#notabaseballblog
My parents, card carrying members of the baby-boomer generation, are presently getting ready to put their parents, “the greatest generation,” into the ground. My god, the books I could write on the many, many theaters of war they’ve seen tours of during this process… Trips to the lawyers, sibling power plays, explaining to their aged parents that, “just because your dead aunt’s friend said there was a television report about a nursing home that gives away free 5 star cruise style care doesn’t make it true.” The ridiculous, the frustrating, the sad and the inevitable. Oh, Death; you tease of being a simple and final, but you never deliver.
There are just so many fascinating story lines taking place. Take my grandmother Hayhurst for example. Yes, the one form The Bullpen Gospels. She’s been—at least according to her—on her last legs for 20 or so years now. The woman absolutely refuses to die. That or Death is just to afraid to take her. And you know, that wouldn’t be such a bad thing if she hadn’t napalmed every personal relationship she has with her living family members.
She’s been slipping into this histrionic yet lucid form of dementia for decades now. And she’s mean about it. Mean AND an expert at her own revisionist history. She’s never done a bad thing to anyone ever, just ask her. Seriously, ask her. Maybe she’ll tell you about why my parents put her—such a kind and gentle lamb— in a nursing home with all sorts of, “trash, idiots, and bastards”. Oh, who am I kidding, you’re not going to ask her.
Tell ya, what, I’ll just go ahead and give you both sides of the story.
My Parent’s side:
“Your grandmother has been an absolute pain in our ass for decades now. She’s said she wanted to move into a smaller place, downsize, get rid of things, set up her care, and just generally get her end of days things in order for years. But she never does it. She uses it like a chain. On one end, her hand. On the other, our necks. We come rushing over to help her and all she wants to do is talk about the little house we’re going to build her and the people we’re going to hire to look after her. We can’t do that and she knows it. Then, when we say that our own medical bills have all but bankrupted us, she says we just want her dead so we can take all her money. Dirk, she doesn’t have any! Not enough to get her through two years in these 5 star cruise line nursing homes she’s talking about. So, we let her do what she wants to do. She wanted to put her self at risk living in a big house with no help, it was her call. We let nature take it’s course, and when it did, and she slipped and fell in a puddle of bacon fat she’d spilled while trying to make lye soap, and lay there for two days because she heard Life Alert was a way to let criminals know you couldn’t defend yourself form home invasion, that was the last straw. While she was laying there she pooped herself. She tried to tell us she didn’t but she obviously did. We told the doctors when we took her to the hospital to follow up with a competency evaluation—even though we all knew she was nuts, but you have to convince the officials of this or it doesn’t matter—and when they heard her go on and on about how your dear departed grandfather was having affairs on her with the woman who cleaned shoes at the bowling alley, and how she occasionally gets visited from children she doesn’t know who dance on her furniture, they decided it was time to have her get some help. We got the paperwork forced, took the case to a judge, and now she’s in a home. She hates us but it was the best thing for her. The last time I was there to visit she tried to kick me when I told her we threw away her collection of bid figurines because none of us wanted it.”
My Grandmother’s side:
“They shot me! They shot me. That brother-in-law of Dirk’s shot me. He’s in the army. They train you in the army on how to shoot people without leaving a mark. That’s why I fell. I was shot in butt right near my hip bone. He knew about how much money I had because that no good bitch of a daughter-in-law told them and then she had that army boy come and shoot me. They took all my stuff and are trying to sell it. But they can’t because I need to get home and go through it to make sure they know what’s mine. I have things I want to keep for my next place, when I leave here. I’m going to one of those nice, 5 star places where there is only one or two other people and they aren’t old and stupid like all the ones they have here. I’m going to drive across street (Note: she has no car) and get my knees done so I can walk better. Then I’m going to get that eye surgery that makes your eye see like a 20 year old. Then I’m going to head home and go through my stuff and have that army boy arrested and sue that bitch daughter-in-law and have my son put in jail for sticking me in this place. It’s a hell hole. It’s the worst place in the world. The nurses beat me and the food tastes like shit. I want a hamburger from DairyQueen because I’m so sick of the food here. Form the DairyQueen around the corner. It’s still there, right? That dumbass dead husband of mine would always take me there and he’d fill up on bread. I’d tell him, ‘why go to an ice-cream store if you’re just going to fill up on bread?’ He never listened to nothing smart anyone had to say. He’s the reason I have so much work to do at home because he was to busy chasing whores and running ’round with hillbillies to do anything around the house. He’d get the backs of his collars dirtier than any man I ever knew. Used to do it on purpose. Just like he used to not wipe his ass after he’d use the bathroom and then scoot around on the floor just t make me clean it up.”
That about covers what my parents are up against. But you know, it never stops at just the two parties involved in matters like this. There is always someone on the outside that knows better. Not the doctors, they’ve been through this kind of crap before. No the social workers, as they get what’s happening here. Not even the nurses who allegedly beat the old bat, (they don’t, it’s a really nice place. My parents thought about putting her in a worse one, but they aren’t THAT cruel). No, the people that think they are going to save the day are the ones that swoop in from nowhere and feel like they have all the right moves. For example,
My Grandmother’s old Church Friends:
“Dear Mr. and Mrs. Hayhurst. We were recently went to see Sam’s mother, Mildred, down at the [Why Wont You Die Already? Retirement Village] and we were alarmed to find out all the struggles she’s been having. As her friend and family in Christ, we’ve taken it upon ourselves to let you know that she has asked us to help her contact legal counsel for the various alleged crimes you’ve inflicted upon her, including abuse, physical violence, assault with a deadly weapon, neglect, fraud, and sodomy. While we don’t feel it our place to get involved, we also feel it would be a sin to rest idly by if there is even a shred of truth to what she’s told us—and, after years of knowing her to be an upstanding member of Canton Baptist Temple, we have no reason to doubt her honesty. We were wondering if we could meet with you sometime to discuss what can be done to make Mildred’s time at [Why Wont You Die Already? Retirement Village] better. We’d also like to know if you’ve looked into the several accounts she’s reported to us about staff stealing her underwear, or if you’ve done anything for her concerning the mind control medications the staff is putting in her food against her will. Please let us know.
God bless,
Meddling Outside Party.