My visit with my mother wasn't as bad as I'd feared or as pleasant as the last few. My great aunt's illness precipitated a round of The Hospital Killed My Father. I had to walk her through it all again, and by the end of the long discussion she seemed to be back to reality. Until the next time. I reminded her that she hid his living will in her purse, that I had to drive across the state to keep her from putting him on life support in direct violation of his wishes. (She said, "Oh, he never wanted that!" Yeah, I know Mom, which is why, when the hospital called my office and told me that you denied that he had an advance directive and they'd have to do it, I dropped everything and drove across the state of Florida like a madwoman. ) I got her from "THEY made me sign a piece of paper and then they took him off the machines," which is not at all what happened, to the reality of "they never put him ON machines other than an oxygen mask, because he adamantly didn't want machines." It was SO much fun to relive my father's death all over again, let me tell you.
We also discussed some story of antihistamines being contaminated in the jungle in Panama, and people died! This is bad, because my mother occasionally takes actual antihistamines!
"Mom, look around. Are you in Panama? Those folks weren't shopping in CVS in Florida."
It's funny, but Jesus it's exhausting.
I've had SUCH a great weekend!
I did have a poignant and oh so true memory of walking with my father a few years ago, between his many heart surgeries, when he told me that he was counting on me to be there when it got bad, because he knew that, and I quote, "If I leave it up to her, she'll have me stuffed and prop me up on the goddamn mantel." It makes me smile to remember that, and yeah, Dad, I was there. I do wish you'd made some actual arrangements instead of leaving it all for me, but we'll discuss that someday. Expect to be smacked upside the head in the afterlife.
In my next life I plan to be stupid and with bigger boobs and lower standards in men - a rich guy who'll take care of me, that's the ticket. I'm so fucking tired of being there for everybody else, I can't begin to tell you.
My mother is not incompetent, dithery or unable to care for herself. On the contrary, she's one of the sharpest 80 year olds you'll ever meet. She drives better than the average 40 year old, manages her finances, watches Jon Stewart and Keith Olbermann, is totally up on current events and is truly a funny and pleasant person when she's not batshit crazy. But the batshit crazy thing can pop up anytime she's under stress, and my great aunt's hospitalization was the trigger. She seems better now. I'm a fucking exhausted wreck, thanks, and I get to get up and go to my high stress job tomorrow!
Great Aunt is also much better, and the gift cake was retrieved and all the old ladies in her posse (the baby of her posse is 79, is also sharp as a whip and looks a well-kept 65) shared it in her hospital room, so it didn't even get stale waiting for her to come home.
Still no knitting pictures. I'm working on the Lacy Prairie Shawl from Folk Shawls, in Cherry Tree Hill sock yarn scored on eBay. I love this pattern, it's easily memorized, easy to read and find your place, and great for TV but it looks like something when you're done. This will be another regular in my lineup. Photos...one of these days.
I'm not doing the time change well. I think I'll be in bed at 8.