Thursday, October 31, 2013

All Hallow's Eve

I really hate Halloween.  Why is it up tot he masses to purchase sugar filled candy for everyone else's children?  It's nothing but a day that upsets my evening.

At work, some of the chicks dressed up as nothing more than "look at me".  ANd for adults, that all it is.  It gives young women an excuse to dress as sluts, and men an excuse to openly leer at them.  That was not the case ta work but it still annoyed me for some reason.  I think it' the whole Me Mentality.  LOOK AT ME!  PAY ATTENTION TO ME!  Around here we like to call people like that Attention Sluts.

Then there's Shawn's sister, Kelly, who invites herself and her children to our house every Halloween and every 4th of July.  I wouldn't mind so much if her children weren't such spoiled brats and Kelly didn't linger.  It's what she does.  SHe invites herself and lingers as though she has nothing to do, no where to be.  It's because she really doesn't.  And it doesn't matter how many times I've reminded her that I wake at 4:30 in the AM, she doesn't care.  She truly doesn't care and I hate that about her.  I"ve tried to be very sweet about it, pleading to be quiet so I can go to bed, I've tried to be mean to her face, abhorently rude and nothing works.  SHe drags her kids around and lingers.  Lingers.

The eldest is now 19 I think and still dresses up and trick or treats with them all in our neighborhood.  If you're old enough to vote, you're too old to trick or treat!  If you can drive through our neighborhood, you don't need to camp at our house!  THe eldest daughter is 17 and dresses pretty provocatively thorugh the rest of the year so you can imagine how she likes to Miley Cirus it up on Halloween.  It drives both me and Shawn absolutely crazy the way the girl dresses and the older she gets, the more her boobs grow, thus the more they practically fall out of her blouse.  It makes most of the family nuts but you can't say anything to Kelly about it.

There's also the whole Lucy Issue.  SHe hates all these people.  SHe barks constantly and there's nothing I can do to quiet her.  As long as these people are int he house, Lucy barks and growls and snarls.  She'd bite them if she had any front teeth left.  This is what Kelly doesn't understand.  I could go to bed at a reasonable hour, quiet Lucy int he bedroom, but the moment she hears the baboon laughter, Lucy goes nuts barking and inenitably wakes me. 

A couple weeks ago I found a naturally wonderful solution:  Two shots of whiskey on an empty stomach.  Within twenty minuets I didn't care if the house was shaking with baboon laughter.  I could have cared less if the whole family wanted to move in!  Within another 5 minuets I was out like a deads thing and I dind't hear anything intil my alarm clock went off hours later.

It's currently 6:30 pm on Halloween and already I can hear the neighborhood dogs stirring.  I think it's time for a drink....

Ashes to Ashes But Not in My Son's Birthday Month

I well aware of the irony of all this rain.  It's not completely lost on me, here.  Yes, Darrell did state that after he passed it would rain buckets and buckets.  We could have had the memorial in October if not for Justin's stubborness, and yet here are, the 1st Saturday of November coming up and it has rained more in the last few days than it has all year (or at least it seems that way).  Soon it will be colder and grayer and so the memorial will be postponed until the following weekend, weather permitting of course.  And God forbid any of these people have a birthday in the month of November or December.  I fear Darrell may never be put to rest.

It has also been suggested that we all cook Darrell's favorite foods and get together for a potluck.  I admonished Mom for not severely and immediately pointing out that it will not be at her home.  This was all through Justin's seperated wife, since neither of Darrell's sons have bothered to contact my parents since the passing. 

Perhaps this eating can be at a church or somewhere in a parking lot or something.  I don't want these people in my parents' house anymore, particular the wife, ugh, Betty.  I'm afraid of what she's capable of.  And needless to say, we'll all have to spend one more day together.  I told my mom I wasn't pleased about having to eat with these people and I don't really care to spend a lot of time with them.  "You don't have to," she told me in a very serious voice as though she thoroughly meant it.  Keeping my big mouth shut is sure to cause tumors to form and the more time I spend with Darrell's family, the more tumors are likely to form somewhere in my body.

One of these days, I'm certainly going to rectify that.  I look forward to it.

Monday, October 28, 2013

Butterflies

Soon after Darrell's passing, I received a beautiful greeting card in the mail.  It reads:  God works through you in beautiful ways.  He's always putting you where He needs you to be.  And you're always doing what He needs you to do.  He gives you strength and you reach out to help those who need a hand.  He gives you love and you bless others with your caring heart.  Best of all, He's given you and your friendship to me.  And that's the most beautiful blessing anyone could ask for.  Thanks for all your helpful ways.

Inside the card, Mom wrote:  Dear Shawn & Misty, I can't begin to tell you both how much we truly appreciate all you did during Darrell's illness.  All of the "Sam's runs" for Darrell & most of all for the many visits and letting me cry on your precious shoulders so many times!  I know you both loved him as he did you both too.  I could never have made it without y'all.  May God bless you both each day and we love you both!  --Mom & Dad


I had barely began reading it before I started sobbing.  I even told Mom that I'm not one for keeping greeting cards, but this one was surely a keeper.  Occasionally she would call me at work and ask if I could pick up something at Sam's.  Of course she would tell me not to go out of my way, only if I happened to be going, yada, yada.  On the outside I would be like it's not big deal and inside I would silently, secretly grouch about the giant box store and suddenly catch myself.  I would tell myself, Don't you dare complain about a few things from the store--you have it easy!  That was in the beginning.  As I grew up, I offered to pick up things from the grocery store for Mom, not just Darrell's cigarettes and cases of apple juice.  I'd buy her sugar free chocolate covered peanuts because I knew it was her favorite little treat and stuff like that just may help a person get through the day.

I'm not trying to brag on myself at all.  I'm trying to explain what a person can do for another.  It's the small gestures that make a world of difference for a person that's hurting and exhausted.  Go the store and buy that person's dog food and paper plates!

Before Darrell had passed, Mom asked him to send her a sign.  "Well, what do you want me to send?" he asked.  Mom thought about it and suggested butterflies.  SHe admitted later that she could have come up with something more obscure, but oh well.  She complained to me on the phone that she hasn't seen a single butterfly and Christy has been seeing them ALL OVER THE PLACE!  On one trip to Buckholts, I saw eight fly directly in front of my car on the highway.  They were all monarchs and I felt as though I had remembered something about monarch butterflies migrating to Mexico int he fall and set aside this thought.

One day last week, Mom had forgotten about the highway constructiuon and absetmindly forgot her back way route.  Sitting ont he highway, trapped, waiting for a single lane to open up, a singular yellow butterfly flitting all around her truck for the entire time that she sat there. 

Darrell's scattering is supposed to be November 2nd.  Darrell's eldest, Justing didn't want to do it in October because his own son was born in October and he couldn't do it doing his son's "birthay month".  Whatever, dude.  You really can't plan when a person passes and in normal circumstances, you don't plan when the funeral will be.  He's just always have to have his way.  He hasn't changed a bit since we were kids.  I'm proud to say I am no longer the six year old throwing fits.  I wish I could say the same for the rest of them.

It's rained a lot though.  Where Darrell marked for his ashes to scatter has no paved, or even gravel roads.  It's just dirt.  Lots and lots of dirt and dirt roads for travel.  If the rain continues, we'll have to push it back another week or so until it's dry enough to drive a passenger vehicle out there.  We've had dry beautiful days, "Darrell Weather" we call it, but oh no!  We can't scatter the man's ashes int he same month that Justin's kid was born in like, 10 years ago.  Stubborn, selfish, twit.


The tray for our keyboard broke so the key board is sitting on top of the desk.  My hands positively ache and my back feels as though I offended it and it's out for revenge.  My future writings may be kept very, very short for this reason.  I hope we find another free desk!

Wednesday, October 9, 2013

As of Lately

I expressed my concern for Mom once the barage of people filtering in and out of the house was over.  Dad is thinking she'll be OK.  That much remains to be seen.  She was getting that sound in her voice last night as she stated it would be first night she's been alone since Darrell moved in.  I reassured her that she could call me anytime if she became lonely.  Kathy had stopped by and as soon as Mom spotted her, she teared up.  "If my coming by is going to make you upset, I'll not come over any more," Kathy said, dead seriously.  Mom opened the front door wide and commanded Kathy inside.  She promised Kathy some day they'll go to lunch as well. 

Kathy wasn't sure Mom would be able to take any more.  She said she'd never seen anyone like Darrell go on for this long.  The doctor had said the same.  Mom had admitted to me that she had grown exhausted and was so tired she seriously didn't care if she lived or died.  I can only imagine how Darrell waisting away before her eyes had drained her physically, emotionally and spiritually.  "I had no idea, no clue how hard this was gonna be," Mom told me.  Dad had asked her if she'd known, would it have changed her mind about doing it.  "No," she said firmly.

Monday night, for the first time since April, Mom went to bed at ( PM.  For the first time in 2 months, she slept in her own bed.  The next day on the phone, she sounded like whole new person.  She'd been staying up till ten, then midnight for medication dispensing, then up at 6 am again for more meds.  The sleep is well deserved.


There have been many generous gifts from local people, people who knew Darrell.  One of their neighbors who is distantly related to our family (somehow) sent over some SPanish rice with chicken and a check for $25.  Mom had placed in the obituary that donations may be made to the South Elm Cemetary Fund or Scott & Hospice (which donates a TV to a patient should they desperately need one, and grants small last wishes both on a very picky basis).  The Pay To area was left blank.  The enighbor called and said the money was for my parents, that they should do something together with it.

Dale and Becky, Darrell's former employers from the way back stopped by because they'd seen the newspaper.  Mom explained how Darrell's family came one day and took all his money and his wallet.  (Betty had even cleared the pocket change on the dresser)  All fo Darrell's phone numbers were in that wallet and she had no way of calling anyone.  Becky expressed her dislike for Betty.  After all they had done to help her out, Becky said, Betty never so much as offered a single "thank you".  "But," Becky also said, "I would have thought she'd have at least the decentcy to have called us!"  Mom described her little outburst to Betty and Becky replied to her very simply, "Lock.  Your.  Doors."

I've never understood how someone like Darrell ended up married to a person like Betty.  Never got it.  The funeral director in charge of the cremation had stopped by the house as well.  As it turns out, he also had attened the funeral directory at the place where so many of my family members were handled.  He and Mom recognized each other instantly, even though this was all going on in a whole other city.  He stopped by to deliver the bill for the obituary and told Mom that Betty had finally called him.

He said Betty sounded as though she were as intoxicated as a person could be and only understood about half of what she actually said.  She said she and Justin would be by to sign the paperwork, even though all this could be done by fax.  The man told mom that legally, since she is Darrell's wife on paper, if she asked for the ashes, he had to give them to her.  If she neither of them asks for the ashes, he promised, unsolicited to bring them by my parents' home.  He sounds like a sweet man.

At some point, Betty called MOm and while everything was cordial she asked Mom a strnage question.  She asked MOm if Darrell had ever said anything about a phgoto of him and his dog Tootsie to be placed with the ashes.  Mom answered honestly and that he'd enver said anything about it to her.  I d=found it odd because Darrell intended for the ashes to be returned to the earth where he grew up.  Mom suggested to me that Justin and Betty might still do this and simply not notify the rest of us.

I became upset over something that hasn't even happened (yet) and MOm reminded me that if that happeens we'll just go out by ourselves; we don't need ashes the ashes are just ashes.  I still felt like this could be a very probable thing to happen and it would be very sorry.  As much as my parents have done!  Really!

I wouldn't put it past them though. 

Tuesday, October 8, 2013

Hi. My name is Larry. This is my brother Daryl; this my other borther Daryl.

Saturday night, October 5th Shawn was waking me up at 10:30 PM.  He kept telling me to sit up.  I don't know why but I thought something was wrong with my pillows and he was going to fix them.  I propped myself up one elbow.  "Hmmuh?" I managed.  "Um," Shawn replied.  "Darrell has passed."

Shawn was convinced I'd want to get dressed and hop int he car.  I called my dad and explained I had overdone it on it the Benadryl, a sleep aid I'd been using for over a year.  My parents actually didnt want us coming out.  They had many things to take of and so it worked out for me to chat with SHawn for a few minuets and go back to bed.

I awoke to a small dog walking around my pillow, standing on (and pulling) my hair.  I rolled over onto my belly and looked straight into Zoe's eyes, then the clock.  5:52 AM.  Oh well, I thought.  I should get tot he grocery store and get the things Mom needed.  I was fine until I got in the car and the song "Yellow" by Coldplay came on.  Tears formed in my eyes and rolled down my cheeks.  And I really fuckin' hate that song--I always have.  "Look at the stars, how they shine for yooooooo," that's all it took.

I'd picked up some cameras and printed some signs, warning that cameras were about.  Mom was ultra paranoid Betty would retaliate somehow and hurt one of her animals.  "She knows how dear these animals are to me!" Mom said.  Once at Mom's, I was overcome with how strange everything was.

When Darrell moved in, it was strange just him being there.  I had barely seen him over the last twenty years and then here he was.  It wasn't as though he didn't belong it was just strange.  And now, the air conditioner was shut off, the windows and doors were open, letting in a cool breeze.  The bedding on the couch was gone, the mattress on the floor was gone and the hodge podge of medications had been erased from the counter and kitchen table.  It seemed so strange.

Amy, an old longtime friend of Darrell's sat the table with our cousin Kenny.  Christy and Dearl Crawford soon filled chairs and we laughed and cried and laughed and cried.  I actually didn't start crying until Christy and Amy began talking about how strong Mom was was and someone said what a "rock" I had been and then the rock began to cry.  Dearl and Christy and Amy had all been old buddies of Darrell's and we've all gotten to know them a good bit.  I am glad to have gotten to know these people.  Despite their faults, they're good people. 

"If it wasn't for you, Darrell wouldn't have been here and I thank you so much for that," Mom cried to Crawford.  I've trained most people in saying Crawford to avoid confusion when speaking of Dearl--it always messed me up!  Christy began the story of how she kept Darrell awake.  It amazed me how Christy can tell a story of an attempted suicide and have us all laughing from beginning to end--this is why I like her so much.

It all began about 3 or 4 years ago.  It's difficult for me to keep track of time.  Betty had left Darrell and he was sleeping on friend's couches, in his truck, in rat hole motels.  His tools had been stolen and life in general sucked.  He called Crawford and said he was "gonna do it" and that he was in a place where they used to have a lot of fun.  Mom drove in the wrong direction, thinking he'd went to the old farm.  Crawford and Christy drove to a remote are they had hung out in as teenagers.  Darrell had fought Christy over another handful of pills, he claimed he was thirty.  She refused to give him water.  SHe told Crawford to smack Darrell int he face and he slapped him lightly.  "NO!  NOT LIKE THAT!" Christy yelled.  "LIKE THIS!!" and she drew he arm back and slapped my uncle like an angry wife. 

She was trying to keep him awake until the ambulence arrived.  She finally got Darrell on his feet and to keep him there and conscious, she would continuously grab chunks of his flesh and pinch--and twist.  This description of the story really got us howling around the table.

Of course it was soon after that everyone had noticed a slight abrasion on Darrell's face that never healed and began to seep.  Even after his attempted suicide, Darrell continued to bounce from couch to couch until after a long stay with one of the cousins, he gave into Mom's wishes.  We dreaded the times he'd want to stay with Betty because he always came back in worse condition.  And later, as his condition worsen naturally, Betty would have someone drive her over so she could pick pocket.  That morning Mom finally told off Betty, she told her that everyone knew the only reason she ever came around was for money.  And it's very true and EVERYONE knows that.

"All that stuff just keeps playing over and over in my mind," Mom said, earlier Saturday morning.  "Betty said a neighbor was baking a cake.  'I ain't baking any cake!!'  He didn't even get a cake that year so I guess that's why I bought such a huge one this time."  Every rotten thing Betty had ever done was playing like a record in my mom's mind, ever since she'd told her off.  "You asked me if I felt better?  Yes and no.  I feel guilty."  You see it isn't like Mom to tell someone off.  "I have NEVER had such hatred in my heart.  Ever!"

People filtered in and out with gifts of food.  Many of us ate as a way to fidget, something to do with our hands and mouths while others spoke.  Speaking for Shawn and myself, we went home feeling like it was Thanksgiving dinner all day.  Amy had showed up with ten breakfast tacos first thing and they were so awesome!  After a couple hours I made a grab at a second one and my mom laughed at me.  "They might go bad.  I'll see to it that they don't spoil," I joked.  Afterward, others were inclined for a second taco.

Darrell's sons, Justin and Josh had neither called nor bothered to do...well, anything at all.  It's exactly as Mom put it.  They live their own lives as if nothing is wrong.  Neither of them called to say thank you for taking care of my dad.  Neither of them called to say, are you alright?

Dad spoke to Justin's wife, Nikki, a few minuets after it had happened.  She said they'd probably be over the next day.  Around 4pm, still nothing.  Mom called Nikki and it was whopper of a story.  Nikki and Justin had seperated (again) but Justin didn't want a single soul to know.  I thought it was a bit rude of Nikki to wait for Mom to call her after we spent the whole day assuming they would all be over--for what, I don't know.

Mom didn't speak to either of the sons.  This isn't uncommon or even unexpected after the way they've generally behaved this whole time (I'll spare the boring details).  For some reason (God only knows why) Darrell made Justin the executor of his estate--which doesn't mean much really because everything Darrell owned was in my old bedroom and amounted to clothes and basic necessities.  However, Justin needed to sign some papers in order for the cremation to proceed.  Mom made this very clear to NIkki and since they live a two hours' drive away, that everything could be done by fax.

Mom had said our cousin Judy was once executor of Darrell's estate and we wished it were still in effect.  Judy would have everything taken care of in a timely, grown-up manner.  Nikki had also told Mom that Justin refused to scatter the ashes in October because that was his son's birthday month.

This got everyone in the house riled.  Dad immediately began to spew all sorts of obscentties regarding this news and once inside called them "mother fuckers" and how they're so "fucking stupid".  Something to that degree.  I've heard my dad drop the F Bomb maybe--maybe twice in my 32 years of life and now once by my mother.  This is what these people do good kind folks like my parents.

You don't get to decide when a person dies.  Often it happens inconviently.  I am wondering if Justin takes off an entire month to celebrate his son's birthday.  The ashes ought to be scattered within the next 2 weeks so we can gain closure.  Many of these things were said.

Months ago, Darrell and Dad went out to where he and Mom grew up on the old farm.  He marked a spot specifically and Dad placed a flag in the ground.  For months he had told us all, do it whenever, just not in the rain.  Justin had concocted something and said Darrell wanted to be scattered in the spring time.  Mom argued with him over it, made sure with Darrell--and sure enough it was just something Justin had made up.  Some had thought this whole "birthday month" was a way to "get at" my parents.  Shawn was outraged and told them both, "Don't ever let anyone tell you that you didn't do right by Darrell!"  Later in the car he said to me, "If any one of them ever says anything about your parents, it's on!!" 

I suggested that this is merely Justin getting his way.  He did this to me all the time when we were kids. If he wasn't getting his way, he'd make me miserable until it was going his way.  I think this whole "birthday month" bull shit is just him trying to get his way.  "He was an asshole when we were kids and he's still an asshole.  He hasn't changed a bit," I said.  And of course, the meth usage had made him a "waste of space and air" also my words.

Apparently when Justin would once in a blue moon drive this way, he'd pick up Betty and they'd hang out and smoke meth like they were old chums.  When this was first discovered some months back we were startled by it because Justin and Betty had hated each other for more years than I know.  Suddenly they're BFFs. 

Mom invited my sister who is married to Shawn's brother, Bob and the 3 youngest kids (the eldest is away at school) to help eat up some of this food.  At some time Bob said to Shawn, "Sheila doesn't seem to want anything to do with this whole Darrell thing."  Shawn suggested that means Bob doesn't know that Sheila had stolen morphine from Darrell for 3 months and was quietly banned from my parents' home.  The twins knew about it because they were in the back room, playing Mom's keyboard when Mom caught my sister stealing pills.  She kept her voice very quiet though.  The girls confirmed to Mom a couple months later they had heard, alright.

Mom forced Sheila to go outside and apologize to Darrell.  Darrell didn't want anyone to know about it because he didn't want anyone to think badly of her.  I got news for ya, I've known about her booze and pill habit for a loooooooong time.  I just never thought she'd steal pain pills from a dying man.  It was around this time that Mom relaized how bad it was.  Sheila blabbed a secret to Mom as an excuse.  "You just don't know what I'm going through!" she cried.

Bull shit.  The girls told me something secret that I kept to myself for nearly a year.  It ate me up.  I couldn't help them inthe way that I wanted to.  I went over there and they asked that I would tell Sheila.  As a group, we did, though the words came from my mouth.  Sheila didn't seem so interested about it the next day.  It was simply an excuse and I never intended for Mom--of all people--to find out. From there I explained how bad things had gotten and that's why we've been getting kids over for frequent sleep overs.  Shawn still doesn't know about the girls, but he knows about the booze and drugs.  God help us all if Shawn found out.  Anyway, he agreed it would be good to make sure we keep a close base with the kids from now on. 

So, at this point, everyone pretty much knows how much a loser junkie she is and hasn't back inside that house until the day after my uncle passed away.  Maybe Bob knows she stole all those pills and doesn't understand why she wasn't upset about Darrell.  Of course, she's never been that upset about much since she discovered the numbing qualitities of drugs and alcohol.

It still disgusts me.  The day he had a skin graft on his face, I was there.  I walked into the recovery room and thank God Darrell was knocked out and asleep because the instant I saw him, I cried.  How my sister can have no thought or cares for anyone (including herself) is beyond me.  I stopped caring a long time ago.  When she didn't get those girls help, when she stole from my uncle, I stopped caring.  I couldn't explain to Mom why we never spoke.  She'd always go on about the distance between her and Darrell for so many years and I couldn't tell her.  Why should I worry her?  What good would it have done?  My sister slit her wrists some years back--the kids own father dragged them into the bathroom and told them to look at what their mother had done. 

Shawn and I had agreed long ago that when that little slip up happens, whatever it is, those kids will be living with us.  One little minor thing is all that's left.  One of the girls had once told me that I was more of a mom to her than her own mother.  It felt good but also broke my damn heart.  I cried over it because I always had a good mom.  I don't know what happened to our family.

Monday was hard.  I hadn't slept much and I was still grieving.  I was at work for a whole eight hours until I told my boss.  Just thinking of telling him made me cry.  I knew I had to tell him because he's always real good at asking, "How's your uncle?"  Once upstairs, I could feel the tears forming behind my eyes and once again every inch of my skin was screaming at me, "Get outta there!  Run!"  I had to leave before I cried like an idiot. 

It's amazing to me how close me and Darrell had grown.  He was around, he disapeared for twenty years and suddenly was part of my life again.  Cancer is not the easiest thing to deal with.  It's certainly not easy to watch someone whither and die.  At least I could always leave at the end of the day; my parents could not.  As hard as all this has been, I'm eternally grateful for the time we gained with Darrell.  If he had not gotten sick, he would not have reconciled with my mother.  He would still be a stranger to me and I would not know how to make potato soup (his special request early on).

Darrell's friends, Amy, Crawford and Christy might be strangers to me if not for that fateful day in the middle of no where.  "It wasn't his time," Christy said.  It wasn't.  I'd grown deeply attached to my uncle, once again.  It was very hard to see him in that state near the end but I wouldn't trade it for anything.  I wouldn't trade running to the store for apple juice and cigarettes and countless runs to the gorcery store.  I wouldn't trade the one time I put together a joint for him at my mother's kitchen table (something I NEVER thought I'd do) and I wouldn't trade sitting out in the heat with him while he smoked. 

I wouldn't trade any of it.  I'm glad for the times we shared and the times he made me laugh so hard.  After all this time, I think to this very day my fondest memory of Darrell was after his skin graft surgery.  I didn't know him at the time but he felt comfortable enough to warn me of the high level of water in the toilet.  He told me he'd dipped his balls in the cold water a few times--his words.  I laughed from embarssment.

After a week, his long hair had become matted and tangled.  I brushed it for an hour and he hollered so loudly I thought they might throw us all out of the hospital!  "Yeeeeoooooo!" he'd holler.  And I'd laugh uncontrollably.  Darrell would look at Mom in bewilderment.  "She thinks it's funny!"  The more he hollered, the more I'd laugh. 

For this, yes, I am glad he got sick.  He might've offed himself some other time and this time would have been stolen from us.  There's not a doubt in my mind where Darrell is today.  I know where he is.  I like to think there's a special table in Heaven for the cancer warriors of my family.  I picture a cafeteria, very large and somewhere in this room is a large round table and seated at it are all the members of my family that had suffered and felt so much pain.

And they are all laughing and having a good time.

Saturday, October 5, 2013

Screaming

What I write yesterday was ironic.  Apparently early Friday morning around 6:30 am, Betty called & told Mom she'd tried to come over some time.  Mom didn't really see the point since Betty had Darrell's card & when she does visit, she spend 90% of her time outside smoking crack.  This is true.  We drove up once and actually saw her doing so and smelled it from the drive way.

Mom told Betty that if she was willing to stay with Darrell and not be outside partying, she was more than welcome to come over, otherwise, not.  This started a whole thing.  Betty claimed the opposite; Mom stated that Betty hadn't done a single thing for Darrell since he'd gotten sick; Betty said she had done plenty (though she cited no examples) and in the end Mom said to her "Fuck you, bitch!" and hung up the phone.

Mom quoted this to me over the phone.  I replied first with, "Whooooooooa." then I followed up with, "I'm so proud of you!"  Dad and Shawn said the same to her while our good friend, Crawford (we named him that because his first name is Daryl and it minimizes the confusion) clapped for MOm over the phone.  "You're a better person than I am because I would've done it a looooong time ago!" Shawn said.

Mom is concerned about retaliation.  Betty called early this morning a little before 6 am demanding to speak with Darrell.  Mom tried to explain that he cannot speak.  SHe would hold the phone up for Darrell is Betty wanted to tell hims he loved him, Mom explained and Betty promptly hung up the phone.  Mom is really, really paranoid of retribution and I reminded her that Betty has no car, lives 40 miles away and very few friends.  However, Mom pointed out that Betty knows how much Mom cares for her animals and is still afraid she will retaliate.  She looked toward her horse and donkey and said if one of them died and it wasn't because of collic, she'd drive to Belton and beat the shit outta that bitch.  Her words, not mine.

I stated to Shawn I'd do the same.  "Calm down," he said.  "If anything happens, we'll all take this down to the cotten gin and settle it redneck style!"  That made mom laugh.

When we first arrived this morning, Mom was already in tears.  She quickly went outide and I followed.  "Do you just want to be alone?" I asked.  "NO!" she sobbed.  We sat on the front steps and I put my arm around her as she sobbed and sobbed and cried and cried.  She said she couldn't breathe inside.  She'd been having asthma attacks and couldn't calm down.  The only thing that broke it was when Molly, who'd previously decided to take a swim in the horse's water troff, decided to roll around in the dirt and decided that she wanted a hug from me.  This made Mom laugh.  That goofy dog finally got her to calm down.

"I don't know what I do without you, baby!" Mom said.  "You just don't know what y'all coming over does for me!"  She gripped me and cried some more.  I reminded her to calm down so she could breathe properly.  "I hope y'all are so blessed!  I pray every day for you to be blessed!"  It made me feel deeply ashamed for my anger towards God. 

We hung out for a while.  It was hard to look at Darrell.  I hadn't seen him without a shirt on since he was a little fat.  After the bathroom incident, Kathy fitted him with an adult diaper and showed Mom and Dad how to do it.  After all the falls from him trying to escape in his confusion, Dad placed a matress on the living room floor.  He can't roll of it and fall, he can't swing his legs from it and attempt to stand (and fall) and he can't get hurt.  But this morning, it didn't really didn't look like Darrell would be going anyway, even onto his side.

His breast plate protruded from both ends and each rib could be counted.  His arms were as thin as mine, the skin was thin and dry.  Kathy left medication to help with the twitching and jerkiness; that seems to have calmed down since Wednesday and he was no longer talking gibberish in his sleep.  His breath was labored.  His right eye--the good one--remained closed, while the left, foggy eye remained open and confused looking.

Everything in my body screamed at me to get out of there.  In all honesty, I wanted nothing to do with any of this.  From the moment I arrived I wanted to leave.  I wish this wasn't happening.  I wish my mom wasn't crying like this, panicking for air.  I wish my uncle, once so great and tall and with a fat belly wasn't lying on the floor struggling to breathe.  My body screamed at me to run and never look back.

But I stayed.  I held my mom.  I cried.  I held Darrell's hand.  I didn't think he knew I was there.  That's OK.  I secretly resented him for giving Betty all his money.  I watched his chest slowly rise and slowly fall.  I cried some more. 

I told Mom I'd get some security cameras and make some signs in case Betty decided to retaliate.  It might change her mind.  I'll be back in the morning, I said.  Even without the reason for dropping off some stuff, I thought it might be a good idea if I made the drive once more on Sunday.

Friday, October 4, 2013

Broken. Again.

If you want to see what a person with a broken spirit looks like, visit my mom.  As a child I was corrected many, many times on how wrong it is to use the word "hate".  You can dislike someone, but you must never hate them.  My mom is a good Christian woman who is generous and kind.  This is not to paint her as a saint of any sort.  By no means is she a saint.  But her faith has always been very strong, unquestioning.  She has short patience and curses now & then, though I've never once ever heard the F bomb come from her mouth.  She is very sweet, almost to a fault, in the sense that I've offered to take up the slack and stand up for her.

With that said, this whole experience has changed her.  She's very tired, you must understand.  She's worn and broken.  The last of her family, the very profile of her father lies on the couch, withering away, confused and anxious.  She watches as the only proof she had a family deteriorates before her eyes.  She questioned God when she watched her mother die slowly over a year's time.  She became angry with God but slowly, her anger faded and her faith was renewed.

"I hate them.  I even told the chaplain that; I hate them!" she said to me last night.  I don't blame her.  Darrell's ahem, wife, called early that morning and placed my mom in a foul mood.  "She always calls at the worst possible time.  It's like she knows!"  The wife, Betty, abandoned Darrell, almost quite literally some years ago.  He stayed with a bit after he became sick and she did not care for him, in a loving sense and also in a caregiver's meaning.  She did not cook or wake him in the morning.  She set the alarm clock and on more than one occasion told him to "pack your shit and go".

Betty's mood shifts around the third of each month as Darrell collects disability.  She has squeezed money from him like sap from a tree and has placed it promptly into a meth pipe.  "What has she got to do?" mom asked, exasperated.  "Nothing!  She goes to bed when she wants to, she does whatever she wants to!  And the rest of them (Mom referring to Darrell's two sons) what have they done?  No one, not one of them has ever offered me a hand.  Nikki (a daughter-in-law of Darrell's) once offered to have me go take a nap--like that's gonna happen!--but she's the only one!"

We have scantly heard from either of Darrell's sons through this whole process.  The eldest, has become great friends with Betty when he passes through.  He once hated her until recent years when they figured out they had much more in common.  The younger brother has had his ups and downs with substances but remains clean fro the moment, yet always has a habit of behaving childishly and following the route of peer pressure.  Although the sons live a two hours' drive away, the phone rarely, rarely rings.  And on that rare occasion they do show up, they avoid the inside of the house as though a plague were upon it.

Mom is quick to point out to me that she does not mean that Shawn or I haven't helped.  She only refers to Darrell's family.  I tell her I know.  We thought the younger son might have a common sense of decency when we saw him crying so badly one day.  He does what your supposed to do int his sort of situation as long as his brother or Betty aren't around.  Otherwise, I've never seen family members behave in such a way when a close member lay dying.  It's so odd.

The Chaplain stopped by, a measure of hospice services and he's a really nice man.  He was a bit suprised to hear Mom say she hated everyone.  I wasn't, so much.  This has been building up for more than a year.  Everyone's fake attitudes is beginning to wear on me.  Their show of unconcern more than grates on me as they go about their own lives as though nothing were wrong.  The younger brother shocked me when he once thanked me for picking up Darrell's apple juice and cigarettes.  "It's the least I could do," I replied, thinking, YOU could show some concern & that would be the least you could do!

Any time everyone shows up and I happen to show up at the same time Mom reminds me gently to keep my mouth shut, "For Darrell's sake."  Of course, I keep my mouth shut and I just as gently remind Mom that I'm a grown up and I'm not going to tell everyone exactly what I think of them until after Darrell has passed.  I do have some control over my mouth, you know.

So Betty has Darell's cash card, a good thriteen or fourteen hundred she can smoke up in a week or two.  That irritates me because Mom has taken care of Darrell and Betty has done nothing.  They never asked for money but they've sure as hell spent a ton of it on food, water, electricity because Darrell's always hot, hot, hot and their whole house is like an ice box.  While he was doling out cash at they end, before he went a little crazy, I feel as though he could have at least pushed a small stack towards my parents.  But I don't say anything because I'm a  grown up.

The night beofre last, Dad had taken yet another night off work and he dozed on one oend of the couch, my mom on the other.  Eventually Darrell needed to be taken tot he bathroom and I'm unsure of the entire story, but he somehow managed to get piss all other bathroom from one end to the other, in the middle of the night.  "He refuses to use that urinal--refuses!" Mom states.  She also said he had one pillow that had soaked so thoroughly with blood, she simply threw it out.  His ear continues to drain and it's mostly blood, rather than fluids and pus.  I offered to clean it up for her.  "I'd rather not look at it," she replied.

I mentioned the piss covered bathroom to Shawn in a tired sigh.  "One day this will be funny," I said, dryly with not a hint of a smile to my expression.  Even I'm not sure if I meant it or if I meant it to be sarcasm.  I have a feeling none of this will be funny, even further down the road.  And that's a shame, to be unable to laugh after all this.  We've always had a knack for finding some way to laugh, even in dark humor, as time passes.  I don't really see that happening.

Thursday, October 3, 2013

Dreamily Dreaming

The next day I was so tired I felt like I was dreaming.  It seemed hotter at work and I seemed to be sweating more than usual.  Sure, it's always hot this time of year but it seemed to be sucking the very life force from my body.  I entertained the thought that I was still in my bed under cool sheets, in the dark and the fan blowing cool air on my face.  That must be it!  I was asleep and this was all a horrible dream.

No, it surely wasn't.  I haven't slept much in the past couple of weeks (no kidding) and no amount of coffee or Crystal Light energy drinks was getting me going.  My alergies had taken hold of me so badly I was convinced I mgiht be getting sick.  Although I kept saying over and over, "It's not a cold, it's NOT a cold!"  It cleared up eventually and sometime later I suddenly became ravenous. 

I treated myself to an overpriced sandwich from across the street.  The light outside seemed brighter than normal.  Was it always this bright?  And the store seemed miles away.  I busted on my two dollar lottery scratcher and ate my sandwich, washing it down with another energy drink.  I finally started to feel a bit of life back in my bones.  Very good, because I still have yet to finish my chores and call Mom. 

There's still a bit of daylight left and the writing lets me unload a bit.  I do not look forward to the sink FULL of dishes (I never let it get that full--I swear) however the caffine and processed sandwich chemicals seemed to have breathed new life into me.  At least for now....

Twenty Four Hours

Mom called me at work, sobbing.  There's a big difference in Mom's levels of upset.  I could feel this was VERY upset.  Kathy once again stated that Darrell might have 24 hours again. I wish she'd stop doing that.  Seriously, now.

After work, Shawn and I made the drive out to my parents' house and upon arrival I was once again left alone with Darrell.  I am unsure if it's intentional or everyone just happens to be in the kitchen all at once.  Anyhow, I sat in the chair next to the couch and took his hand.  Darrell's immediate weak grip on my fingers comforted me, although I soon noticed that his limbs and eyes seemed to all moving independantly of each other, as if each limb and eye were its own being.  "Kathy said that's normal," Moms said.  "And he's been doing a lot of this, too."  She pointed her index finger as though a hunting dog might if he had fingers to point.  "Kathy said a lot of people point."

"Darrell, I don't know if you remember this," I began, "but when I was very little, you took me up inside the bulldozer.  I don't remember a lot of it anymore but it was very cold and very loud.  For some reason I was thinking of that today."  I'm not sure he heard or understood.

Darrell grasped my arm at one point and pulled it this way and that, mumbling incoherantly.  His lack of teeth and slopping face makes it almost impossible to understand what he's saying and the lack of oxygen has made him very confused.  His sate of dying has made his body and mind very agitated.  "Darrell, I dosn't understand what you want," I said, blinking back tears.  Two heavy tears finally fell to his shirt and bedding.  "Darrell, I have to go to the bathroom, but Mom's right here," I excused myself quickly and rushed the bathroom.  A high pitched squeal emitted from my throat that I never expected. I sat on the toilet and covered my face with a was of toilet paper and sobbed.

The rest of the time Darrell was agitated saying, "I have to get out of here!" in a mumbled fuss and "Why is the truck borken?  Can't you fix it?"  After Shawn told him we can't any where because the truck was broken.  Finally settled by a solemn "Oh."  It was like this all night.

His leathery arms were covered by scrapes and bruises.  Mom, asleep on the other couch would awaken to him falling.  He had forgotten he really could not walk on his own.  "Darrell, you cannot, cannot walk on your own!" Mom would say.  "I know, sis," he's say sadly.  "I won't do it again."  And as soon as Mom dirfted back to sleep, he'd try again and fall again.  At one point, Mom had caught him and they both fell to their knees.

I want this to be over.  Darrell is tired, Mom is so tired.  My parents need to move on.  This is no kind of life for any of them.  On the way home, Shawn had said if he was ever in that sort of position, he'd just go have an accident.  "And what do you think that would do to me!" I exclaimed.  "It's better than putting you through what your mom is going through!" he retorted.  "You'd be OK and set for life!"  I don't exactly see it that way.  In a sense, though Id read the future because he's inhaling plasma dust, a known and definite cause for lung cancer--the slowest and worst way to go if you ask me.  Nobody ever ask to suffocate over a year's time.  He's smoked for so very long and eats nothing but fat-filled greasy foods.  I'd give anything to throw out our little deep fryer.  Anything.  And he welds.  Welders are well known fr developing Parkinson's Disease.

I fear that my future will be Mom's present condition.  I fear I couldn't handle it.  Of course I'd do it.  Nothing on earth could stop me or hold me back from it.  But I dread it, I fear it.  It's one thing to comfort Mom, to be there for her as much as I can, to pick things from the store and fix little minor household problems.  It's quite another thing to be my mom.  I don't want Shawn to go off and "have an accident" but I don't want to be my mother, either.


I Created The Sound of Madness

It's not as though I have the worst job on the planet.  Of course that's not true.  Aside from inhaling toxins, there a lot of positives.  And my boss isn't really that bad.  In fact he mostly leaves me to my own devices, is generous and generally wants to be your buddy on a good day.  He occasionally picks on me for the sake of picking on me and the accusing me of senseless things that don't matter and aren't true grate on me to no end--no matter how stupid it is.  It's more natural for me to dwell on the negatives of things...focus, focus, focus--no matter how hard I want to stop.  I can't seem to get my mind off that thing that bothers me.  Or that thing that was said to me.

Of course, I am aware my boss may know of and read this blog because a stupid facebook mistake I made a couple years ago.  If he, or anyone else, doesn't liek what they read all one has to do is stop reading it.  I've never asked so I cannot be sure but there seems to be a different air the next morning after a posting of "I hate my job" rantings.  It's as if he's being very careful around the carzy person that might very likely shop up one day with a fully automatic rifle. 

When I was very young I learned of one such character, a disgruntled postal worker who showed up one day and fired upon his former coworkers.  I decided early on that I would seek out he workplace crazy person and be very, very nice to them.  Naturally, I've come to realize that I am the workplace crazy person.  Although at my workplace it's hard to tell one from the other as we have many crazy people.  I'd never do such a thing, however.  I read the newspaper in the morning and shake violently when I read of a woman who's been raped to death or when those two teenage girls stuck a kitten in a microwave and turned the power on (the kitten survived and was adopted).  I shake because it angers me someone would behave this way.  It angers me that God would even bother to allow the sperm into the egg that created these people.  It angers me because this is nothing compared to other sufferings and I cannot do a thing about it but shake and cry and be angry.

See?  Crazy.

My boss, at one time or another and more than one, has reminded me how emotional I am--as if I needed this pointed out to me.  Although he hasn't done it in a while, I still can't shake the memory of it and it STILL irritates me.  That's the curse of a freakish memory.  It's helpful at times, and a curse at others.  I'm emotional because of things that have happened to me, the need to defend myself and survive.  Fight or flight.  I'm a fighter.  After many years of that I've become very defensive about every tiny, useless thing, no matter the unimportance.  It's become like a reflex.

After years and years and years of being told that you're fat, ugly, stupid and worthless, you not only start to believe it, it becomes ingrained into your very well being.  Even though I do believe I am a little dumb, I am smart enough to recognize that I was brainwashed.  And brainwashing can take years and years to erase.  My husband has helped a bit, but he fails to realize what it's like inside for me.  (It's a mess in here)

So, boss, if you are reading my posts, I apologize for being so blunt and please do not treat me differently tommorow because I really do have a gentle soul behind all this anger (ask my pets) and I do not wnat you sympathy for anything I've written.  I don't ask for it and I don't want it.  Sympathy will not help me to solve my problems.

Tuesday, October 1, 2013

About Darrell

I haven't written much about Darrell because not much has changed.  He hasn't eaten in 2 months.  His legs are a skinny as arms.  Mom is drained and depressed. 

Shawn and I went last Friday and fixed stuff.  He fixed the dryer.  I fixed her bedroom TV and her electronic cigarette.  I felt pretty confident about puffing on it to test--I have no interest in being tied down by that thing again.  Once I got it working, I tested a full strength puff and it hit my in the center of the chest like a sack of nickels.  I coughed for a half hour--that kind of deep croupy couch that sounds really nasty.  Jeez.  Wasn't expecting that!  I smoked for 13 years (3 packs per day!) and used an e-cig for a year.  I thought I could handle it.  It proved to me I won't ever be tempted to go back to any of it.  That crap caused me pain!

Mom sent us home with oatmeal cookies.  Darrell briefly commented on Shawn fixing the dryer and that's the only words he uttered.  Mom says he speaks about 10 words per day now. 

The third of October is about to roll around and his, groan, wife still has his disability card.  I hope someday someone screws her over as much as she's screwed over Darrell. 

That's it.  That's all that's happened.  Mom and Dad want to one day take us to a Chinese Buffet so we can sincerely hurt their profits for a day (me, Shawn and Dad could, for real).  I've saved restaurant gift cards won at work to take Mom out.  Maybe when this is all over we can distract ourselves from the pain by stuffing ourselves stupid.

Then we'll cry again as we shop for larger pants.  Heh.

How does that song go? Oh yeah, I Hate My Job

Yes, this much is true.  I really freaking hate my job.  And I don't care much for the people I work with either.  There's a lot of big personalities there and one, who I've worked with for a quite a while and I still can't figure out if that is stoned or just stupid.  Seriously, I have really tried to figure it out.  I still can't decide.  For some reason my boss, lately has decided to move up my ass and take up permanent residency.  He's been dogging me here and there, making false accusations and seemingly not trusting me to my job even though I've done it for 8.5 years and take up the tasks of other employees.  Whatever.  I just need the paycheck to clear and I'm good.

So I tell myself.  The truth is I'm scared.  I'd hardly admit that anywhere else but here yes, I am scared.  The refinance upped our mortgage payment quite significantly and we've got two loans besides that.  Shawn's business is still just a baby and a monthly salary is not guaranteed.  What am I supposed to do anyway?  The way to search for a job has changed and I don't understand it at all.  The classifieds don't cut it anymore, everything's monster.com and all that. 

I've entertained the idea of going to school, briefly, but I have no idea what I want to do.  I'm terrified that I'd put all this time and money into learning a skill to find out that I absolutely hate it.  I can do that now for free.  Yes, I hate my job but it's secure.  I'm fairly confident that if lay-offs were ever to happen, I'd be one of the last because I'm like a jack of all trades in the field.  So I continue to mutter and dwell on the past.  I keep my mouth shut because you can't just go around telling everyone what's wrong with them.  Although sometimes I really wish I could. 

I don't need anyone to tell me, I already know I'm negative and emotional and slightly psychotic.  I KNOW why I don't have any friends and I don't care--I wouldn't have time for them anyway.  I never asked to be this way, I was created.  That's what a lot of people don't understand.  It took twenty years for me to become this way and I've honestly tried to change.  I spent years on it and finally decided that I no longer cared what anyone thought of me.  Take me or leave.  I've a lot on my mind and ton of shit to do.  Either you like me the way I am or you don't.  And if you don't like me, I could honestly care less.  I've probably thought about dozens of things I don't like about you as well.

I digress, as always.  I want a simple fix and I wonder if that's so wrong.  Some people have things handed to them.  Some have to toil and sweat and bleed.  I'm a bleeder and a sweater and a toiler.  Why is so wrong to wish for a winning lottery ticket?  I'll even keep my nasty job--I just wanna pay down this debt, get a shop for Shawn and maybe a little left over for a degree for myself. 

I'm done praying about it.  I've prayed for a lot of things for many years, over and over.  In regards to Shawn's smoking and how many years I spent praying about it, I once said to God, "You created the entire universe with a single word.  Would this be so much to ask for?"  I suppose it really is.  I stopped praying about it. 

Man, I really hate my job though.  I could write pages on why I hate it.  I'm supposed to be grateful to have a job while so many do not.  Oh yes, I am so grateful I don't get a free ride, food stamps, free health care and rent paid.  Lucky me.  I'm so tired of the heat and the cold and butt blood stains.  There are some coworkers I'd really love to just hit in the face the second their mouth opened and say, "Shut the fuck up!  Don't you have something to do?"  I've had it with the filth and sweaty arm pit stains.  I'm sick of cleaning the microwave and handling blankets with other people's sex drippings (ew).  I'm tired of people speaking to me as if I don't know what's going on, as if I were dim.  I'm tired of people getting at me for doing my job and after EIGHT years acting as though I don't know how to do my job.  Please, I did my job extremely well, even after taking Vicoden for dry socket after a wisdom tooth pulling.  I could do this shit in my sleep and still do it well.

I wasted my twenties and here I am working on wasting my thirties and doing a damn fine job of it.  Lucky me.