Aging Parents

When I was a teenager, my father and stepmom moved down to Louisiana, where my stepmom was from, to be near to her aging parents. My father had aging parents of his own, but they were a good decade behind stepmom's and in great health and going great guns.

My dad always thought somehow that I would emigrate to the States to be near them, but that never materialized. I had my own life up here - school, work, marriage, jobs - and I stayed here. Every year daddy and stepmom would drive up from Louisiana to stay with my grandparents for a few weeks, and every year my grandparents would drive down to Louisiana to see them. I only went once, that was enough for me as a teenager. When I heard my stepbrother telling a story about a cop setting a black person down on an anthill, him laughing his head off as he told the story, oh and using the "n" word while he was at it, that just turned me off quite completely. The South gives me the shivers, point finale.

Well stepmom's parents passed away, and my grandparents passed away. My dad and stepmom came up one final visit the year after grandpa was gone, and that was it for the yearly visits.

I went down once again, with Hubby, oh, over a decade ago now. My dad was starting to look thinner than I remembered him being. We had a good visit, but it was overshadowed by the feeling I had that I was seeing them for the last time.

My father has been slipping lately. He's had a couple of bank problems when he needed some assistance to get his Canadian pension re-sent to him because the bank had changed its transit number. It became apparent to me during that crisis that daddy was losing his nouns. He was very nearly unable to make a coherent sentence, he'd reach for a word and lapse into silence, floored by the lack of words. I would coax him on and offer suggestions, and somehow we'd make it through the conversation.

He's in his 80th year right now, and stepmom is 82 and hasn't been really well for some time. He spends all his time looking after her. But being cantankerous, he tends to get into spats with service providers and friends alike. I heard him talk about people coming in to help, and how he'd sent them all away. And he was always fighting with AT&T. Once he even went out and bought himself a cell phone, thinking that would be cheaper than paying the phone company. That didn't work out of course, but the biggest problem was the cell phone just didn't work, or he didn't know how to work it. He has big fingers, and I wouldn't be surprised if that was the reason he had trouble working the phone.

Well, today I tried to call him and his line has been disconnected. So the phone company is having a go this round. I fired off an email to my stepbrother asking him to check what's going on, but in my heart I know perfectly well what's going on. Daddy has been cantankerous and is denying he owes what they say he does and they've cut him off, and I have precious little hope of service being restored any time soon. And now I can't even have the reassurance of hearing his voice on the phone complaining of this and that.

I already fear his home looks like an episode of "hoarders" and shudder to think of what he's like behind the wheel of his car. And I fear that soon the inevitable will come knocking and he'll have to go into some kind of facility, and I'm not there to help him or reassure him or even know how he's doing. I'm out of the loop, unable to do anything for him.

Disconnected.

The Rock

Today my world suffered a tremor. Whether it comes by itself or is a precursor to future events, time will tell. But I was shaken, once again, by forces I cannot control.

Hubby had a medical problem that sent him to the hospital today. His eyesight in one eye all of a sudden had gaps in it. True to form, he quickly downloaded a test off the internet, the results of which were enough to get him to pick up the phone and get an emergency appointment with an opthamologist. Hubby is a diabetic you see, and eye problems are frequent with them.

So I tried to concentrate on work while he went off to the hospital, and I tried to ignore the various scary scenarios that presented themselves to my mind like so many demons poking their heads in through the doorway.

Blindness. Inability to work. Inability to drive.

Suddenly there loomed before me the prospect of my slightly estranged husband becoming someone who needed assistance. And that is topsy-turvy. The ground liquified under my feet.

Hubby is my Rock. In fact, he is quite a few people's Rock. He's the one you can always count on, whether you need something fixed or need a lift somewhere.

He's the stubborn old goat who knows perfectly well what he should be eating and how much exercise he should be getting, yeah yeah yeah, not bloody likely... Mr. "Not Dead Yet", always ready to poke fun at life, quick with the bon mot, taking perverse pleasure in the downfall of the stupid and foolish. A shoulder to lean on, relentless in his pursuit of technology, and an unflagging curiosity that leaves no stone unturned in his determination to be right about everything.

To say I was sick with worry would be an understatement. The whole world had suddenly shifted on its axis. Hubby might be in trouble. Hubby might not be immortal, after all. In fact, there may come a time when Hubby might no longer be there, at all. The thought left me reeling.

Quite a few people depend on Hubby always being there, always being himself. Not the least of which is Hubby! In shock from a) being seen immediately, and b) being treated immediately, he took tomorrow off to recover a bit. Perhaps he'll be assessing his mortality, taking stock of how he should be changing his diet or his sedentary lifestyle.

If I were living with him, I'd be wanting him to stay in bed and bringing him tea. And hovering over him, worrying. As it is, I'll be worrying from a distance and wondering what he's doing. Wondering if this incident was the tip of the proverbial iceberg, and how long we may have before another tremor shakes the foundation of our reality. Wondering if this will be a wake-up call for him. As it was for me.

We do not know what the future holds for us, nor how long we have with each other. Every moment is more precious than we know.

Braving the storm

Well, here we are in the aftermath of an historic winter snowstorm that wrecked havoc over half the United States. For a change, here in Montreal we only got a wisp, a mere 15-20cm. And I couldn't be happier it wasn't more...

Boyfriend is off in Saudi Arabia, for work, and so I have his car, you see. It's a brand-new car, not a scratch on it. And while I love having the use of a car in the summer months, it's quite a different thing to be looking for a parking spot here in the city - in the winter - during a snowstorm.

I had asked my friend R whether I should drive in to work yesterday or take public transportation, and he was eloquent in why I should leave the car where it was. Accordingly, I did the opposite, and drove in.

I wasn't going to. I had made up my mind to take the bus. I had dressed for the weather and was leaving on time for the bus... But then I got outside and the streets were clear and quiet, visibility was good, and there wasn't enough snow on the car to make it worthwhile brushing it off, and I thought to myself, "Why are you such an Old Woman?!" And proceeded to get into the car.

I drove to work in first gear all the way. Apparently, only the visible section of my street was actually clear and free of traffic. From every street in NDG, cars poured onto Somerled, and eventually the drive resembled a train more than anything else: everybody inching along in single-file, and hardly any difference between red lights and green lights, we inched forward all the same.

I had a couple of stomach-churning moments going up The Boulevard where I learned on the spot that you have to turn your Traction Control off if you're going to get up a hill. Traction control, you see, stops the wheels from spinning, and also stops the engine from racing, so if you have it on while going up a slippery hill, your can slows and eventually just stops, no matter what you do to the gas pedal. A very disconcerting situation, I can assure you!

After that first learning experience I turned it off and drove the way I had learned how, turning the wheel and spinning the tires like everybody else, and actually got somewhere.

Approaching McGill, I opted to go to the McIntyre garage instead of the Faculty's garage, because the McIntyre opened off Peel, a big street, an important street, much more likely to have been plowed and salted than old McTavish, where the Faculty garage was located.

And at the last moment I opted to use Drummond, one street before Peel, to gain access to the McIntyre, because traffic had slowed considerably ahead of me and I figured there would be less traffic and more room to slide about on Drummond than on Peel.

And good thing, too. I found out when I got into work that Peel had just been closed, and I wouldn't have been able to get access to the garage at all. Whew!

By this time you would be correct in assuming I had "learned my lesson." Yes, I was in fact wondering why in god's white earth I had decided to drive in. R's admonitions rung in my memory, while visions of fender-benders bounced in my head in lively fashion. There was a potential for disaster at every turn, and every inch of the way between turns. I was, sad to say, part of the problem yesterday, not part of the solution. I should have taken the bus. Or stayed home.

In the end, I only worked a half day. The thought of driving home in 5 o'clock traffic with yet more snow under the tires, and in the dark, proved too much for my state of mind, Old Woman that I seem to have become. But my poor nerves needed daylight to steer by, and the drive home was actually uneventful compared to the drive in. I had to take a couple of runs at my parking spot in front of the house (tracking control still off), but I managed to park safely and run into the house crying to Bijou "I MADE it! I MADE it Bijou! And wif no accidents!"

I was never so glad to be in my lonely little apartment with no one to see and nothing to do. I watched tv till I couldn't keep my eyes open, and the only time I'm sticking my nose out the door today is to see if the snow-clearing crews had put up no parking signs.

Otherwise, I'm staying put, dry, warm, and safe!