The Burning House

An email conversation I had this morning with the trust officer of Mom's bank indicated fairly clearly that my mother's caregivers are dishonest.

What had been a series of apparent screw-ups on the caregivers part, and studied, careful moves on our part has become a rush to get my mother to a secure facility and preserve her meager assets, while the caregivers lie and scramble to cover up their peccadilloes.

I've told the bank that the day that my mother is moved out of that house, the doors and windows have to be secured and the front door's lock changed. Otherwise, we fear the place will be gutted by the morning caregiver's boyfriend's buddies.

Mom's neighbor said to me, "You know, if she was just enjoying being in her own house, I'd tell you to let her stay there. But she isn't. She doesn't know where she is anymore, and those people aren't doing their job."

Poor Mom. She kept all the evils of the world at bay for sixty and more years, but now the old dragon has no fire left. God help us.