(Ha. I wrote that and instantly thought of SheepBoy. There's this image in the second volume of the
Kare Kano manga books which I need to copy and make into a tee-shirt for SB.)
My mom has not gotten along with her family since the year her father died of cancer and her brother was hit by a drunk driver.
(Two lessons to be learned from that year: 1) Always go to your regularly-scheduled physical, be it every three years, every two, or annually. After all, if you let yourself sit around sick for years, you might discover the cancer too late to do anything about it except die a horrible, painful, humiliating death. 2) Don't drink and drive, 'cause not only will you probably kill yourself, and kill someone else, but severely injure someone else so that they're under state care for the rest of their life. This will fuck up an entire family, so not only are you destroying your life and the life of your victim, but the lives of that man's children, his wife, his siblings, his parents, etc. So, don't be a complete and total evil asshole: don't drink and drive. Here endeth the lesson.)
My mom is distant from her mother and sister, the sister who decided to take my grandmother out of her own home, in spite of fully being able to take care of herself, and forcing her to become her live-in housekeeper/babysitter. For free. Oh, except my aunt takes my grandmother's money. Anyway, of late, Mom has been taking Grandma for weeks at a time as she takes Grandma in to see specialists about this, that, or the other illness or concern. It was really Mom who pushed to get Grandma diagnosed for Alzheimers. Mom loves her mother. It's a fucked-up relationship, but she loves her. She paid out of her nose for various medications, tests, and visits. My aunt, on the other hand, has refused to refill prescriptions required, including prescriptions to help Grandma with the Alzheimers. There are all sorts of meds, but my aunt has been haphazard at best in making sure Grandma takes her pills. For instance, when Grandma was supposed to start a new medication last June, my aunt didn't start her on it until August. And even then, Grandma is, at best, taking it three-four times a week, when she's supposed to be taking it daily.
My aunt is also refusing to put my increasingly ill grandmother in a home where she can be taken care of full-time. Instead, she leaves my Alzheimers-ridden grandmother alone in her giant house in the middle of the country for hours at a time. The people who usually take care of her are my teenaged cousins, who can barely take care of themselves (one of them was abusing all sorts of drugs for ages—I wouldn't be surprised to hear he started using Grandma's meds). My aunt leaves the country for weeks at a time, leaving my grandmother solely in the care of my cousins.
Of late my aunt has decided that her children, who were basically raised by Grandma, should not have to take care of Grandma while she's out, so she's been dumping Grandma on my mother's lap for a week, then asking at the last moment for two more. Then a call while Grandma's with Mom: my aunt will be away for another week. So on. So forth.
I've been witness to this behavior since September. It's completely unthinking of my aunt to act in this manner, especially considering the state of my grandmother's illness. There is no way my mother and I can take care of her. Grandma is further and further from our reality each visit. She requires more and more care. She needs someone to give her a bath, to tell her to eat, to tell her to take her medicine, to keep track how long she's in the bathroom, to tell her to brush her teeth (and how), to tell her to brush her hair, to tell her to wear clean clothes, to wear clean underwear, sometimes to dress her. She needs a nurse. We can't do it. And I will not go into the stories we've heard during my aunt's calls to my mother. They start with my aunt telling of the latest thing Grandma's said or done, then a request that Mom take Grandma on for a week.
Mom has suggested that Grandma would get the best care if my aunt would supply an in-home nurse. But my aunt says there is no such service in her area (very likely; they live in the frozen wastes of No-fuck, New York, which is practically Canada, on the St. Lawrence, and miles and miles from anywhere in particular). My mother then rationally suggested that perhaps, especially considering the latest behavior, it might be time to look at homes. My aunt refuses. No reason. Just refuses. Why? Well, my grandmother is a very good source of income. How? Well, Grandma actually has quite a bit aside from Grandpa's work and pension and other sources. My aunt has the power to sign Grandma's checks. A nice fund to pay for, say, my cousin's college education, even though he drops out, too drugged-out to study. A nice fund to pay for trips her job won't, like ski trips with her two girls. And while she's on this ski trip, my mother's the one to care for Grandma.
My aunt has not been taking care of my grandmother while my grandmother has been in her care. She can't even be bothered to make sure Grandma takes her meds. Even I can do that, as intimidated as I have always been by my mean grandmother (she's always disliked me; just because she doesn't remember who the hell I am now doesn't mean the weird, anxious vibe I get goes away). So, Mom decided, after much soul-searching and worrying, to tell my aunt No More Free Mom-sitting Services. You took Grandma and locked her away in your house as a servant for decades, you take care of her now. No more help. No more abusing my mother's generosity. That's it.
It's kind of awful, 'cause this means Mom's basically abandoning Grandma to my aunt's care, which is shoddy at best. But, I believe it's the right thing to do. Grandma needs real help. Maybe two years ago the kids could still work it out, but she needs professional care. Her disease is advanced. She doesn't recognize her own grandchildren. She doesn't know where she is. She—the anal-retentive neatnik who tortured my mother every rare visit during my childhood—doesn't even know to put on a clean pair of underwear. For chrissake, she sleeps in her slacks and sweater unless you demand she take them off and put on her pajamas. I can't even imagine what state she's left to live in at my aunt's house. But my aunt won't listen, and my mother can't help. So, that's it. For now, at least. I'm not sure how long my mom can let my grandmother live like that.
But Mom said, "I've just disowned myself from my family." And I have a feeling she might be right. 'Cause my aunt's up there, with their ears close to bending range, and my mother's here, the black sheep of my grandmother's offspring, wishing her little brother were still alive to help.
