My family in San Antonio is having an Irish blow-up over our mother. She's ill and in the hospital, and should be coming home, soon...and this knock-down-drag-out argument is over how best to take care of her. And I'm 1600 miles away so can only connect with people by phone, one at a time, meaning I get this side and then that side and then another side (I have 2 brothers and a sister), and mom's no longer part of the equation. Now it's all about who's right and who's taking control and whose feelings were hurt most. While mom sits in the hospital alone. I mean, shit -- I had to ask my youngest brother to go visit her, tonight.
I also asked him to call me from her room so I could talk with her; she's not answering the hospital phone, nor do the nurses answer the phone at the nurses' station. But apparently he and my other brother got into an argument...and the result was -- no phone call. Instead, I just got more complaining.
Looks like I'm faced with an interesting choice. I can quit my job, move back to San Antonio and take over the care of my mother...meaning go bankrupt because I can't pay my bills, lose my health insurance because in Texas it's $600 friggin' dollars a month and deal with a city I've grown to loathe. Or I can stay here and listen as this disgraceful catfight takes place, all to the detriment of my mother. Great choice. Great fucking choice.
I'm waiting to hear what happens, tomorrow. She may be released from the hospital and sent home, and once I'm done with Seattle and Denver, I may drop by San Antonio and see if I can calm things down. Problem is, that'd be two weeks from now...and I can't dump everything and run down there to make everybody happy; there's too damn much to do up here.
This reminds me so much of what happened when my grandmother died. She'd set up this funny little thing where she donated her body to science, then when they were done with it, she was cremated and the Ashes given back to the family. So...no funeral. I was named executor of her estate, such as it was, and handled the memorial service. My mother and aunt got into a snippy little fight in a minister's office over where to hold the service, and I had to mediate. And mediate a few other little blow ups, as well. Twenty-six years later, my mother and aunt still barely talk. It's so stupid.
Y'know, I'm glad I'm gay and don't have kids. When I get old, I'll just go live in a home paid for by by Social Security and Medicare (if the GOP hasn't killed them, yet, with the able assist of the fucked up Democrats) and not have to even think of dealing with this crap. I'll just chase young interns around in my own demented version of "Gray's Anatomy" and keep writing about it...and when I die, they can cremate me and scatter my ashed off Catalina Island; the hell with any tombstone.
And if our great and glorious leaders HAVE ended Social Security and Medicare? Shit, I don't know. I'll deal with that when I get there. But at least I won't have kids getting pissy with each other over how best to deal with me
Of course, I could just slip into dementia and not know what's happening or care. Naw...that'd be the easy way out.