It cries in my heart like it rains on the town.
2:48 p.m.
I was craving chocolate yesterday and there wasn’t any in the pantry and I really, really needed a fix with my afternoon tea. However, in a zip-lock bag in the refrigerator are some baked goods my son made and didn’t take with him when he moved at the beginning of the month. I heated one up in the microwave for 20 seconds and it was absolutely delicious and, as it turned out a couple of hours later, very potent.
It also engendered a terrible stomach ache, some of which still lingers. Hubby and I went to see the new C0en brothers movie and as we were heading out the door, he said to me, “My back hurts, you drive.” I answered, “I can’t. I had one of Buddy Boy’s brownies.” So he drove. But he made fun of me for the rest of the evening.
The movie was very convoluted, making it difficult to follow at the best of times, and in my befuddled state it was even harder to know what was going on. But still, it was funny in a dark way, as is normal for that movie-making team, and now I think I need to see it again, just to get it straight.
Also, because I was not “myself”, I couldn’t go to bed at a decent hour. I watched another film with Hubby on the tube, the second of the Gigolo movies, and then played Literati late into the night with almost strangers. That was hard. I’m used to one-on-one, and there were four of us. I didn’t score particularly well.
But the sadness, I must return to the source of the sadness. I called my mother this morning. The truth is: I love my mother. I call her because I want to talk to her, but our conversations leave me feeling worse than before. I should really phone her every day, but I can’t because it is too painful for me. Today she told me she was bored, that she felt like a prisoner, she couldn’t wait to get out of there and go back home. I had to explain, as I do every time now, that if she were to go home, it would be worse than it is now, she would still be bored, but she would be totally alone and in a house that requires a lot of upkeep. At the retirement home she is eating well, her room is cleaned once a week, and her medications are overseen.
Once I start telling her this, she realizes that what I say is true. But she admits that the problem is really hers. She sits in her apartment all the time, except for meals, and doesn’t see anyone. My brother is back to work (he teaches high school) and can’t drop in on her frequently as he was doing during the summer, and she doesn’t go out of her way to make friends. There’s the memory problem, the vision loss, and her innate shyness. I admonished her to get out of her apartment, take the elevator to the lobby and start talking to people. She agreed with me, that this is what she needs to do, but I fear she won’t.
I also broached the proposition of a full-time companion with her, and she thought it was not a bad idea. My brother called just moments after I hung up on her, and he suggested that I call the home tomorrow and speak to the directors there about what they can set up from their end. My other brother is in charge of the money, so ultimately it would have to pass through him, but I can at least find out what is available.
Then I phoned my daughter, who was getting ready to go out to have lunch at the retirement home, and she said she’d been back to her grandmother’s house to pick up the TV remote and took a few things from the kitchen (ladle, dishrack, etc.) and I told her to telephone her uncle so he’d know where these things were disappearing to. My brother won’t talk to me, but he has no qualms about fraternizing with my kids.
I was trying to put this feeling of sorrow into different words, but nothing lends itself well. My mother is just waiting to die, filling time now. I hate this.
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