(re-run from 2023)
When both my mom and sis started having big health problems at the same time, I flew back to Iowa to collect my older sister and bring her to California to live with me. Eighteen months later, my younger sister flew back to Iowa to get our mom and bring her to California to live with them (her and Hubs).
Five and half years later, my older sis passed away from multiple strokes. Our mom is still going, no matter how painfully. Younger sis and Hubs thought I should come stay with Mom for a week so they could go camping in their new RV.
Here I am on Day 6, but who’s counting? I’ve had plenty to distract me from the fact that I’m missing fun stuff in each of the two towns where I have houses: lots of music, car shows, parties and other fun stuff like yardwork and watering of plants.
Instead, I read a second draft of my girlfriend’s 300-page novel and wrote comments on nearly every page. That consumed several hours and kept me off Facebook where everything I’M MISSING HAS BEEN POINTED OUT BY MY Facebook friends.
The good news is that helping your mom is something every person on this earth should have the privilege of doing before it’s too late. Now I know what my younger sis has done every day for four and half years. Unlike my older sis, whose strokes kept her partially unaware, Mom is fully aware of everything going wrong with her nonagenarian body. Every move hurts her somewhere, and she needs help with everything.
I’m not much of a cook, but I’ve been able to throw together a few Iowa type meals for her. No beans, salads or spiced up vegetables. We’re eating Stovetop with chicken, Sloppy Joe’s with turkey, and chocolate, lots of chocolate.
My brother-in-law built a fancy pen for the dogs at my request (the pen part, not the fancy part). His two plus acres aren’t fenced and we’re in the mountains where there are deer and also mountain lions. A neighbor actually saw one standing on their driveway at dusk and called my brother-in-law, warning him not to let his dog outside. When my mom wakes me at 6:00 a.m. for something and the dogs wake up, guess what? They want to go out. Then it’s me and the strobe light to keep cougars at bay until everyone has peed. The entire property is sloped, so those butt muscles are waking up — mine, not the cougar’s.
A real caregiver comes every morning from 10 to 1 to help Mom get dressed and do her exercises, play games and sit in the sun. That’s my chance to go exploring up and down Highway 9, looking for thrift stores, antique shops, and other fun places. I hope everything fits in the car when it’s time to go home.
I’ve never seen so many white-haired ponytails on men in my life. It’s Hippie-ville here, and my free-wheeling spending is out of place but much appreciated by all who have booths in any of the antique collectives.
I’d better go home soon before I’ll need to buy a bigger car. I’ll take my memories of caring for Mom with me.
FIRST DATE, WORST DATE EVER! 