High As Kites

Cousin Karen posted to Facebook last night that during the day, she had forgotten:

1. Where she lived
2. That her mom had died in 1997 and she couldn't understand why no one would answer the phone when she dialed her mom's number.

To her credit, she realized it was time to get very, very serious. She hasn't (sigh) followed up with the neurologist since her stroke nearly a year ago. Oh, maybe once or twice, but not like she should have been. Nor has she been taking the proper medication she needs to keep herself in line.

We IMed during the day. I managed not to be overbearing, but suggested that she take Cousin Danny with her to the appointment. I know he's got the full story on what she's being doing, not doing, and forgetting. I said she should write down her questions before the appointment and Danny would remember what got said at the doctor's office.

She said she would and once again, I told her she always has a home with me. Although I have to admit, I didn't figure caretaker would come into this, it just might.

I'm asking myself if I'm willing to do this and so far the answer is likely so. I know, what commitment! But this is not something you agree to lightly.

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I talked to Emma for an hour and a half yesterday. Her mother's memorial service was held last week. Emma took Mary Rose's cremated remains and walked along the edge of a park / prairie her mom had helped restore, scattering ashes here and there. "I broke the law," she giggled and I said, "So what's new?"

And then the weirdest, most bizarre stuff started coming out of Emma's mouth. Oh, her mom had been really happy as a child and even up until the time of her death, had dozens of really close friends in Milwaukee, that her mother had cut her loose at an early age (five?!) because her younger sons were severely brain damaged. And that Emma understood all that now and well, she went on. And on. Talking about how nice her mom was, how lonely her mom must have been after her dad died and that was why she committed suicide.

My jaw dropped and wouldn't let me say anything and I realize that was for the best. But I wanted to say, hey? Don't you remember that your dad used to tell you kids to shut up because your mother was suicidal? And you couldn't have been more than ten, and yes, your dad was still alive. Don't you remember how many times your mother threatened suicide when your dad was alive and kicking?

But even though I am a bit of a social dullard, I managed to catch on to this pretty quickly. Emma sounded not happy but relieved and peaceful and I am hardly the one to harsh that buzz.

I hope that this attitude remains firm and fixed. That she doesn't wake up one morning and start having hysterics that her mom committed suicide because she was a nutty old bat to begin with. I hope this useful illusion has been super-glued into her psyche, because I think she needs it and I think she needs it to be permanent.

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Oh, as I get older, I see more things from my mother's perspective. I also know that she suffered from a serious brain injury and was in chronic pain nearly every day of her life. I also know that she was bat-shit crazy. And dangerous. But the human part, I understand more of. The bit about trying too hard to be loved, trying so hard and demanding so much of people that she scared them and drove them away. Yeah, I get that. Along with her cluelessness about what had happened. What? What did I do?

These are words I've said myself, so yeah, I get it.

But no amount of understanding will beguile me. The distance between us expands and expands and I am very happy to keep it that way.