Tuesday, December 29, 2009
It was important to me that he be in the best place possible when he was still "with it." Obviously, the dementia had started, but he could talk, joke, move around. Now he's essentially like an infant, cooing different sounds and just shitting and pissing himself. I hope someone shoots me if I end up like him and my grandma (his mom) who was the same way.
Anyway, 5 years later, here we are. Out of money. I had two options: Apply for Medicaid or let the VA care for him.
I got the Medicaid process started, and realized in a hurry that I don't have even close to the 5 years of documentation they need, including his birth certificate, and info on his cars that he sold just before I went to Florida and got him in June 2005.
I cried, and stressed, and whatnot about it.
Now I've decided to just let go of it. I contacted the VA social worker, and I was incorrect in assuming he would end up at the state home in the Dalles, OR. I will have a choice in private nursing homes for him. His social security and soldiers pension will go towards his care, and his VA benefits will pick up the rest (he's service connected).
Thank goodness he served in the Navy.
I know this really will be the end for him, as I know the reason he's still alive is due to the extreme amount of care he's been getting. Caregivers sit with him for hours to get him to drink things.
This won't happen in the VA.
And I'm really okay with that.
Which sounds shitty, but at this point the lights are on but noone's home, and I know he'd want to be dead anyway.
I was stressing out about how to tell the current home he was leaving, and then after losing much sleep over it realized I was worrying about being judged. Since when did I worry about being judged?? I tend to not give a shit. So I thought.
But when I really think about it, in the course of my life, all I wanted to do was do right by my dad. When he hadn't really earned it. (For those of you not in the know, he bailed wholeheartedly when I was 11 - on Christmas Eve came home with a U-haul after being missing for 6 weeks. This is one of the reasons I hate or am at least blah on Christmas.) Yet, I always, always valued his opinion the most, always wanted HIS love the most.
I'm sure those of you with psychology persuasions will have field day with my Daddy issues. Basically I think I've just always tried to please him to fill that hole in my heart that can't really be filled by doing this. I hope to help my stepkids avoid this similar fate when it comes to their mom, but they will have to be repeatedly hurt by her in a similar manner, and all I can do it hug them and love them through it.
I've done all I can for him. When his mind was semi-there he was in the best place money could buy. I fielded his paranoid 4am phone calls, fought numerous battles with medical insurance, banks, etc to handle his affairs. Because he's my dad and he needed someone to help him. Because he's my dad and I love him, despite the fact that he had no business being a parent.
I think I can step back and be okay with it. The guilt button in me says I'm sentencing him to a death sentence. The other part of me feels like he's already gone, and I'm just letting the natural course happen. This will be my mantra for the next few weeks.
Tuesday, December 8, 2009
Monday, November 2, 2009
Winter has officially hit the Couv. Dave scraped my windows for me this morning.
First, amazingly enough, Dad is still with us. I actually had an interaction with him about a month ago, like, he tried to talk to me. He's doing *gasp* BETTER. I don't understand this. His stubbornness to go just keeps him hanging on. I've thought long and hard about what in the hell he might be waiting for and I can't just figure it out.
My job is insanity. Like, I want to sit in the corner in a fetal position and cry when I come home insanity. At least I am employed, which is a lot more than a lot of people can say right now, so I should be thankful.
My parents are about to lose their home to forclosure. Stepdad is working but there are no sales in the car biz right now, and mom's hairstyling biz is doing ok but with beauty services being one of those optional things she isn't making money either. Plus, one of her full timers had to quit cause she had no clientel in this economy either.
I feel awful for them. She's trying to remain positive but I sense she's on the verge of tears constantly. I can't help them in any financial way, except perhaps help them with deposits/moving costs when the time comes for them to move out - which I am assuming will be soon, as a payment hasn't been made in 5 months on the house.
I'm having my typical "change in the weather" funk going on, topped off with feeling icky a lot of the time - Dave and I both have some stupid bug we can't manage to completely kick. I slept most of yesterday and feel a little better, but could lie down and sleep right now if I could.
Halloween was fun - Deanna and I took the kids and her kid out Trick or Treating and Dave stayed back with Mark in their haunted house and scared the crap out of people.
Thanksgiving is coming soon. I'm hosting this year - the 'Rents and Dana and her daughter. Invited a couple more but haven't heard. I need to get in the spirit of things.
I am basically done Christmas Shopping. I am done for the kids. Dave and I haven't decided if we are actually going to buy for each other or not. Last year we just donated to charity in each other's name and that was pretty cool.
Things have been very quiet on the legal/Cow front. Waiting for that chaos to start again.
I have a new obsession in "True Blood." I may have to break up with Edward Cullen for Eric Northman. Holy hell that man is amazingly gorgeous. I know, I sure get around, don't I?
Winter's birthday is on Thursday. She will be 8. That's insane. I've known her since she was 3. I've known her for well over most of her life. When Jori turns 11 I will have known him over half of his life. Both kids have had behavioural challenges lately, but been very loving and affectionate to me. I am thankful that Cow can't destroy this, at least. J asked the other day if Bi-polar was genetic. Dave reassured him that there was no reason to think he would grow up and be sick like his mother.
Friday, September 4, 2009
In my dreams
He comes to me like a thief
In the night
Touching me with heavy hands
And soft words
Polishing my porcelain skin
Making me Shine
I still don't understand
Sultry and wistful
Sensual and salacious
Loaded and forbidden
If he only knew...
My Life could be over
No matter how hard I try
I can't cleanse him from my mind
across the miles
there's a man
whose face I keep in frames
but only in my mind
hidden where I have
all the gifts I thought of giving
and the words
I never could choke out
I've never touched him
but he makes me feel
like an awkward child
in perpetual adolescence
our minds connect
and we are amplified
while the rest are in
black and white
I've never been so scared
as I wondered
if he was silently
through a sea of faces
in a place far from home
And yes, I want to go with him
but the promise of pleasure
doubles the price of pain
you leave at Home
we are like stunted seeds
born without a chance
guaranteed to blossom
in the right garden
that we do not dare explore
Wednesday, July 8, 2009
Bawled for about 10 minutes.
Told him I loved him, he’d been a good daddy, that I understood he needed to go soon and that I was ok and he would feel better soon. For whatever that’s worth.
He’s thinner, which I know seems impossible. His skin is yellow, clammy, hot. There’s no way he can make it out of this, in my mind. This is round 2 with pneumonia.
Not a peep out of him, except for one half-assed cough. Sitting there with his head to the side, nodding off.
And so it goes.
I feel like the one who's dying. I thought I was at peace with all of this, but obviously I am not.
Friday, June 5, 2009
*cue clouds parting and angels singing* The combination of two of my strong obsessions combining in one fuckawesome event!!
Jizz…in mah pants!!! ROFL
It’s either him or that wussy James Franco guy. Dude Rob has to get it. Franco looks more like Buckley, but who cares?!?
Much at stake as to who gets cast here. For those of you unaware, I'm a Buckley FANATIC. Will post a photo of my painting of him later. It makes me sigh internally every time I look at it (much like the sigh at the beginning of "Hallelujah"). I still don't understand why such a beautiful soul was taken so young.
If you've never experienced Jeff Buckley, put on "Lover You Should Have Come Over." Listen as deep as you can - preferably in headphones. Even though the version on "Grace" is beyond amazing, the version on "Live from Sin-E" gets me every time in a way that the polished version can't - the shakiness and breathiness of his voice makes me absolutely weak. He bled his soul into everything and you can feel it.
And that is why I adore Jeff Buckley.
Saturday, March 28, 2009
This is the coolest guy ever.I thought that the Toynbee tiles was the coolest street art ever, then I discovered this guy.
Friday, March 20, 2009
I find myself howling once again with laughter at my own Rob-inspired idiocy, and thought I would publicly embarrass myself for everyone’s enjoyment – because hell, that’s what the internet is for anyway.
I typically don’t go all fangirl over anything (well except a hot motorcycle, and maybe a sale at Nordstrom, and my dog, but I digress). I picked up Twilight because I wanted something mindless” to read. HA, joke was on me, I freaking loved it and ran out and saw the movie soon thereafter and that’s how I turned completely retarded for all things Rob. Fortunately, my darling husband thinks it’s the funniest thing he’s ever seen and doesn’t give a crap that I'm obsessed or he'd have dumped my pathetic ass by now.
I have a good job with a large corporation. When breaking company internet rules, I saw in my google stalking-er, research this week that you were the latest GQ cover subject. Breathtaking photos by the way, but Jeez, Rob, you sound pretty depressed. C’mon over and we can hug it out. Then I'll make you dinner.
Anyway, I decided to drop by the local Barnes and Noble to pick it up on my lunch hour today. I was not prepared to have an end display blazing with your hotness all over it (don’t know why – I am in Marketing for crap’s sake, and Twilight is hot right now) and I had a, uh, moment.
I grabbed the GQ and a couple of other smutty entertainment lying-type mags with your photo on the front and slapped them together, covers touching, so no one could see what I had in my gleeful little hands. I looked around like a wild animal, and very nearly tripped out of my shoes as I attempted to make a beeline for the cashier.
The first thought I had was that I felt exactly like I did when I visited a porno shop for the first time. Only slightly more determined. Then I decided it was more like when I was 15 and got my period at my Uncle’s house and had to get him to take me to the drugstore. Similarly, I prayed for a female cashier when it was my turn.
Instead I got the Sasquatch Man. Hair to nearly his ass and out of every orifice. *shudder* The fucking first thing he did is ask me was ask me if I was “coming back” for the midnight release party tonight.
“Uh, no” I told him. Uuuugh, am I that lame? If I went anywhere, it would be to Wood Village, OR where there are cast and crew members showing up tonight. And trust me, if I thought you would be in Wood Village I would have called in sick to go stand in line.
“We should have some DVDs leftover tomorrow anyway.” He said.
I wanted to tell him “You fuckwit, I have had it pre-ordered on Amazon for months.” But I just smiled sweetly instead.
Then he just tucked the receipt in the top magazine, thanked me and I was done. NO BAG. NO BAG FOR THE ROB PORN. I shoved them in my purse and got the hell out of there.
I rushed to the car to scan the articles quickly and before I knew it I was late for work! I’m not important enough at my job that I don’t have my own office yet, but I important enough at my job that I am noticed if I’m not there and I have a coveted hidden cubicle. Which is currently stuffed with spreadsheets, meeting agendas, and now ROB PORN that I can’t read until I leave in a few hours. Unless I can devise a way to tuck it under other papers that isn’t completely obvious.
So it is only you, Rob Pattinson, of English dirty boy hotness, that can turn me into a complete moron. Thanks for that. Sigh.
Thursday, February 12, 2009
I just am shitty at this point and wish my dad would get it over with so it could all be done. I haven't been to see him in a long time because I just can't. I have to go this weekend though.
Today was Grandpa's funeral. I've never been to a funeral. This is on purpose. I don't like the idea of them. And after today I can officially say it's just not the idea of them, I just really don't fucking like them.Dave was rather stoic about the whole thing. I was feeling bad for him, I'd met his grandpa a few times, held his hand for a bit at a family function a couple of years back (he had a stroke some time ago and was in a wheelchair and struggled to talk, but we managed). He was a good looking man, and he gave my handsome husband and his kids their dimples.
The first thing that caught me off guard, and I'm still not sure why it would, was that the funeral was open casket. I had never seen a dead person in person before. I've got a morbid thing for serial killers and whatever so I've seen a billion violent photographs and movies and documentaries etc but never anyone right in front of me.It was fascinating in a way. It didn't look real. It looked like a mannequin or something. And the way they had the corners of his mouth pulled up, when he was a very stoic man, was kinda creepy.
I didn't want to stare, so I only glanced once in a while, but I still can't believe that was a real person.Anyway, to my complete horror, starting with the opening prayer the waterworks started, and once I started crying I had severe problems trying to remain quiet. And I didn't really know his grandpa that much, but I was listening and feeling everything that was being said, and all I could think about was my uncle, who I have thought about every day, and missed every day.
His memorial is next Saturday and I'm not going. My reasons for not going were practical - work, having to take care of my mom's cat so she can go, etc. But after my reaction today I think I would be doing the rest of my family a huge disservice by showing up and blubbering the whole time. And instead of in front of a few dozen people it would be over 1000 people (my Uncle D was a much loved guy). No thanks.I hate crying, and doubly hate crying in public. I wanted to curl up and die. And I felt guilty, because I wasn't crying for the man in the casket, I was crying for my loss, and my Dad (who I am too chickenshit to even go and see right now) and Dave knew it. So instead of worrying about his feelings, he has his arm around me, worrying about me, and every time he asked me if I was okay I just cried harder, how stupid.
I'm pretty sure a few people there wondered WTF my problem was and why I was so upset. Mercifully, Dave suggested we cut out after the service and not attend the lunch - if there's one thing he knows it's when I am nearing complete meltdown, and I was headed there.We went to Washington Square instead and ate lunch, and I bought a pair of shoes at Nordstrom, and just numbed the pain away with food and commerce. Whatever.
I feel completely exhausted, and now I'm crying again. Stupid grief. I wish it would just go away.
Thursday, February 5, 2009
Yeah, so what, some punk guy. Bullshit! The man was a legend, and the man was kind.
McMenamins Crystal Ballroom - 2004. I was with "Thee Ex" (asshole). We were killing time downtown, waiting for the Cramps show to start later. Hit all my favorite record stores, decided to go eat downstairs the Crystal.Guess who was in the booth? Yup, Lux and Ivy.
Since the Cramps were on my mind I'd just managed to buy a copy of "A Date With Elvis." It was in my bag. They ordered food, and I asked the waiter if they were drinking. I mean, this is Lux and Ivy, of course they were.I told the waiter I wanted to buy their bottle of wine, as the food was free, but the liquor was not. Cheap McMenamin's bastards. The waiter delivered the bottle of red, leaned over and told them who it was from.
Lux, his massively lean frame, leaned outside the booth, gave me a strange look, raised his glass. I smiled and said "Enjoy."A few minutes later we got up to leave, I was satisfied to give a little something back to someone who's music meant so much to me - who's music helped me survive many lonely hours grounded, feeling like a total freak and misfit, reminding me I wasn't alone, really.
Just as I was about to the door he said "And where do you think you're going?" moving his head around like a chicken. I noticed then his front teeth had been capped silver. I walked over to the table and introduced myself. I told Ivy how much she meant to me. How it was she and Joan that inspired me to pick up a guitar. She was tiny, and she was shy. I could tell she was touched. I asked Lux if they were going to play anything off of the new album.
"Why sure," he asked, "What do you want to hear?"
"I need Dr. Fucker." He laughed and then gave me another confused stare.
"Well why that one? All it is is 'Calling Dr. Fucker... Calling Dr. Fucker"... he bounced up and down in the booth, singing the chorus in it's entirety. People stared. I was in awe, grinning like an idiot.
"Nah, we aren't going to play that one. Sorry."
"It's okay. Thanks for all the great music."
"Thank you for the wine."
"My pleasure. See you later". And I did see him later. He signed my record. And just like the other 5 times I saw the Cramps they were brilliant.
Hard to believe I was that cool once, eh?
RIP Lux. Thanks for the great music.
Sunday, January 11, 2009
He is due to pass this week.
My mom is going down there with no return date, I am due to return Sunday. I hope that I can be of some help to my aunt and cousins, who I also love dearly. The battle has been long and painful for them all, I know they are all exhausted, and I think I can at least offer an empathetic ear and some strength.
It is strange irony that both of our dads will pass this year, and mine has been on hospice much longer but is still (barely) hanging on.I tend to do well in crisis situations (believe it or not) while they are happening, as I can keep somewhat detached - detached enough to at least keep things together and offer perspective to those involved. I'm sure this has something to do with my detachment from everyone in general, but in situations like this having this sort of barrier is typically helpful.
I've only had one meltdown, albeit temporarily, about this situation, and the autopilot has resumed. The thing to remember about my uncle and my dad is once this sucky part is over they WILL NOT BE SICK anymore. And I definitely believe in God and "Heaven" (or higher power/nirvana whatever you want to call it) and that our time here is just one small silver of what is Real, and that their great journeys are just beginning.
While it is sad for us left behind, they get to go Home. And that can bring peace to horrible things like cancer.
I wish him peace and a fabulous journey, and I am happy that he will no longer be weighed down with his failing body. My tribute to him will be to try to help those that are left behind try to make sense of all of this and move once again toward Life.
See you all in a week.