
They settle on a place far enough out of the cities that it is quiet, with a small-town feel, but close enough that everything (including BWI airport) is within a 90 minute drive.
This house is also custom-built, and it overlooks a valley where the lights of the town twinkle below at night, and the sun sets beyond the mountains. Again, we have a suite of rooms on the main floor, however there is no private entrance this time; we use the front door. The "rules" remain the same, as does the uncomfortable feeling I have everytime I am around The Stepdad. In fact, things seem to be deteriorating, despite my attempts to remain civil.
At this house, the trouble begins on our first visit. I have not even carried the suitcases in from the car, and The Stepdad pulls me aside to ask "exactly how long it is that you will be staying" and to firmly admonish me that "next time you should consider just calling, because it upsets your mother so much when you visit".
I am in shock - despite his obviously hostile attitude in the past, Mom and I have always managed to enjoy ourselves, and we have long ago agreed to just ignore his childish, selfish behavior.
I wait, I bide my time, and after The Stepdad has retired to his study for the evening, I ask Mom point-blank if she would prefer that we not come to visit at all. If it really does bother her. If she wants us to leave in the morning.
Mom is shocked - and very upset. And for the first time since they married, she confesses; tells me that she isn't really happy, and hasn't been for years. That she had begged him to return home, here to our little corner of The Greater Metro. That she wants to live near us, so that she can go to Twinks school events, and attend her home Church, and watch her grow up, and spend time with us - her family.
His response to her was that he would never, ever again step foot in our home state - let alone our home town. And then he refused to discuss it with her again.
But he delighted in telling me - every time that we visited, every time I spoke to him on the phone, every single time... that *they* would never, ever move home again. That Mom didn't want to live near us. And that if the opportunity ever presented itself, he would move both of them as far from me as he possibly could.
And after about 5 years in that house, he very nearly succeed when he moved them off to Florida.
We all remember The Chronicles of Florida, right?
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There is more to this tale than what I can relate here - much, much more. So much more that I will simply have to tell you this:
The Stepdad has spent the last fourteen or fifteen years actively trying to separate my Mom and I. We have learned (from his own children, The Daughters of Doom and Gloom, no less) that he did the same thing with his previous wife - he tried to keep her all to himself, and eventually cut her off completely from friends and family, not unlike what he has been doing with my Mom.
His previous wife - the one he told us died of cancer - finally committed suicide she was so unhappy.
._.-._.-._.-._.-._.-._.-._.-._.-._.-._.-._.-._.-._.-.
When Mom finally called me nearly a month ago, she was ill. Very ill. Physically, she had some kind of stomach virus that had left her dangerously dehydrated, and unable to keep any food in her at all. She was scared to eat, because it just came right back out again - and she was so weak and tired that she could barely toilet herself. Her medications were all messed up - somehow she had multiple bottles of three prescriptions, and thought she was supposed to take a dose from each. Other prescriptions clearly indicated on the labels that they should not be taken together; one prescription she was known to be allergic to, but she had valiantly tried to take the medicine anyway because The Stepdad told her she wasn't "really allergic, she was just being a wimp".
She was so dehydrated by the time I arrived that she could produce no urine, no sweat, no tears, no saliva. I was shocked, and horrified. As always, I had thrown a cooler into the minivan, filled with bottled water, juice and pop. I bundled her into the minivan, handed her a bottle of water, and as she began to drink the water, we drove straight home. I called our family physician on my cell phone, explained what was going on, and set up an emergency appointment for the next morning. I briefly considered taking her straight to the E.R. , but decided this time to listen to my gut. I knew what she needed, and it wasn't just water. It was also to be home again.
About two hours later, she was safely here - home - and I started counting. There were more than 30 bottles. Early the next morning, we went to see our doctor, and he calmly and patiently worked his way through the pile of prescription bottles. When he was done, she had five bottles of medicine. Two more have been set aside for the moment until she is healthier and stronger. The rest are either duplicates, or are contraindicated with the other medications that she is taking. There is also that one infamous bottle that she really is allergic to.
Just getting the medication straightened out made her feel better, and a little bit in control. Within twelve hours of arriving home again, she was rehydrating nicely, and had begun to eat soft solids.
She began sleeping at night again; her insomnia disappeared the instant her head hit the pillow.
In less than a week, she was strong enough to take her meals at the table. She began to laugh again (for the first time in months) and she began to get out - into the fresh air and sunshine - and live like a normal person again. She ate pizza, and watched movies, and slept late. She got her hair cut the way she wanted it to be, and she bought new make-up.
After two weeks, she told us that we had rescued her - had saved her life, and that she was so glad to be *home* again. Here, with her family. She wants to stay here. She wants to live with here with us, for the rest of her life. We are all (yes, all three of us, including TW) thrilled at the prospect. There has been a Mom-shaped hole in our world, and to think that she might stay here with us forever makes me so happy.
All the people I love in the world under one roof.
Happy Happy Happy!
._.-._.-._.-._.-._.-._.-._.-._.-._.-._.-._.-._.-._.-.
Yesterday, she told us that she knows for sure that she doesn't want to be married to The Stepdad any more. That she doesn't love him like a wife should love a husband. That she is tired of being bullied, and emotionally and verbally abused. That his possessiveness is suffocating her. That she can't live as she has - isolated and cut off from friends and family, essentially a prisoner in her own home. That she has been so depressed and unhappy for the last several years that she just wanted to stop... living.
._.-._.-._.-._.-._.-._.-._.-._.-._.-._.-._.-._.-._.-.
This weekend, we have to go Two Hours East, to take Mom over to get some personal things, and she will confront The Stepdad (something she has only done once in fourteen years).
He is going to try and persuade her to stay. He will use every ounce of charm that he can muster to try and convince her to stay. He will make promises that he has no intention of keeping in order to "save face" in front of us. He will beg and plead - and probably cry, too.
She will have to be strong. She will have to remember why she wants the divorce, why she wants to live here with us. She will have to face her greatest fears, and tell him that she isn't coming back to live with him. Ever again.
We'll be right there with her, supporting her, and protecting her. But until it's over...
We will all be dancing on pins and needles.
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