Life Catch Up

HOLY CATS! I can’t believe it’s been a year since last I posted. So much happened this past year that I was unsure at times that I would survive. There is no real place to start, except at the beginning, and I shall give you a synopsis, ere this turns into a novel.

Last July, my husband was offered, and accepted, a promotion and transfer with his job. He was also given a slight raise in pay, but one that barely rises to the occasion of our new home’s expenses.

Our oldest son was a senior in high school, and so hubby and I decided that hubby would move to the new job location in Maryland, while I would stay with the boys in Florida. In retrospect, this is not a mistake we would ever make again.

My father, as part of a spend-down to get my mom into a home, had been unable to give my son his old car, a car which was in good shape. He had to sell the vehicle and claim the money as income; we did not have the money to buy the car. If I had it to do over again, I’d take a loan and get the money, especially as once Mom was in the home, Dad would be able to pay it off for us had he wanted to. But, I didn’t know what I didn’t know. So, when he came to bring my younger son home from his summer visit in August, my dad went out and bought my older son a vehicle with the money he had gotten from the sale of his car. We thought it was a good truck, and it wasn’t bad, but it was not in the same shape that my father’s car had been in. Over the months, it became a real money pit, needing new tires, new brakes, a new clutch, and sucking down gas the way a drunken hooker sucks down booze.

Hubby’s job put him up in temporary quarters in a hotel, but that would run out at the end of September, after which, we would be paying two rents, two cable bills, and two electric bills, all off of basically one income. The oldest boy started a job in September, working in a hotel as basically a runner for the maids. Also in September, I started a part-time job at my friend’s store, covering for here assistant manager until that girl returned from maternity leave. When the girl returned, another girl had to take some family leave time, and so I covered for her. By the time she returned, Christmas season was upon us and I was able to stay for the holiday selling period. By Christmas, my son had had enough of his job—he would have to come in early, stay late, could never make plans to see his girl on the weekend, and all for the same rate of pay as the folks who were never there and did not work as hard as he did. The final straw came when he was falsely accused by his manager of stealing; in fact, it turned out the manager had been the thief, but by then it was too late—he was once more unemployed.

Also in September, I began the arduous task of preparing our recently purchased, barely moved into house for sale. We would have to divest ourselves of it anyway, as even if we managed to make it through the year with the two sets of bills, we would not be able to manage to do that for long once we were all together again. And so, while playing single mom to two boys who are highly intelligent but would make a sloth exclaim, “Man! That dude is laaaa-zy.” (at least when it came to their studies), I set about fixing and cleaning and moving things to a storage unit to make the house look less cluttered. Mind, I was working 20 hours or so at the store, as well as working my business still.

Two months later, we got a bite on the house that would pay off our loan and give us a small profit. We closed on December 23, but the new owners were kind enough to let us stay on (rent free) until the 2^nd of January. Unfortunately, our apartment was not ready until the 3^rd. So, everything went to another storage unit and on the 3^rd, we brought in some friends and moved nearly everything out in one day, as hubby had to start driving back to Maryland on the 3^rd, too.

Our rent went up by $200 per month from what I had originally been told (a total of $500 over what our mortgage was), but there was little I could do about it, having no place else to stay. I didn’t dare complain too much, as hubby had grown weary of the bachelor life and kept threatening to bring us all to Maryland; meanwhile the older boy was determined to stay in his school (or at least in Florida) come Hell or high water.

Sometime over the summer, the older boy had changed his mind about entering military service. Now, anyone who’s ever met him knows that this is a boy who is uniquely called to the military. He thrives on the discipline, and serving for a minimum of four years will help him mature and reach his overall goals. But, at any rate, the boy had decided to go to trade school, working full-time somewhere (no job at the time, just a nebulous “somewhere”) and get his mechanic’s license. Now, there is nothing wrong with this plan. IF he had a job. IF he had a place to stay once we left. IF he was any good with school when left to his own devices. IF. IF. IF.

As part of his rebellion while his father was gone, and seeing as he was now a “man” being all of 18 years old, he had gone out and gotten himself a tattoo in September; after his father left in January, he went out and got a lip piercing. I have nothing against tattoos or piercings, BUT if you’re trying to get a job, these things do limit your choices.

Long story short (I know, too late again), I finally went down and spoke to his recruiter, and between the two of us, we managed to get him to go down there and sign up for MEPS. Before MEPS, he was told to get rid of the piercing, that he could put it back afterwards. Luckily, the piercing closed during MEPS, and he was loath to have it re-done. Talking with his recruiter and going to MEPS rekindled his passion for the military, but nothing would get him to study and do well in school.

Right up until the last week of school, and in fact, the actual graduation itself, I worried that he wouldn’t graduate, but somehow, miraculously, and thanks to the patience and leniency of his teachers about handing in late work, he made it. I have never been so proud, happy, scared, sad, and relieved all at once in my life.

Now, during this time also, my dearest cousin, who had battled juvenile diabetes since she diagnosed herself (pre-internet, folks!) in her early teens, was found to have intestinal cancer. She had fought the diabetes so long, receiving a new spleen and even donating her eggs and her husband’s sperm so that they could raise two adorable children. We thought sure this was just another battle that General Jan would win. We were wrong. Two months ago, Jan passed away, fighting until the bitter end to remain with her family. Jan’s mother, one of my favorite two aunts, passed away only a year and a half ago.

Before and while this was going on with my cousin, my mother’s condition worsened. Alzheimer’s cannot be cured yet. She went from being able to walk to meals and take care of her own bathroom needs to sitting listlessly in a bed all day, having to be fed (liquids only, and not much of those, as she could not chew or swallow solids) and having someone change her like a baby. My poor Momma lost more than half of her weight in less than a year; she was so weak and fragile. Saturday morning, at 5:00, she won her battle with Alzheimer’s and crossed the veil to the other side.

Three months ago, I was also diagnosed with Type II diabetes, high blood pressure, and high cholesterol. No wonder, considering that all of these conditions can have stress as one of their root causes.

I am not one of those people who writes when the stress is on, particularly not given the incredibly over-the-top amount of stress I was going through (there were, as you can imagine, multiple arguments with the teen and his father). To some people’s way of thinking, that means I am not a writer. So be it. There are a lot of writers out there, who respond in different ways. There are a lot of people out there, who respond to stress in different ways. My way is to become almost manically physically active between bouts of depression that have me sleeping long hours. Creativity at such times seems somehow self-indulgent to me. Not that I begrudge it of others, just not my thing.

At any rate, with Mom no longer suffering and the rest of life settling in, I might be able to get back to blogging soon. Mom and Cousin Jan would want me to get back to writing. And I know--*snort* “synopsis”. But this “is” the short version.

Wednesday Check In

Well, hello all!

I know I’ve been gone a while. A little over a week ago, I received some bad news from my parents in Connecticut. My dad finally reached the breaking point with taking care of my mother, who has Alzheimer’s. It was bad. My dad wound up in a hospital, and my mother wound up in an assisted living facility. I’ve spent the last two weeks up north trying to help with final steps toward Title 19 and beginnings of nursing home visits and applications.

While there, I did not stay on my diet, as I was too busy trying to help balance my father again, and then visiting my mother when she was stable in the home. I also did not get any writing done at that time. So today’s check-in is more general in nature, to let you all know that I am alive and well, and will be back in writing mode soon. It may take some time, as all of this Medicaid and nursing home stuff takes lots of time and energy. I will at least be checking in on Wednesdays with my weight and I will try to give you vocab and writing prompts.

My weight this week is just one pound over my last check in:

 

Not bad, considering I was eating Mexican food and goulash and all sorts of naughty comfort foods at Dad's house.

As for last month's writing, I did make the Little Bites Challenge, but just barely. I have not written in the month of March, except for a scathing rant against the System for making it so hard for ill seniors and their caretakers to get help.

Now for the vocab and writing prompt. 

Omniscient: all knowing.

You are given the power of omniscience for a day. How do you react?

Five for Friday: Nothing to fear…

So we were chatting about some of our fears on Gateworld yesterday—fears of heights, of falling, of landing, etc, and my pre-teen also came home spouting off about how zombies were real and he and a friend were going to prepare for the coming zombie apocalypse. He was serious. So I thought that I would do today’s Five for Friday on fears.

Five of my top fears, in no particular order, are:

1. Heights—hate them, hate them, hate them. Oddly, while I cannot climb ladders, nor peek out the windows of high hotel rooms, I have no problem with rock climbing or flying in planes. Now, jumping out of said plane would not happen, not even onto the slide thingy if we had a water landing; someone would have to push me. The vertigo I get from even getting near the edge of an overhang is nauseating. Oddly, I used to hike mountains at every possible chance. Our local one was called Sleeping Giant because it looked like, well, a sleeping giant from a distance. At the top is a two story rock "castle", with open views and stairways. I can and have always been able to climb those steps and lean over or sit on the walls at the top to enjoy the views.

My boy at the castle, trying to freak me out.

View from the castle on Sleeping Giant. East(?) Rock and the city of New Haven in the distance.

2. Bugs—I know it’s not technically right, but I lump spiders in with bugs. They’re all just gross and disgusting and have all those feelers and all those extra legs and…**shudder** They’re just gross. Remember the cockroach? Click the link if you're new to my blog or need a reminder. And I once killed a spider and all these baby spiders came spilling out of the torso. It was like some horror movie. Ewww…

3. Bodily injury—any and all. Now, oddly, when I had to have a cyst removed from my arm, I had no problem watching the whole procedure. But the idea of losing a digit or an appendage or an eye or anything… YUCK! That was my main fear after Jaws came out—that one day I’d be swimming in Long Island Sound and a shark would attack and tear off my leg. And the idea of becoming something’s dinner in the process of that bodily injury is another squick for me. I have NO desire to become part of the circle of life.

The last two are a lot more personal and serious and very likely should be the top two.

4. Major injury or death of one of my children. All their talk of joining the military scares the Hell out of me, I admit it. But at the same time, I’m so very proud of them. That does not take away the fear of one day having the men in their dress uniforms show up on my door. I remember one time, when I was working at a restaurant, we heard a horrible crash. We rushed out to find that an SUV had gone through a couple of concrete signposts. Inside the SUV was a child about my oldest boy’s age, wearing a Little League uniform. My oldest also played Little League. This boy had a compound fracture and I was, I admit it, more than a bit shaken. To have this child so horribly injured that he might lose his leg or even his life, and to have him be so “familiar” was terrifying. I never did find out what happened to the boy and can only hope that the quick reactions of my fellow workers and I (I was freaking, not immobile) helped in some small way.

5. Alzheimer’s. Mom has it. She is worse every time we talk. She freaks out over nothing one minute and can’t remember her reaction the next. She is making my father’s life a living Hell and doesn't even know it. I am terrified of getting it myself one day. Her father had it and now she does; however, her other siblings show no signs, and the two boys are older than she is. To be fair, the oldest may be having issues, but I have not been a very good niece, and have let life get in the way of keeping in touch with long-distance loved ones. At any rate, I have already told my boys that if I become like my mother, I am to be brought to a home or quietly dispatched so I do not ruin others’ lives. I feel so horrible for my mom, because she is no longer Mary, and she would be appalled if she knew this was how she was behaving. I also live in fear that she will hurt my father one night and never even realize it, or that he will need medical help and she will not remember that he needs the help or how to dial the phone for 9-1-1. I have many people reassure me that I am utterly different from my mother--I get out and socialize, as well as working, chatting on the internet and being generally busy with activities between my local RWA and my boys. I play online games from Lumosity, but I sometimes wonder if I'm fooling myself with them, as my mother does with her crossword puzzle books ("That's how I'm fighting this thing. Keeping my brain active."); she's losing the battle in a bad way and it's terrifying.