Close Calls

Sometimes I think about the close-calls I've had in my lifetime and have to believe that God has had His hands on me the entire time.  There have just been so many of these situations, even when I had no idea anyone was watching out for me.  I've experienced many times where I should have been hurt or killed because I was just in the wrong place at the wrong time and because I was so young and naive.

When I was dating Jasper, I drove down to the southside of Chicago quite often and boldly because I was so naive. One day, at a stoplight, some guy just walked up to my car and began to open the door. I slammed on the gas and drove right through the light, as it unnerved me, and I was so unprepared. From then on, I started locking my car doors, but never stopped from driving down to where I was clearly unwanted. 

The summer after I graduated from the Day School, I took summer school classes for driver’s education and art.  My art teacher was an interesting man.  He invited me over for dinner at the end of the semester and I went, thinking he was a neat teacher and friend.  His wife was very pregnant, and also very nice, but unfortunately married to him.  My teacher asked me if I wanted to go for a walk after supper (they lived in the country) and I agreed.  His wife said she’d stay and do the dishes – she looked real uncomfortable as she was due at any time.  I offered to help her with the dishes but she insisted on doing them as I was their guest.  On our walk, he began to hug and kiss me and tried to molest me right there in the woods.  I couldn't believe it, he was my teacher and it never dawned on me that he would do something like that.  It was a good thing that I had a fighting attitude at the time, as I pushed him away and told him to knock it off and walked back to his house, as he pleaded for me not to tell his wife.  I left immediately after saying goodbye to his wife, feeling very stupid and weird that my TEACHER was such a jerk.  All I can say is that he’s a very lucky guy – if I had known better at the time, I could have had him charged with sexual assault and he would have lost his job.  As I drove home, I felt very sorry for his wife.

One night after work, I was getting off the train in Chicago to go to my apartment, and I had to walk down a flight of stairs from the elevated train to the street.  I remember vividly that as I got closer and closer to the bottom of the stairs, I felt a very evil feeling.  When I got to the base of the stairs, a really big guy came around the corner, right in front of me and I gasped.  There happened to be another person on the other side of the steps come around at the same time, and I hurried away and ran down the street to my apartment.  I felt like I escaped what could have been something very awful that night, and it was like God was preparing me as I walked down the steps to be aware of my surroundings.  And that was before I knew anything about God. 

One time my friend Vicki and I got real high and walked to her friend's house.  I don't remember her name, but her son's name was Jason and that's how I came up with the name for my first born child.  Anyway, she and her husband were in a big fight when we got there, and her husband ordered us to sit on the couch with his wife and son, pointing a rifle at us and screaming at us at the same time.  I was so high that I really didn't understand the seriousness of the matter at the time.  Soon, there were police outside, shouting up to this guy to let us go and it became a hostage situation!  After quite a long time, he let us go and the police took him away.  We left as soon as we could, but I couldn't stop laughing because the whole thing seemed too crazy. 

One day when Jason was about 3, I became very ill, with severe pain in my abdomen. Jasper had come over and noticed right away I didn’t look well. I thought I just had the flu or something, but he had enough sense at the time to take me to the emergency room at St. Mary’s Hospital. While waiting there to see a doctor, I began having shooting pain and I knew something was seriously wrong. They put me on a gurney in a room and after a moment, I passed out and fell off the gurney onto the floor. The next thing I remember was people standing over me, trying to get me back to consciousness. Years later, I remembered that it was at that point that I was in a conversation with someone who wasn’t in the room. I believe I was actually speaking with God and He was giving me a “second chance.”

They rushed me to surgery and found out by extracting blood from my uterus that I was bleeding internally and the blood was rushing to my diaphragm. When the doctor injected me with the long needles to extract my blood, I actually screamed out in pain as I have never felt pain like that before, or since. The sack he was extracting from was infected and so severe pain was a result. I suppose for confirmation, he did this twice, as I screamed obscenities at him to stop. They informed me that they had to do emergency surgery on me and found out through the surgery that I had an ovarian pregnancy that burst and that was the cause of the internal bleeding. The doctors told me later that if they had waited 15 minutes more, I would have died. 

Close calls.  I could go on and on with other incidents in my life that I recall now as "close calls."  God has truly had His hands upon me my whole life, and still does.  How can people not believe in God?  I can't fathom that.  And just like my father protected me when I was young against things that would harm me, my Heavenly Father protects me from things I can't even imagine.  Because He loves me more than anyone ever has or will love me.  And in His love, I am complete.

A Lazy Person You Shouldn't Be

My mother has a really hard time just sitting still, watching tv or resting without moving her body.  She feels she has to always be doing something and she raised us that way as well.  When we were kids, we were seldom allowed to watch Saturday morning cartoons - chores had to be done first.  And even after chores, we could only watch one or two cartoons and then we had to go outside and play.  We were never allowed to just sit around watching cartoons all day.  Even when it was nasty outside, we had to do something else besides watch the "box," like color or play games.  When we became older and just wanted to sleep in, she would make a sufficient amount of noise, like banging into our bedroom doors when she was vacuuming, to be sure and wake us up.  I was reminded of this today when she came in my room, without knocking, to come and get Kita while we were taking a nap.  She kept calling for Kita until I finally told her that she would not leave the room without me.  When I told her later that I didn't want to be awoken unless she was in need of something, she said "she saw my toes moving and thought I was up."  Funny - my toes move even in my sleep, a sure, telltale sign that my mother raised me to be doing something even when I am sleeping. 

And because I was raised to not be lazy and to be a productive human being, I've had many jobs in my lifetime, starting with babysitting in my teens.  I was a waitress when I turned 15 at The Red Balloon, somewhere outside of Chicago.  It was hard for me to remember what everyone ordered and because of that, I didn't make a very good waitress.  There were several times I only got a penny for a tip, but there was one time I got a joint wrapped up in a napkin, which I thought was pretty cool.  One of the first full time jobs I had was at the AAA office in Evanston, Illinois.  From there, I went to a car rental company outside of O’Hare Airport.  My job was to shuttle people going to and from the airport in a large van. The airport was much smaller back then - today it looks like a city, it's so huge.  I will always remember a salesman from a tuna fish company hitting on me each time he went to the airport.  He was a gross, older man with fat lips and pockets all over his face – and probably married.  I thought he was disgusting and I basically ignored him.  One time, on one of the trips coming out of the airport, I smashed into a small Toyota truck that was sitting in the road and didn’t have his brake lights on.  It was obviously my fault, but I argued with the police that he was just sitting there, in the middle of the road.  Another time, I had a van full of businessmen coming back to the car lot, and as I drove under a bridge, at that exact moment, a huge sheet of ice came crashing down through the windshield.  We all freaked out and I slammed on the brakes but no one was hurt.  Soon after that incident, I was fired.  My boss simply gave me a notice and told me to pack up my stuff – that was my last day.

From there, I went to work for my dad for a very short time, doing odds and ends clerical work.  There was a man who worked there that was giving puppies away and that’s where I got Louie.  He was also a racist and when he found out my boyfriend was black, he called me a “nigger lover” right in the office in front of everybody.  Of course, being the way I was, I had several nasty retorts for him as well and for obvious reasons, I didn’t last very long there.  My dad was really angry that he called me that, but he couldn't fire the guy as he was partners with 2 other people who had hired him.

I've had so many different kinds of jobs.  I've been a waitress twice, driver for the rent a car place, day care provider, claims processor and clerical worker on a construction site, for several different private companies and for government.  I never really wanted to be an administrative support person - I just never went to college to get a better job and that's what paid the bills.  What I really wanted to do was to be an art teacher, but that never panned out because I didn't go to secondary school, except for one semester of junior college.  I barely got through high school - I took my entire junior year in the hospital and I didn’t want to leave when they finally discharged me, but they realized my stay there was too long and I had no choice. I refused to go back to Niles West High School for my senior year, so my parents enrolled me in The Day School, in Chicago - a school for “kids with emotional problems.” It was located on Buena Avenue in an old, beautiful mansion that was used as a school. I had a lot of fun there, as it was very liberal and I only took classes I enjoyed, like art and writing. My writing teacher, Mr. Deutsch and I became good friends.  He was a very caring, loving man and it took me awhile, but I grew to trust him in the end.  I kept in contact with him for a long time after I graduated. The principal was like an old hippie. He and his wife, who was my art teacher, ran the school. I loved art class, but wasn’t crazy about my teacher, who I thought was eccentric and arrogant, although she taught me a lot of different skills. I received my high school diploma from this school, which at the time, could have cared less about.

I met different kids at the Day School, who all became my friends, as it was a small school with only about 30-40 kids. David, who had long, blonde hair and was very strange, had a crush on me and used to hound me all the time, which drove me crazy. I never liked him that way, but I never was good at confrontation like that because I didn’t want to hurt his feelings. Another boy, Mark, who also liked me, had a very violent temper and was always beating up on David for hounding me. Vickie, a tall, black girl with a bad attitude became my friend also. She was “going” with Kenny Johnson, who also attended the school, and who would eventually introduce me to Jasper, his half-brother. Kenny once said that I was the only white person he ever met that he liked. I guess I took that as a compliment.

I have a few photos of this time period and when I look at them, I am amazed at how I looked.  You would never have recognized me from those photos.  I think about what the other folks would look like today and none of us would probably recognize each other.  Time is harsh on our looks - for most people, that is.  Thank God that is not the quality of a person.  Looks are not the sum of what a person is.  Character and honor and truth is what makes up a person.  What lies deep within the heart of a person is what the person truly is, and this becomes revealed through the person's character, whether good or bad. 

So how does this have anything to do with my mom waking me from a nap this afternoon?  Absolutely nothing.  Except that while some people change from day to day or from year to year, my mom hasn't changed a bit during my entire lifetime.  She still has clothes from the 1960's.  And thankfully, she doesn't do the vacuuming any longer...

Home, Sweet, Home

My trip to Madison was a giant whirlwind.  I stayed at Jason's the first night, then I went over to Leah's house to save on gas.  Thursday, Leah and I got our nails done and we hung out with Ashley and the girls.  Friday, we got ready for Leah's party and it was a lot of fun.  Many people came and it was a big hit.  Jasper even went and wore a white shirt and tie (the first time I ever saw that).  The decorations were beautiful and the food was great.  The dessert was made by a baker in Deforest and the food was catered by a place that Blake knows - it was all very good.  I got a chance to talk to Brenda and some other folks I haven't seen in awhile and it was all good.  I was so tired, I just sacked out when I got back to Leah's.  I slept on the couch, which was pretty comfortable but hard to turn.  That night when Leah and the family came home, Shanti tried to talk to me but I was so tired, I didn't make much sense.  It was really funny.

We went swimming on Saturday,  and that night I went out with Tammy, Barb, Sharon and Sandy.  We all met at Olive Garden, which was delicious as usual.  We had a great time talking and stayed in the resturant for 4 hours.  You know, get a flock of women talking who I haven't seen in two months, and it becomes a talking and laughing orgy - which is what I really needed.  It was great to see them and we are going to plan a vacation somewhere we all want to go to -- which sounds like a lot of fun!  

Church on Sunday was really good, and Jasper came.  The sermon was about the Prodigal Son which really touched Jasper.  I'm so glad he was there to hear it.  After church, we went to the Cheescake Factory in the Milwaukee area.  Jason, Donovan and Jade met us there and Nazly, Robert, Jasper, Ashley and Elise went with us.  The food was great and it was a lot of fun.  We stopped at Johnson Creek outlet mall on the way back.  All in all, the week was great.  I got to the doctor appointments I needed to go to, did a little shopping, enjoyed all the stuff that goes into making a party great with Leah and Ashley and really enjoyed my grandchildren.  It was truly a vacation.

Jasper woke me up at 2:30 this morning because he wanted to make sure I got to the airport early.  I mis-read the ticket and so I was really early, but no worries - better early than late.  First, we had to go and pick up Kita from Virginia at 3:30 am, and then off to Milwaukee's airport.  Yesterday, I had taken Kita to the vet to get doggie tranquilizers to use when we went on the plane, and then she had a haircut.  It looks more like a crewcut, but the groomer said she couldn't help it, that her hair was too matted down.  I felt really bad - I should get her hair cut sooner than I did, next time.  She only weighs 6 pounds.  Kita is a Yorkie mix with either Poodle or Bichon - I don't know which - and she just turned a year old.  Virginia was watching her for me, but now it was time for me to bring her down to Florida with me.

So we got to the airport at around 5:00 and my plane didn't leave until 7:50.  I gave Kita the tranquilizers and she got really mellow within an hour.  I took dramimine around the same time, and I got really mellow too - we were both pretty high when we boarded the plane.  I actually slept on and off the whole plane ride, which was great.  The seat next to me was empty while everyone was boarding and I prayed and asked God to have someone who is skinny and is a female sit next to me.  I didn't want a big, smelly man sitting next to me, where we have to touch - I just hate that.  So, thankfully, toward the end of the line, a slim lady sat down next to me and all I could say was, "Thank you Jesus..."  I do not like touching or being touched by someone I don't know.  In those skinny airplane seats, you inevitably touch the person next to you, and if you are the unlucky one to be in the middle, well, then, you have to touch two people.  In fact, you're almost like a sandwich, you're so squeezed in those things. 

When I got to Florida, it actually felt like home, which is really kind of weird.  I guess I don't have a home in Madison any longer, so this is where I belong at this time.  I will have to go back to Madison every 3 months to see my doctor, but it will be right around then, that I will be missing my grandkids and I'll need to go there to get my "fix." 

Danny picked me up at the airport and we laughed about all of the current antics with my parents.  Things haven't changed.  But I wasn't expecting them to either.  My parents met Kita for the first time this afternoon and they both seemed to like her.  My dad didn't have his usual nasty comment about the dog looking like a rat, since he isn't fond of small dogs.  And Kita actually jumped on his lap and he enjoyed that she did that.  Who knows - maybe her and my dad will come to like each other and she will actually be therapeutic for him and my mom.  She pooped right in front of my dad and instead of bellowing a fit, he just said she did poopoo in a matter-of-fact tone of voice and I cleaned it up.

I am at "home," tomorrow is another day, and for right now, I am looking forward to sleeping in a bed with the door closed and Kita right beside me.  Who knows, maybe she will surprise me and actually poop on the grass tomorrow.

The Atmosphere Has Changed

Any time you are dealing with a person who has dementia and can't remember, relates wrong information, can't hear and is generally lost, and another person who is mentally fine but physically a wreck and has a bad attitude, you should use much patience and love.  Well, I have the love down, but the patience - not so much.  My mother drove me to the brink this morning when I had to take her to the doctor.  She told me to go to "the place where the young man parks your car," and I asked at the hospital and she said yes.  So I proceeded to go to the hospital.  "No, no she said - where are you going?"  I said, "I was going to the hospital, just like you said."  "Well, the clinic is owned by the hospital (blah, blah, blah), but we have to go this way."  It started to escalate at this point.  I said, "Mom, I asked you if it's by the nursing home and you said no," and so on and so forth. "Oh honey, I get so turned around and a little confused."  Come to find out it is by the nursing home, so I had to make a u-turn and go the opposite direction.

In the doctor's office, she couldn't hear what the nurse was saying and gave weird answers to their questions that I had to keep correcting.  I felt sorry for her in there - she was completely lost.  So the doctor determined that she has to be on the antibiotic for 2 weeks, and so from there we schlepped up to the hospital because they can't administer the medicine in his office.  On the way, she kept telling me when to turn, where to go and when to stop.  Finally, I just told her she was a terrible back street driver and she stopped, after doing it once more.  Kind of like one of my kids who always had to get the last word in.

She, in fact, is acting almost childish.  I guess that's the dementia in part - and partly, I think she's really enjoying the attention.  Which is fine, because I don't think she got a lot as a child.  Being the older sister, she always had to look after my aunt because my grandmother had to work - her husband died when my mom and aunt were young.  My great-grandmother lived in the apartment too, however, she didn't speak any English.  My mother always knew what she was saying though, because she spoke Yiddish and used a lot of hand gestures.  Jews use a lot of hand gestures.  She sounds like she was a cute, little old lady.  Her fragile, little gold earrings were handed down to me and I will eventually give them to my daughter. 


I think my mom has been a very depressed woman for a long time and I have never seen her laugh a real, hearty laugh.  She laughs quietly or silently or chuckles.  My brothers and I get our laugh-out-loud laughs from my father.  He has always had hearty, belly laughs and we inherited that from him.  I love to laugh - a real belly laugh.  It makes me feel great and it's an incredible stress reliever.  That's what I need right now -- a big, belly laugh.  I think I'm just tired, because I've been kind of ornery all day.  The atmosphere around here has changed since my mom came home and I just have to get used to it.  Spending more time in the pool will help, as well as this little vacation I am about to embark on.  And I really, really need to ignore my mom's passive-aggressive comments so I don't blurt something out in anger.  In any case, tomorrow is always a new day and one where we can change what we didn't like about today.  Thank God.

I saw the following in the newspaper today and thought it was funny.  It doesn't take much to entertain me....

New Texting Codes
For late life texters, these are some new texting codes you might need:

ATD:  at the doctor
BFF:  best friend fell
BTW:  bring the wheelchair
BYOT:  bring your own teeth
FWIW:  forgot where I was
GGPML:  gotta go, pacemaker low
GHA:  got heartburn again
IHO: is my hearing aid on?
LMDO:  laughing my dentures out
OMMR:  on my massage recliner
ROFLACGU:  rolling on floor laughing and can't get up (my personal favorite)
TTYL:  talk to you louder

Mishigos!

Well, yesterday was a "mishigos" (Yiddish for crazy or all mixed up) day.  My mom was discharged first thing in the morning from the nursing home and was driven home by a friend.  When she came in the house, I noticed there was blood on her shorts on her side, so I had her lay down and I pulled her shorts down and saw that the incision where they did the hip replacement, was oozing pus and blood.  I sat there and didn't know what to do at first - it was a weird moment for me.  So I called the Home Health nurse that was supposed to come to the house the next day and she told me that my mom had to be seen right away.  We just got her home, and now I had to schlep her to the ER! 

So we get to the ER and of course it's slower than molasses.  Finally the doctor sees her, pokes the incision with a long q-tip and took a culture.  He squeezed the incision and puss and blood came drooling out - it was pretty disgusting.  The q-tip went in pretty far which is not good - she has an infection, and probably the same infection she had before - Mersa.  They keep telling me that it's hard to get rid of.  They put her on an antibiotic that took an hour and a half to administer, so I left and took my dad home.  He fell asleep in the waiting room with his legs jacked up on top of his walker - a tad-bit embarrassing, so I thought it best for him to stretch out at home rather than the waiting room of a hospital. 

I went back later to get my mom and now they are telling us that she has to be on this medicine for several days, possibly weeks, and she has to go to the hospital every day to have it administered there.  Otherwise Medicare won't pay for it.  Tomorrow, we have an appointment with the infectious disease doctor to find out if it is truly Mersa or another type of infection.  She will find out tomorrow how long she has to be on this antibiotic.  Hopefully it won't be long because it causes diarrhea and we've already had, um, an episode.  I guess I will just have to treat it like Kita (my dog) forgetting and going poopoo in the house.  Of course, I can't scold my mother.  My dad "came upon it" first and yelled, "Sharon, come in here!"  Notice he didn't say "Sis" or "Sweety."  This time he meant business and yelled it like, "Get in here now and clean this up!" although that wasn't what he said.  He just couldn't handle doing it, and frankly I'm not crazy about it either but then who would that leave? 

So the Home Health lady came today and changed the dressing and took mom's vitals and all that stuff.  They are arranging to have someone come in and bathe her and someone to do physical therapy.  Medicare pays for it for awhile, then I guess I'm on my own.  The shower scares me because there is a step but hopefully by the time they're gone, I can at least help her into the shower.  Man, it really sucks to get old like this.  It's also kind of funny too though.  My dad hobbles around with a walker, my mom scoots around in a wheelchair and I waddle around with a cane.  We keep bumping into one another and they keep calling for me, so I am up and down and up and down.  But that's okay.  That's why I'm here (I keep reminding myself).  I'm just glad mom is no longer in the nursing home.  Those places, no matter how nice they appear, are depressing.  For most of the people in there are just waiting to die. 

Well, we survived yesterday and today - so far, so good.  I've got to pack and do laundry and get everything in order for them because I leave for Madison on Wednesday.  This is not good timing, but there is plenty of food in the fridge, their clothes will be clean and they will have Home Health coming over every day.  Plus they have all their friends and relatives calling them and stopping by, so I think a week away will be just fine. 

Besides.... I need a vacation!!

Truly Blessed

So, I said something to my mom tonight when we were at the nursing home.  My dad left to bring her stuff to the car (because she's coming home tomorrow) and it seemed the right time.  I said, "Mom, you have to stop being so mean to him.  He's really trying and I know he gets on your nerves, but you're being really mean to him."  She almost started crying and admitted that she knows she is and that she's trying.  I said, "You chose to stay with him, so you need to deal with this now."  She kept agreeing with me and then I didn't say anymore.  It was uncomfortable for me to say that, and maybe I should have left the second part out, but sometimes it gets on my nerves when she acts like a martyr, as she could have left him if she had wanted to a long time ago.  The thing is, I think they really do love each other, but have a lousy way of showing or not showing it.  She said that my dad doesn't even get along with his own kids, and I said I'm getting along with him just fine.  She agreed and I bit my tongue.  I wanted to say that my brothers don't get along with him, because she's always ragging about him to them.  I just left it alone at that point and changed the subject.  Sometimes, less is more, if you know what I mean.

We were watching the news and they were showing the terrible drought in Africa, videos of little children starving to death.  I couldn't watch it - it makes me crazy to see people starving to death - especially children - and there's not a thing I can do to change it.  And there was no where for these people to go, to sleep, to eat - they had to resort to sleeping out in the open.  I can't wrap my mind around that.  I have been blessed beyond measure because I've always had food to eat and a place to stay - always.  Even when I lived in dumps, and I have lived in dumps - at least it was a roof over my head.  My old apartments would probably look like palaces to those people.  And the free government cheese I got didn't melt, but it was food and it filled our bellies.

When I was pregnant with Jason, the apartment I lived in was roach-infested and the neighborhood was very dangerous. One day, while I was walking my dog down the street, it was about dusk and I happened to turn and look across the street right at the time someone had apparently jumped out the window, killing himself. I wasn’t sure what I saw and heard, because it was getting dark, but the sound his body made when it hit the pavement was a crushing, weird sound and it stopped me in my tracks. The next thing I knew, a woman came running out the door of the same building, screaming and looking around, asking me if I had seen what happened. I couldn’t really see it, but I certainly heard it and saw a dark form falling to the ground. The ambulance came soon after that, but I never got the details on it, as I didn’t want to know.

My apartment in this neighborhood, and in fact the whole building, was roach-infested. One night, I thought I would out-smart those roaches and I decided to spray all the kitchen cupboards and cracks before I went to sleep and would see them all conveniently dead in corners by morning. Well, my bed was basically in the same area as the kitchen, and the crib sat next to my bed, as it was a very small, studio apartment. After spraying, I turned the lights off and laid down on the bed. It was a garden apartment, and so the lights from the street would come in through the windows and cast a glow in my apartment. As I was lying on my back, I started noticing dark lines creeping across the ceiling and I couldn’t make out what they were. I flicked the lights on and to my great dismay, armies of roaches were crawling out from the cupboards, up the walls and across the ceiling and falling onto my bed and the crib! I totally freaked out.  I took the Raid can and sprayed and sprayed and cried as I sprayed as it was a very gross scene indeed. I never did get rid of the roaches because they would just travel from one apartment to the next. 

One night, some very stoned guy came banging on my door in the middle of the night trying to get me to let him in. I was petrified, as he almost broke the door down. I called the police, but they took so long to get there that he had already left by the time they came. The Chicago Police have a very nasty reputation, and they generally live up to that reputation. One night, driving home from my boyfriend's mother’s home, the police stopped me on the highway to interrogate me, because they wanted to know why “a white girl was in a black neighborhood.” They made me get out of my car in pouring rain, off an exit in the middle of nowhere, and they sat in their car, leafing through my wallet, looking at the pictures I had in it and mocking me. I was too young and naive to know at that time, and it took me years later to realize that they could have easily hurt me without anyone finding out.

Needless to say, I moved out of that neighborhood as soon as I could, especially after Jason was born because I couldn't stand the thought of a roach crawling into his crib.  But even a situation like that, can't compare with what those people in Africa have to deal with.  My heart simply goes out to them.  Just when we think we have so many problems or life hasn't been fair or somehow we've gotten a raw deal -- there is always someone worse off than you or I.  Always.  It's just another reminder to be thankful every day, because the bottom line is that we all are, truly blessed.

Sunday's Comin'

Well, things have changed and my mom is coming home this Sunday - two days away.  That gives my dad and I a very short period of time to get rid of all the "fattening" and "you-don't-need-those" goodies we have lying around, out of the house - either in the garbage or in our bellies.  That also means that I have to clean up a bit, do the laundry and sheets and get her bedroom in order before then.  I wanted her to come home after I got back from Madison, but their insurance won't cover her stay any longer. 

Last night, my mom and dad got into an ugly argument at the nursing home.  It was kind of bizarre and both of them appeared wrong, as well as childish, in my opinion.  It's clear she doesn't want to come home and it's also clear the dementia is kicking in.  Danny thinks that when she gets home, that will get better since she'll be in familiar surroundings.  I'm not so sure.  She doesn't want to come home because she doesn't want to deal with my dad without me being there.  I told her, "Well, you can't just live here."  She has to come home and deal with everything, whatever that means for her.  I'm just worried about what will happen when I'm in Madison.  I can see them both getting into it in an ugly way.  I just don't want each of them hurting themselves by either falling or my dad's blood pressure shooting up.  I didn't know their communication, or lack of, was this bad.  My dad tries to help her, she doesn't want his help and gets mad and snaps at him, and he backs off in anger.  All I could do was sit there and watch this, as there were other people in the room and I didn't know what to say.  Too bad lightening didn't strike the building right at that moment like it did last Monday.

We were sitting in the lobby of the nursing home when a storm rolled in and lightening directly struck the building, right where we were sitting.  We all jumped, the phone was knocked out for a bit, the lights went off and on, some warning siren went on and wouldn't go off and the fire alarm was activated and went on and off.  It was crazy.  I guess Florida is known as "Lightening Alley," per my dad.  I didn't know that, so now when I'm in the pool and it starts thundering, I'm outta the water real fast.  The weird thing about Florida weather is that one half of the sky can be cloudy, thundering, lightening and raining and the other side is a clear blue sky with the sun shining.  The weather is very schizophrenic here.  If you wait a few minutes, it always changes.

Speaking of the oddities of Florida, I got an instant message on Facebook the other day from a friend, telling me that she saw on the news that a lady in Tampa found a 4 foot alligator in her swimming pool.  Good grief!  I told my kids that that was possible!  Albeit, it was only 4 feet long, and the ones I've seen in the canal are much bigger than that, it still leaves me uncomfortable swimming in the evening or night when it seems more likely they come out of their hiding places because it's dark.  I know they're God's creatures, but they are terribly disgusting.  I usually don't keep my back to the canal when I'm in the pool - just in case.  I've pictured one running in back of me and grabbing my head in his giant mouth, dragging me back down to the water.  It's my over-active imagination again, I know.  But still...

To be honest, what worries me about my mom is the dementia.  I really don't know how to deal with that.  I've heard that you talk and treat the patient at the "age level" they're acting, but that's gotta be very weird.  I mean, here is my mom who gave birth to and raised me and now in most ways, our relationship has reversed and I am the caretaker and she is the child.  Well, not really, but you know what I mean.  That's very uncomfortable for me.  Especially since my relationship with her hasn't been the greatest all these years.  I know it's time now for me to mend it, and I have been in the process of doing just that -- but I would much rather have her still be the mom and me just be the kid - no matter how old we are.  And I suppose everyone in the world who's ever experienced this has wished the same thing.  It makes me really sad, truthfully.  It means an era is slowly coming to an end. 

So when my parents pass away, that means my brothers and I must step up to the plate and we become "next."  We become the elderly, frail and perhaps sick people my parents are now.  And when we pass away, then our kids step up to the plate and they become "next."  It's just the natural progression of life.  And I know that logically; it just makes me sad emotionally...