Okay, back after a lengthy hiatus. Grandmother's going into the nursing home on Monday, which really stinks, but we're having such a rough time going without sleep and keeping a 24-hour fall-watch on her that it's either that or my wife and I both land in the hospital with exhaustion or some horrid stress-related condition.
She's going downhill very quickly, having gone from cane to walker to wheelchair in a matter of weeks...obviously accelerated by her hospital trip a few weeks back.
I don't know how to feel.
She was like a mother to me when I was a young kid and my real parents were in the middle of a divorce.
She taught me Russian and English, encouraged me in my writing, and provided a lot of financial support when my mom didn't have the money to buy me clothes or books.
When I got older, she continued to encourage me and support me.
She's the only person in the world who I've been in constant, unbroken contact with for my entire life.
I used to think, when I was a kid, that she was the best person in the whole world.
As I got older, though, I began to see some other sides of her character which weren't so flattering...
...the reasons her son -- my bio-dad -- saw her as selfish, career-driven, uncaring.
...the reasons my mom changed our names to hide from her, and claimed to be saving a red dress to dance on the day that... well, a day that is obviously not far away.
...the reasons that our neighbor went running from the house with her hands up in the air.
...that my grandfather -- for some years before his own death -- stuck a headphone plug in his ear rather than talk with her.
...that my great-grandmother used to have screaming matches with her all the time.
I no longer wondered why her best friends seemed to be colleagues she met at academic conferences around the world rather than her own family and neighbors.
She is -- and, as I recently learned from one of her late colleague's widows, has since at least the mid-1950s -- been almost the most difficult person to get along with in the entire world.
So now, here we are, my wife and I. The only 2 people left in the world who still care enough about her to wipe up the blood and the shit, change the piss-stained sheets, and see her -- after 86-years and an internationally distinguished career that both defined her professionally and alienated everyone personally -- through to the end. And that really sucks for a person, doesn't it?
There are all kinds of cards and phone calls pouring in from Milan, Paris, St. Petersburg, Canada, London, all over the US... but we're the only ones who have been here through this entire period (other than a few neighbors who stopped over once or twice) and we're the only ones who will be here at the end. Even the co-executor, the aforementioned late colleague's widow, is vacationing in the sunny Southwest for the end of my grandmother's road.
So how do you live 86 years, become world-reknowned -- at least in academic circles -- and get stuck at the end without your son, without your husband, without your eyes, your ears, or even the ability to go to the bathroom by yourself, and only your no-good grandson and his wife to shuttle you off to the nursing home...where they will most likely be your only visitors?
An illustration: She took in my first wife following our divorce... just as she'd taken in me and my mother when her scumbag son (my bio-dad) ran off with another woman.
Then she turned around and started talking about poisoning her pets, finally evicting her in an extremely bizarre and uncalled-for manner, considering that my ex did everything for her for about five or six years.
She told my bio-dad that she was terrified of my ex, and he was going to get lawyers involved. This was, of course, all because my grandmother didn't like my ex's pets -- which she'd known about and had contact with even before she asked her to move in.
There are countless other examples, always the same: she'd do something really nice, then undercut it with something rotten, so you couldn't feel grateful, but felt too guilty to be mad because of the really nice thing she'd done first. For most people close to her, it became either maddening or exhausting, and they bailed.
Actually, to tell the truth, I was almost ready to bail myself right before she had her accident. Then, seeing her so small, so helpless, so weak, I remembered everything good she'd done for me, all my life (even when I was being a grade-A prick), and I realized that I couldn't give up on her, because she never gave up on me. This is what they mean by mixed feelings.
She's going downhill very quickly, having gone from cane to walker to wheelchair in a matter of weeks...obviously accelerated by her hospital trip a few weeks back.
I don't know how to feel.
She was like a mother to me when I was a young kid and my real parents were in the middle of a divorce.
She taught me Russian and English, encouraged me in my writing, and provided a lot of financial support when my mom didn't have the money to buy me clothes or books.
When I got older, she continued to encourage me and support me.
She's the only person in the world who I've been in constant, unbroken contact with for my entire life.
I used to think, when I was a kid, that she was the best person in the whole world.
As I got older, though, I began to see some other sides of her character which weren't so flattering...
...the reasons her son -- my bio-dad -- saw her as selfish, career-driven, uncaring.
...the reasons my mom changed our names to hide from her, and claimed to be saving a red dress to dance on the day that... well, a day that is obviously not far away.
...the reasons that our neighbor went running from the house with her hands up in the air.
...that my grandfather -- for some years before his own death -- stuck a headphone plug in his ear rather than talk with her.
...that my great-grandmother used to have screaming matches with her all the time.
I no longer wondered why her best friends seemed to be colleagues she met at academic conferences around the world rather than her own family and neighbors.
She is -- and, as I recently learned from one of her late colleague's widows, has since at least the mid-1950s -- been almost the most difficult person to get along with in the entire world.
So now, here we are, my wife and I. The only 2 people left in the world who still care enough about her to wipe up the blood and the shit, change the piss-stained sheets, and see her -- after 86-years and an internationally distinguished career that both defined her professionally and alienated everyone personally -- through to the end. And that really sucks for a person, doesn't it?
There are all kinds of cards and phone calls pouring in from Milan, Paris, St. Petersburg, Canada, London, all over the US... but we're the only ones who have been here through this entire period (other than a few neighbors who stopped over once or twice) and we're the only ones who will be here at the end. Even the co-executor, the aforementioned late colleague's widow, is vacationing in the sunny Southwest for the end of my grandmother's road.
So how do you live 86 years, become world-reknowned -- at least in academic circles -- and get stuck at the end without your son, without your husband, without your eyes, your ears, or even the ability to go to the bathroom by yourself, and only your no-good grandson and his wife to shuttle you off to the nursing home...where they will most likely be your only visitors?
An illustration: She took in my first wife following our divorce... just as she'd taken in me and my mother when her scumbag son (my bio-dad) ran off with another woman.
Then she turned around and started talking about poisoning her pets, finally evicting her in an extremely bizarre and uncalled-for manner, considering that my ex did everything for her for about five or six years.
She told my bio-dad that she was terrified of my ex, and he was going to get lawyers involved. This was, of course, all because my grandmother didn't like my ex's pets -- which she'd known about and had contact with even before she asked her to move in.
There are countless other examples, always the same: she'd do something really nice, then undercut it with something rotten, so you couldn't feel grateful, but felt too guilty to be mad because of the really nice thing she'd done first. For most people close to her, it became either maddening or exhausting, and they bailed.
Actually, to tell the truth, I was almost ready to bail myself right before she had her accident. Then, seeing her so small, so helpless, so weak, I remembered everything good she'd done for me, all my life (even when I was being a grade-A prick), and I realized that I couldn't give up on her, because she never gave up on me. This is what they mean by mixed feelings.
Thanks for that little breakdown of woman and fighting, that was really interesting. I am fascinated by violence, especially consensual violence like fights and BDSM. Crazy stuff.