Phonies, dead guys, and stuff.

My goal for this morning is to get the house cleaned while on the phone with Florida. I figure it will take me at least three rooms of dusting and sweeping to get the bank to agree to close Mom's last account. They are holding a hostage I'm willing to slay. $4.45. Yup, for $4.45 they will not close my Mother's account and I don't want the damn money. It would cost me more to send certified copies of the death certificate to them. Today we will do the word dance that seems to be banker foreplay.

My version may have additional words, that went unsaid, added to tell the real story.

Me: Hi I'd like to close Shirley McMyMom's account because she has passed away. 

Them: We are sorry for your loss. Can you verify the death?

Me: You're not sorry. Yes I can. 

Them: Oh you're still there? <whispers to coworker "I got  live one here" they cackle> 

Them: Is there a balance on the account?

Me: Yes, you blood sucking ...I mean yes there is. 

Them: <I'll teach this one to sass me> Can you verify the balance please?

Me: yes I can.

Them: well?? 

Me: you asked if I can, I can. You didn't ask me to do it. Sheesh. Way to go public school edumacation. 

Me: since you said please... it's four, count them one-two-three-four dollars and forty-frikkin-five stinking cents.

Me: And I do not want it.

Them: <to coworker> this will piss her off cackle cackle ... 

Them: Ma'am. Ma'am that money is legally owed to the estate. 

Me: You keep it, buy yourself a new outfit. 

Them: it is so on now MA'AM!

Them: WE cannot release this money without proper paperwork. You need xxx and vvv and ooo and we will require notarization <picks nails and smirks> and it will need to be sent registered mail. 

Me: BUT I DO NOT WANT IT, just close the account paaaleazzzzeeeee.

Them: Ma'am, we cannot close an account with an active balance. 

Me: thinking it's time to try a new approach. 

Me: With the fees you take out this account will overdraw on September the first. Then it will be an overdraw fee which will not be paid. Then that will add up, some genius in your legal dept. will get himself a stiffy for the money owed, he will sue my dead Mother and when it goes to court I will show up and point out that you cannot get blood from a rock, or from a box of ashes that hangs out in my hall next to Dad and a stuffed lamb. The judge will  ask your legal eagle why this dead thing wasn't noticed before now and he will slink back to the office. Dead Mom win!

Me: or... you could close the damn account. BECAUSE SHE'S DEAD

Them: Ma'am, we cannot close an account with an active balance. WE cannot release this money without proper paperwork. Ma'am, you need xxx and vvv and ooo and we will require notarization <picks nails and smirks> and it will need to be sent registered mail. 

Them: Ma'am

Game. Set. Match.

In the way back of my fridge, surrounded by

In the way back of my fridge, surrounded by half empty salad dressings and marinates that sounded good in the store but tasted bad on the grill is a small can of ginger ale. I keep it so I can let other things go. I took a picture of it to show my brother. As soon as I prep a crock pot cobbler I'll explain it.

My Mom was a lot of things but I'm finally letting it go. Why carry grudges that no longer matter. My Mother was my worst enemy growing up, a sad kind of ghost in my mid years, and a human being at her end. I'm a grudge holder. If someone hurt me I never forget. I've just learned to stop picking scabs. I had to to find my own balance. Sometimes bad parents aren't bad parents by choice. Any child of a mentally ill parents can tell you that. I just had to learn how to let go of what she was as a child and learn to love the wounded person she was now. I fought it tooth and nail. The whole time I was fighting it I was saving everything of theirs. I couldn't give away Mom's things with Mom still alive. That just isn't right. So I kept it all in tubs under the pinballs against the wall. Out of sight out of mind.

I've finally started throwing it out. I have to let things go. I went to two garage sales this weekend. Both were children selling off Mom and Dad's stuff. We're becoming an epidemic. Adult children selling the folks stuff for a buck. I will not do that to my kids. They'd toss it before the ambulance door shut.. Unless they piss me off,I'm sorting it for them. I'm starting by liberating mom and dads stuff. It's time. I'm parting with the tea cups I really don't like. A couple for the sons girls, a couple for tea parties with my granddaughter.  The rest need to go. And lots of things do/did. Last week I let go. Then went away for a couple days. This week the rest goes. I'm keeping the photos but not much else. A pretty glass item here and there, my great grandpas rocking chair. Some family things. The rest is gone. I gave old photos to people who were in them. Gave my cousin letters his dad wrote as he traveled the world at eighteen. Letters his grandmother wrote to her sister. Mom had them. We figure Dad collecting stamps comes into play. My Dad's Army things to a son. Some china to the other. The rest recycled or donated.
It feels good. I needed to do it before my kids got it some day. I needed to cut the emotional ties. Get rid of the emotional clutter. I'm keeping things that make me smile, like Mom's weird JELLO book of recipes. I'd like to meet the person who wrote that. Maybe they can make me understand why anyone in the right mind puts celery in JELLO. Geh!
And I'm also keeping one tiny can of ginger ale.
The last one in Mom's ginger ale stash in her room. She almost ran out. We kept her hooked into the ginger ale back streets, she never ran out. She loved her ginger ale and they'd give us five or six extra to hide in case they ran low. Shirley wanted ginger ale and by God she would get it. All it took to keep her happy was a little can of ginger ale with a bendy straw and the straw was optional.  A little can just like this

Ashes, ashes, we all fall down

A couple things have me thoughtful today. The death of a friend’s step-dad, the (soon) scattering of the ashes of a man I wish I’d have had as my own Dad, or a neighbor, or as a friend for a whole lot longer.

I used to mark my days by the important things like how many days until the last day of school, how many days of summer vacation, how many days until my birthday, how many days until Christmas. Then I grew up a bit and it became how long until the baby’s born, how many months/years of age is he, how many days until he goes off to college. Now it’s who died, when, and what will I do, how many days until the funeral/service/burial, how many days until Grandma Tia’s Monday.

This is a weekend of ashes. Scattering some, making plans to have others interred, sending condolences to those whose loved one(s) have died. The goodbye part of life.

I’ve been dreaming weird dreams. Bits and pieces of my childhood that weren’t scary, sad, or bad. Things like trips to Wyanoco Lake every summer. I have no idea why we started going but you know the place in Dirty Dancing? kind of like that. Group activities, meals, water, classes, games. The whole thing minus the grinding and back music. I can’t allow my brain to picture Mom and Dad with ‘hungry eyes’ playing in the distance. GEH! We went every year, met up with friends of Moms and Dads.

As childhood travels went, it was good. Every year another road trip in the disfunction mobile, every year another state. And somehow they always knew someone somewhere where we were going and we’d park a night or two in their driveways. Or we’d stay in a State park or KOA campground. We weren’t really safe as kids back then but we thought we were. My brother and I would explore until bedtime and then make a campfire to hand out by. If Mom was still good we’d play Triaminoes or UNO before bed. It was nice. And Mom and Dad never met a museum they didn’t need to tour. I’m pretty sure my love of roadside oddities is ingrained since them. We went where ever the wind or AAA maps would take us.

And even though my inner child is having a fit over my memories, I remember them trying their best at home too. In between Mom’s ‘episodes aka ‘real life Twilight Zone’, there were the good days. That trailer we traveled in was rented out to a family who skiied at Swain. They’d rent it for the ski season so they could have a place to sleep, etc. during the season. This meant it was in our driveway from September – November.

So my birthday, which I hated and my birthday sleepover party, which I loved.. were both at home. I hated the day because it was three days from Mom’s and they were always celebrated together. I call foul on anyone who denies a kid their own special day! My party was always the same, three friends sleeping over. We got the trailer for the night. That’s independent in those days. And as a girl… it wasn’t a tent. Tents would be uncivilized. We’d do the cake thing after dinner and then we were on our own. I can’t remember what we’d do but it probably doesn’t matter “what”, it only mattered “that”. I remember counting down those late-summer days until the first day of school and then my birthday.

This year is a whole different count down, more of a count up. And the trips I’m taking are first and foremost down memory lane. More often when I sleep. Today a friend says goodbye to a man who loved not only this friend’s mom but the whole family. Friday a little bit of one of the greatest men I’ve know returns to a place he loved and shared with his own sons. And every day is another day I count, it’s been eighty one days since my Mom died but my memories are shifting and the clouds that have skewed my view of the past have left me as well. My good memories are surfacing and that makes me lucky.

and it is only forty one days until my birthday. sweet!

In the grander scheme of things

I am my Mother now. But only in the generational scheme. I am the oldest tier of relatives, I am the oldest generation in my little family. Before me came my parents and before them, their parents. Now I am the one who pulls the fabric of our family together and keeps us from fraying. I never wanted the job and this morning when it hit me, it hit me hard. I'm too young to be the elder. I'm too young to wear that crown, although I do love shiny objects and who doesn't look good on a throne?
I miss my Mom. I never thought I'd feel that, I never thought I'd love her.
My Mom was many things. To most she was seen all put together, matching outfits, hair done, lipstick on. But inside our doors she was my greatest fear. When a person is manic you never know what each moment brings. I've hinted at my childhood. It wasn't great but it was, to quote every idiot out there, what it was. My brother and I learned to tend to ourselves when Mom was in a downward spiral. We tentatively smiled when all was up and happy. And we survived and surviving made us who we are. It made him emotional and afraid of upset. It made me strong but a little too hard when people need me to be soft. And as I aged I turned my back on my parents. I had to for my own mental stability. All was well until the call. I've talked about the call before so bear with me, I have a need to retell the story.
The call. The call came in on a Wednesday. No feeling of doom as my phone rang, no black cloud overhead. Just a call from my parents neighbor. She was worried about them. Life changed quickly. For Mom, for me, for my brother and it ended for Dad. I arrived in Florida on a Thursday, the next day. Dad died a few days later, Mom died almost two months ago. Somewhere in between Dad and Mom, I found myself. I've never been a big fan of people claiming to "find themselves" and I certainly never set out to do it. Three years of Mom solidified Tia. I love my Mom. Another thing I never thought I'd say. Somewhere in between touching down in Florida and today, I learned to love her.
I know now that her mental illness shaped her. It made her weak. It made her strong. It made her a fighter. I don't think my inner strength is half as strong as her's was. Even when we reached NY, even on hospice the first time, even as cancer found her twice, even as wave after wave of manic depression hit her, she fought back. When my brother and I made that decision to let her go, her body kept on fighting until she ran out of strength and quietly left us.I miss her, I'm lost without her. She made me strong but losing her made me weak.
People tell me things like "she's in a better place", "she's with your Dad", "it was her time" and my personal favorite "she's happy now". She might be happy, she might be with my Dad in a better place, and yes it was her time but I miss her. I'm grateful that I got a chance to be with her. I learned to be compassionate, I learned to forgive and forget. I got to know who she was.
I've started to heal. The holes of the loss are filled with my granddaughter. The other end of the family scale. I heal with every moment I spend with her, she brings me joy.
Someone at the home used to call Mom 'The Matriarch'. I guess that's my job now.

cryin’ and cybers and cares

I'm still finding my way through losing Mom. For all my complaining and whining about dealing with her issues and taking care of  her, I find that I cannot cope as well as I thought I would. Bear with me please, I have many stories and many memories waiting to find words but it's coming in spurts now and I'm trying to find my way. 

Reeling, feeling, dealing, and hopefully someday even keeling.

My Mother passed away a week ago. Her last two days were quiet ones and she wasn't in that  state of  mental torment anymore. She hung on as long as she could. She is, was a tough old bird. But it was time and she had fought long enough. My brother and I spent most of her last week with her, talking, laughing, me singing songs I knew she loved and a few I knew she didn't just to see if there was any Shirley left in her. Thursday we thought we'd said our goodbyes but Shirley wasn't ready. Friday we cried with the weekday staff because we knew she'd be gone by the time they got back from the weekend. Saturday we were at peace with it and we told her we loved her and told her it was okay to let go, that her
mom and our Dad were waiting. At 10:30 pm on May 17th my Mother let go. It was her time, her turmoil was over. I froze when my phone rang at 10:55 pm that night, I knew who it was. I said "oh shit no" and answered it. It was her time, she was gone. I'm reeling still, a little lost. A little confused by the love I developed for her these past three years. I'm feeling it still, sadness, confusion, loss. I'm dealing with paperwork, cremation, phone calls, memorial plans, burial. And someday I will be back on my even keel. I hope. My Mother really wasn't much of a Mother to me but she was my Mom and recognizing who she was and what made her how she was gave me insight into myself and I love her. My Mom is dead now, I will miss her.

I am going to continue this blog. I will talk of my childhood, my life with and without Mom, and I will hopefully come to grips with this loss I feel right now. Shirley was a strong woman, a brave woman, a wounded woman, and a woman I am lucky to have loved.

last steps

My Mom is on hospice now. My brother and I made the decision last Friday. It is time. She has no real life quality left and she is in deep mental pain.  We've begun to just treat pain. It's difficult to watch and difficult to live. I will post more in a day or two. My mind is hurting right now.