It Just Keeps Getting Worse

These beautiful ornamental pear blossoms smell like dead meat. Fitting picture, then, because my emotional state stinks.

My mother's neighbor called me again today.

"We got your mom's phone fixed today," she told me. "There was something wrong with it, she could hear us but we couldn't hear her."

Yeah, I've been trying to get someone to attend to that since what, last Tuesday? Mom was the first person to whom I tried to explain. "Mom," I said into my end, "your phone is broken. You can hear me but I can't hear you. Get Vickie across the street to check your phone."

Did she? Of course not. Why not? Well, it's really convenient to say "Couldn't take your call" when there are caseworkers trying to call and set up meeting times.

And although Ma doesn't want to talk to them, or admit she needs help, caseworkers are going to be in her life from now on. She's not only getting lost in memories during conversations (a trait that she's had all her life, but has in recent years had all but take her over), and falling during mini-blackouts (mini-strokes? don't know, she won't see a doctor), but now, in the past couple weeks, is having trouble recognizing the neighbor who checks on her regularly, and has admitted she doesn't know how to make out checks for her bills any more. She needs help, and she needs it fast, before Pennsylvania's icy spring greets her with utilities turned off for lack of payment.

The reason the neighbor called me today is that Ma asked her to help her make out her tax checks, which the neighbor did. But she had a look at Mom's check register and was appalled to see only $200 in the account -- far less than would cover the taxes and utility bills. Now, has Mom forgotten to deposit her checks? Has she forgotten to add in the deposit to her check register? She mentioned to me a month ago that she HAD to stop donating to "all these charities" or she wouldn't have anything left. I'd put that down to her lifelong complaint about charities asking for money -- she always complained, but would donate a couple dollars here and there for special causes. Now I'm wondering -- what all has she given away?

I can't see any way out of flying back into that horrible place and putting things in order. Monday at 5am I'll be on the phone trying to get some answers and find some solutions. Mom isn't going to like any of them, but I see no choice at this point.

In tearful humor, I'm reminded of the old adage that if you don't choose a penance for Lent, God will find one for you, so it's far better to choose your own.

No shit.