here is one of my rare blogs for this site. i think i save this place for when i just need to put things down and not worry that anyone is reading it. it is for myself and those few who run across it.
tonight, i think i might talk of my father in this blog of the family that i have. maybe that is due to i just read the blog that i wrote of my mother? i only know that i have a blog inside me that i do not want to put on my more public blog.
my father was born in 1903. he was 53 years old when i came into this world. he had been married before my mother, and had another family. there was 4 girls and one boy. when i was a child, i thought it was normal. the two family thing. those children were already grown, and i had nieces and nephews that were my age and older even. i knew my mom was not their mom, but i never wondered who was there mom.
there was 6 of us. ramona, david, me, daryl, terry and robbie. the first 5 were marion, lenora, roberta, genny and steve (alexander).
i remember my dad as old. he was tall, and strong, and gray headed. at least what hair he had. what he told us was that he had been gray since the age of 20. i couldn't tell you. i didn't know him when he was 20.
he spent his time off work at the bar on the corner. i remember running down the block and telling him that supper was ready and he should come home. on Sundays, the family was able to go there with him, because they had family cookouts. the men would play pool, and the kids the jukebox. sodas were served in glass bottles with a glass of ice.
daddy had a dog. i do not remember the dogs name. it was a small dog, like a terrier of some sort. it was just after Easter. it might have even been Easter Sunday. we had just gotten the dog back from the vet. had it bitten someone and was put up until the fear of rabies had passed? i think that was may be what it was, but again, i do not remember. i was a small child, maybe 5 years of age. the dog was on a leash, and one of my siblings was taking it to the bar.
we lived less than a block from the bar. it was nothing for us to run back and forth between the apartment where we lived and the bar. it was warm and sunny. daddy was standing at the door of the bar, and the dog saw him. the dog became excited and broke loose from whoever was walking with her. she was so excited that she kept running back and forth across the street between us kids and daddy. no one could catch hold of her she was so quick.
then the car came. and the dog was hit. it tore daddy up so much.
i remember the man who owned the store on the corner brought out Easter baskets for us kids to eat on. his way of letting us know how sorry he was we had lost our pet. we sat on the steps of the apartment eating candy while daddy took the dog away. i do not know where he took it too. i remember he cried.
when i was a child, i did not understand that my father was an alcoholic. i thought that men were supposed to sit in bars after work and on the weekends. occasionally mom would go and sit with him too. my older sister would keep an eye on us, or we would go and see what mom and dad were doing. there was three bars within two blocks that they went to, so it was never too far for us to go on our own.
when we moved from that neighborhood, dad stayed home more often. color television happened, and i remember watching bonanza with him. on Sundays his friends would come over for games of poker. we kids would love to hang around and listen to the men as they hassled each other over the cards. there was always huge bottles of whiskey in the pantry for when his friends came over.
when my older brother came home drunk one night, daddy did not say anything to him. but the next morning, when dave got up for breakfast, daddy served him a can of beer on a plate. it was definitely a long time before dave drank again.
mom and daddy always fought. verbally, not physically. i used to say they married each other so that they would have someone to fight with. there was one time that daddy rose his fist to mom. david came between them and he told daddy if he ever struck mom, that he would kill him.
this is such a sparse story. nothing to really let you know what type of a man my father was.
he was a fun person. he loved attention, being the center i think. he was a pool shark, but i didn't know that at the time. he rarely spent money when he was in the bar, because he played his pool games for a beer. if he won, they bought him a beer.
he worked in the same place as far back as i can remember. he said it was an awning company. they hung awnings on the buildings all over chicago, and banners. they decorated the light posts at Christmas. when navy pier was built, at least the big hotels and buildings there, he did alot of the decorating there of canvas awnings and things up on the rafters. he must not have been afraid of heights.
he was injured while he was working. a broken back. he was about 68 or 69 years old. he could never return to work. he came home and told us that his boss told him, "robert, i wish i could take your head and put it on someone elses body". i think that he is the one i get my work ethics from.
he took us to adventure land. it was an amusement park in chicago before things like disneyland and six flaggs. we would go fishing on the weekends, with lots of his friends. or we would have cook outs in the back yard with the whole neighborhood attending, or so it seemed.
we were one of the first in the neigborhood to have a black and white tv, and then again the color tv from sears.
one weekend, he brought home new bicycles for all of the kids, all 6 of us. later i found he had another job helping to move people. he brought me my first electric sewing machine and showed me how to use it. someone he had moved had given it to him. i felt so special because he brought it home for me. he was going to teach me to sew so that when i was old enough to work, i could get a job at his work place and make the awnings and banners.
after he broke his back and was forced into retirement, he moved us from chicago to a small town near where he had grown up. at the age of 14 i met his mother. she was in a nursing home, in a wheel chair. she was in her 90's. and i had also met my only uncle. he died soon after of lung cancer. at the age of 15, i moved with the rest of the family. we met aunts and uncles that we never knew about. aunt dude in decatur. aunt veva in taylorville. the twins aunt lela and lola. dad was the baby of the family, so his being 69 meant that the rest of the family was older. aunt lela died of cancer. uncle steve did too. aunt lola lived in michigan.
daddy was born somewhere on a farm, outside of owaneco illinois. one of two boys out of a family of 12. how he ended up in chicago, i will never know. he met my mother in decatur illinois. they had three children together before they married. i was number 4. the first one supposedly died at birth, but that is another story.
when i became pregnant just after graduating high school, my father didn't ridicule me for being wrong, but he had to stand behind my mother when she did. even so, he still let me know he loved me, and when my first child was born, she was the reason he lived.
he had had more than one heart attack. pneumonia had almost claimed his life. he broke a hip slipping off the bedside, then after that healed, he broke the other hip the same way. with the broken hips came dementia. i was pregnant when he broke the second hip. thankfully the dementia ended before my baby was born.
each time my father became ill, and close to death, i would pray to God to let him stay here with me. that i needed him still and could not do without him.
my father was here for my high school graduation. the birth of my first two children. my marriage. when i was pregnant with my third child, my father became ill again. i could see my selfishness in begging the lord to let me keep my father here with me. i spoke to God one day, and told Him, if He needed my father more than i did, that it was ok to take him to live with Him now.
on a Sunday morning, i was preparing to go to my in laws home. i kept feeling the pull to go see my father. i could not give in to that, because my husband and i had a fight just that week of all the time i had been spending at my fathers, when i had a home of my own to tend to. when we were at the gas station, i heard an ambulance. deep down, i knew that was for my father, but i still said nothing. we went to my in laws, and almost as soon as we walked in the door, the phone rang. my baby sister was on the phone. the only words i heard were "daddy's dead". i told terry don't lie to me, and she said, "i am not lying, daddy is dead" and i collapsed.
at the age of 73, my father had a massive heart attack and passed on. i was 22.
there was no visitation. there was no funeral. i never saw my father dead, and it took 17 years and my mothers death to be able to let loose of him.
i know my father is with me in spirit. i feel his presence quite often. he leaves cigar tips on the ground to let me know he has been there. before mothers death, my father sat on my sofa. i think he was letting me know he was coming for her. he tosses canadian pennies from heaven. and dimes. i was very pregnant with my third child when my dad passed. that has been 33 years ago. i still miss him.
Sunday, April 11, 2010
Sunday, December 6, 2009
I Gave You a Happy Mother's Day
Though it is early morning hours, and I should be in bed, something keeps pushing me to write a blog about my mother. I have no idea what it is about, but I guess it will come to me as I go along, my fingers on the keys, new words forming before me.
My mother was the second child of a two child family. Her sister was many years older than her. I guess mom must have been a change of life baby, or something like that. Her mother died when she was just a teenager.
I remember mom always telling stories of her childhood. She would say how horrible her father was to her, and she would never have had anything if it were not for her older sister. She would wear her brassieres until they cut into her shoulders, and they bled, then her sister would make their father buy her new ones.
Mom married sometime in her young years. The story was that he was an abusive person, but she had to get away from her father, so she married. When she became pregnant, she left him and never told him she was with child. Her step mom put her into a psychiatric hospital to keep her safe from her husband. The divorce happened sometime during that time I am guessing at. Of course, pregnant women were not supposed to be in mental facilities, so the pregnancy was kept hush, hush. Mom would tell us that the other patients knew she was pregnant, so they would sneak her extra food, like boiled eggs or bananas, so that she would have better nourishment for the baby. I do not know how long she stayed in this mental facility, but I do not think that she could have stayed that long.
After the baby was born, he supposedly became very sick, requiring hospitalization. Mother had to work, so when the baby was released, her step-mother and father picked him up. My mother said, that she had to sign papers for the baby's release, but after she signed them, her parents put in a paragraph that she had agreed to them adopting her son. I always thought odd of this, because it seems to far fetched to be true, but it was probably 60 years ago, and single girls just didn't raise babies by themselves back then.
I still do not know why I feel like I am supposed to write this story.
My mother died the day after mother's day in 1992. Though I know these were not the last words she said to me, it seems in my mind that they were. She was in the hospital, and it was morning. Monday morning. I had stayed with her through the night, tending to her needs. When she saw it was morning, she smiled up at me and said, "I gave you a happy Mother's Day, didn't I".
She told me off and on through the morning that I should go home to be with my children. I had a six hour drive to make, but I was not worried about going home. Mom was too sick, and I did not want to leave her. She was restless and did not calm down until I agreed to go home at a certain time. We watched some dog show on television. "That one looks like (her dog)". Yes mom, he does. It was a competition show, where the dogs are judged by beauty and how they walk and such. When it was over, she said, "Now you can go." I told her good bye, and I loved her, tucked her in well, and left when my sister got there.
It was a long ride home. Of course I thought about her most of the way. It was before cell phones, so when I stopped at the last rest area, just over an hour from my home, I called to check on her. My older sister was at the hospital, along with my youngest sister. "She's doing fine, don't worry", was the message that was relayed to me. An hour later, the phone began to ring as soon as I walked into the kitchen door of my home. It was my oldest sister, Ramona. "Mom died about a half hour ago."
Mom knew that morning that she was going to pass over to the other world. She wanted me to go home to be with my children, so they would not be alone when they heard she had gone. She willed herself to live six more hours so I would be home when the call came that she was gone.
Those words, "I gave you a happy Mother's Day", actually meant, "I willed myself to live one more day, so I would not die on Mother's Day, so that you would always have a Happy Mother's Day because I did not leave you on that day."
That is not the story that was running through my head before I wrote this. Actually, many memories were rustling about the cobwebs of my old brain. I thought that was what I was going to write about.
Maybe another time.
huggggggssssssssssss
My mother was the second child of a two child family. Her sister was many years older than her. I guess mom must have been a change of life baby, or something like that. Her mother died when she was just a teenager.
I remember mom always telling stories of her childhood. She would say how horrible her father was to her, and she would never have had anything if it were not for her older sister. She would wear her brassieres until they cut into her shoulders, and they bled, then her sister would make their father buy her new ones.
Mom married sometime in her young years. The story was that he was an abusive person, but she had to get away from her father, so she married. When she became pregnant, she left him and never told him she was with child. Her step mom put her into a psychiatric hospital to keep her safe from her husband. The divorce happened sometime during that time I am guessing at. Of course, pregnant women were not supposed to be in mental facilities, so the pregnancy was kept hush, hush. Mom would tell us that the other patients knew she was pregnant, so they would sneak her extra food, like boiled eggs or bananas, so that she would have better nourishment for the baby. I do not know how long she stayed in this mental facility, but I do not think that she could have stayed that long.
After the baby was born, he supposedly became very sick, requiring hospitalization. Mother had to work, so when the baby was released, her step-mother and father picked him up. My mother said, that she had to sign papers for the baby's release, but after she signed them, her parents put in a paragraph that she had agreed to them adopting her son. I always thought odd of this, because it seems to far fetched to be true, but it was probably 60 years ago, and single girls just didn't raise babies by themselves back then.
I still do not know why I feel like I am supposed to write this story.
My mother died the day after mother's day in 1992. Though I know these were not the last words she said to me, it seems in my mind that they were. She was in the hospital, and it was morning. Monday morning. I had stayed with her through the night, tending to her needs. When she saw it was morning, she smiled up at me and said, "I gave you a happy Mother's Day, didn't I".
She told me off and on through the morning that I should go home to be with my children. I had a six hour drive to make, but I was not worried about going home. Mom was too sick, and I did not want to leave her. She was restless and did not calm down until I agreed to go home at a certain time. We watched some dog show on television. "That one looks like (her dog)". Yes mom, he does. It was a competition show, where the dogs are judged by beauty and how they walk and such. When it was over, she said, "Now you can go." I told her good bye, and I loved her, tucked her in well, and left when my sister got there.
It was a long ride home. Of course I thought about her most of the way. It was before cell phones, so when I stopped at the last rest area, just over an hour from my home, I called to check on her. My older sister was at the hospital, along with my youngest sister. "She's doing fine, don't worry", was the message that was relayed to me. An hour later, the phone began to ring as soon as I walked into the kitchen door of my home. It was my oldest sister, Ramona. "Mom died about a half hour ago."
Mom knew that morning that she was going to pass over to the other world. She wanted me to go home to be with my children, so they would not be alone when they heard she had gone. She willed herself to live six more hours so I would be home when the call came that she was gone.
Those words, "I gave you a happy Mother's Day", actually meant, "I willed myself to live one more day, so I would not die on Mother's Day, so that you would always have a Happy Mother's Day because I did not leave you on that day."
That is not the story that was running through my head before I wrote this. Actually, many memories were rustling about the cobwebs of my old brain. I thought that was what I was going to write about.
Maybe another time.
huggggggssssssssssss
Sunday, August 30, 2009
I Am My Sisters Keeper, part four
I never thought that it was going to be this long of a story. don't worry, the end is getting nearer.
Even though we had another falling out, it was still my responsibility to take her to the doctor every month. I would pick her up on one side of town, then drive her across to the other side of town. We would see her doctor, discuss any changes in her life, any medical problems. Then she would take me out to lunch as payment for my coming to take her to her appointment. This was more of a way to get me to stay and visit longer. Regardless of if she as mad at me that day or not.
She never remembered what the doctor told her. If medication was changed, I had to write it down for her to put on the refrigerator until she could remember.
I thought it was just a bit odd, that no matter what she could not remember, once she learned her medication dose, she never forgot. She never forgot to take it either. If she were out at the time the medication was due, she would bother whoever she was with until they took her home and she could take that dose.
Her anti-seizure medication was Dilantin. Dilantin has a way of either building up in your system, or it does not absorb into your system properly after you have been on it for awhile. Or maybe even your body becomes immune to the dose being taken, so it is not enough.
I would receive phone calls anytime of the day or night, Daryl had another seizure. She would be in the emergency room, and I would have to drive there to be with her, as her son was a minor. Each seizure aggravated Daryl, because she had to be seizure free for a year to be able to drive again. Each seizure started the cycle all over again.
Her son knew Daryl was no longer strong, physically. He also knew that her mentality was not up to par. Brendan has ADD with some autism, and he would sometimes become violent with Daryl. When I found out he had been beating her with a broomstick, hitting her in the head, I came off the handle. He was about 12 years old at this time. I jumped down at him and informed him if he ever did such a thing to her again, I would come and pummel him myself. This boy thought the world of me, so I do not know if he listened to me more out of respect for me, or fear that I would beat him to pieces. Whatever, to my knowledge, he never beat on her again. He was still mean to her, and he was always out of hand, but there was nothing I could do about that.
Daryl had to have surgery on her neck due to some deterioration in the vertabrae there. That too, I took care of. When she had to see any doctor, I was there, remembering what they said to her. Finally she would go to her general doctor for simple things, like colds, on her own. She would call me as soon as she got home, and tell me what the doctor said. Then later she would call me and ask me what she was supposed to do.
Her memory was improving, her ability to handle her own finances came about well. She still could not work due to her child like impressions on life now. Though she lived as an adult, her brain was not at that anymore. Sometimes she giggled like a teenager. Other times, you would not know anything was wrong with her. It was a bit funny to watch her walk up to perfect strangers and tell them, "I had an anneeurrism, but I'm getting better." It made no matter where we were, or who was about. She told anyone who was there.
She would stop and stare at people like a little child would do. She would tell them if she thought they were doing something she didn't like, "that's not right", she would say in her little girl voice.
When the surgeon could do no more for Daryl, she was referred to a neurologist. Daryl hated new doctors and told me she was not going to see him. My only way of getting her to the new doctor was reminding her that she would never drive a car again if she didn't go. "Yes I will." she would always tell me. We were always having a war on wills. She was always trying to get me to let her have her way. Now remember, alot of times, she was more of a small child than an adult, so I had to have a stronger will than her, therefore, I won most times. Actually, when it came to something for her well being, I always won. There were times I allowed her to win, sometimes just to see that glitter in her eye and the smile of accomplishment. She would sometimes even do the little song, "I won, I won!" She could not do the dance. Her right leg was slightly flaccid and did not support her as it should. I tried to get her to use a cane, but her vanity prevented her from doing that. So she hung onto things to support herself as she walked. Walls, doors, whatever she could reach. When she was tired, she almost drug her leg behind her.
Daryl continued to have seizures. I continued to get up in the middle of the night, or leave work during the day, to go to the emergency room with her. The doctors would always say the same thing. She is not taking her medication, her Dilantin levels are too low. Then I would have to argue with them that she is taking her medications as ordered. We talked every night, so I knew that she was doing so. The would give her massive doses of Dilantin in her veins, to bring her level up so the seizures would stop. The would roll their eyes at me, and then send her home. They always said they contacted her doctor.
Then, at her next visit, the doctor would tell me that he was never contacted, and both of us would then be agitated at the hospital ER staff.
Because the seizures happened pretty much in a pattern, the neurologist decided to start her on a different medication. Keppra. Let me tell you, this is our miracle drug. He slowly increased the dose and removed all Dilantin from her regimen. After Daryl had been seizure free for more than a year, the doctor gave her the news she had been waiting for. You can drive. She had already bought a car. She would back it in and out of her driveway. When she received permission to drive, she would take her son to school and just go short distances, but that was all she needed. She got her freedom back. Her doctor appointments were no longer every month. She no longer wanted me to come to her visits. So I took advantage of MY freedom, and took up travel nursing.
Daryl did not like that idea at all, but she lived with it. Sometimes when she called me, she would tell me she had "little" seizures, but I knew she was doing ok. She would have told me if she was not. She could not help herself. It was the little kid in her that told on her every time. If anything did happen, I had family that could go to her.
She survived my time away. When I got back home, she was able to drive down to visit me one time. That was definitely a highlight of her life. She had new friends and new dogs. Her birds had flown out the door one day when a delivery person brought her a package. She dealt with the police and courts and school system when her son had problems. She was living a normal life almost. She was still so childlike, but moving on.
Then it happened. Daryl had a grand mal seizure one night. All the advancement, all her successes, pushed back. They tied her to the bed. She didn't know who any one was or where she was. They kept her in the hospital for a couple days, and when things seemed much better, they allowed her to go home. Daryl was now angry with me because she could not drive again. Her friend who supplied her car took it away at my insistance. She would call me and argue with me, and then say "I love you" and hang up.
It is so funny to me sometimes, no matter how angry she is with me now, before she hangs up she will tell me "I love you".
Enough time has passed, and Daryl is able to drive again. She does not call me often, because she is still mad at me. But she did call me to tell me she purchased a house. Being as she is on permanent disability, she gets a social security check. A fixed income. I guess that is enough to guarentee payment. I have not been there to see the house. She is angry I could not come help her to move, but she managed to get others to help her. Next time I go to Springfield, maybe she will not be so angry with me and let me visit her there?
Never know, but no matter how angry she is, and no matter how much she protests it, I will always be My Sisters Keeper.
Even though we had another falling out, it was still my responsibility to take her to the doctor every month. I would pick her up on one side of town, then drive her across to the other side of town. We would see her doctor, discuss any changes in her life, any medical problems. Then she would take me out to lunch as payment for my coming to take her to her appointment. This was more of a way to get me to stay and visit longer. Regardless of if she as mad at me that day or not.
She never remembered what the doctor told her. If medication was changed, I had to write it down for her to put on the refrigerator until she could remember.
I thought it was just a bit odd, that no matter what she could not remember, once she learned her medication dose, she never forgot. She never forgot to take it either. If she were out at the time the medication was due, she would bother whoever she was with until they took her home and she could take that dose.
Her anti-seizure medication was Dilantin. Dilantin has a way of either building up in your system, or it does not absorb into your system properly after you have been on it for awhile. Or maybe even your body becomes immune to the dose being taken, so it is not enough.
I would receive phone calls anytime of the day or night, Daryl had another seizure. She would be in the emergency room, and I would have to drive there to be with her, as her son was a minor. Each seizure aggravated Daryl, because she had to be seizure free for a year to be able to drive again. Each seizure started the cycle all over again.
Her son knew Daryl was no longer strong, physically. He also knew that her mentality was not up to par. Brendan has ADD with some autism, and he would sometimes become violent with Daryl. When I found out he had been beating her with a broomstick, hitting her in the head, I came off the handle. He was about 12 years old at this time. I jumped down at him and informed him if he ever did such a thing to her again, I would come and pummel him myself. This boy thought the world of me, so I do not know if he listened to me more out of respect for me, or fear that I would beat him to pieces. Whatever, to my knowledge, he never beat on her again. He was still mean to her, and he was always out of hand, but there was nothing I could do about that.
Daryl had to have surgery on her neck due to some deterioration in the vertabrae there. That too, I took care of. When she had to see any doctor, I was there, remembering what they said to her. Finally she would go to her general doctor for simple things, like colds, on her own. She would call me as soon as she got home, and tell me what the doctor said. Then later she would call me and ask me what she was supposed to do.
Her memory was improving, her ability to handle her own finances came about well. She still could not work due to her child like impressions on life now. Though she lived as an adult, her brain was not at that anymore. Sometimes she giggled like a teenager. Other times, you would not know anything was wrong with her. It was a bit funny to watch her walk up to perfect strangers and tell them, "I had an anneeurrism, but I'm getting better." It made no matter where we were, or who was about. She told anyone who was there.
She would stop and stare at people like a little child would do. She would tell them if she thought they were doing something she didn't like, "that's not right", she would say in her little girl voice.
When the surgeon could do no more for Daryl, she was referred to a neurologist. Daryl hated new doctors and told me she was not going to see him. My only way of getting her to the new doctor was reminding her that she would never drive a car again if she didn't go. "Yes I will." she would always tell me. We were always having a war on wills. She was always trying to get me to let her have her way. Now remember, alot of times, she was more of a small child than an adult, so I had to have a stronger will than her, therefore, I won most times. Actually, when it came to something for her well being, I always won. There were times I allowed her to win, sometimes just to see that glitter in her eye and the smile of accomplishment. She would sometimes even do the little song, "I won, I won!" She could not do the dance. Her right leg was slightly flaccid and did not support her as it should. I tried to get her to use a cane, but her vanity prevented her from doing that. So she hung onto things to support herself as she walked. Walls, doors, whatever she could reach. When she was tired, she almost drug her leg behind her.
Daryl continued to have seizures. I continued to get up in the middle of the night, or leave work during the day, to go to the emergency room with her. The doctors would always say the same thing. She is not taking her medication, her Dilantin levels are too low. Then I would have to argue with them that she is taking her medications as ordered. We talked every night, so I knew that she was doing so. The would give her massive doses of Dilantin in her veins, to bring her level up so the seizures would stop. The would roll their eyes at me, and then send her home. They always said they contacted her doctor.
Then, at her next visit, the doctor would tell me that he was never contacted, and both of us would then be agitated at the hospital ER staff.
Because the seizures happened pretty much in a pattern, the neurologist decided to start her on a different medication. Keppra. Let me tell you, this is our miracle drug. He slowly increased the dose and removed all Dilantin from her regimen. After Daryl had been seizure free for more than a year, the doctor gave her the news she had been waiting for. You can drive. She had already bought a car. She would back it in and out of her driveway. When she received permission to drive, she would take her son to school and just go short distances, but that was all she needed. She got her freedom back. Her doctor appointments were no longer every month. She no longer wanted me to come to her visits. So I took advantage of MY freedom, and took up travel nursing.
Daryl did not like that idea at all, but she lived with it. Sometimes when she called me, she would tell me she had "little" seizures, but I knew she was doing ok. She would have told me if she was not. She could not help herself. It was the little kid in her that told on her every time. If anything did happen, I had family that could go to her.
She survived my time away. When I got back home, she was able to drive down to visit me one time. That was definitely a highlight of her life. She had new friends and new dogs. Her birds had flown out the door one day when a delivery person brought her a package. She dealt with the police and courts and school system when her son had problems. She was living a normal life almost. She was still so childlike, but moving on.
Then it happened. Daryl had a grand mal seizure one night. All the advancement, all her successes, pushed back. They tied her to the bed. She didn't know who any one was or where she was. They kept her in the hospital for a couple days, and when things seemed much better, they allowed her to go home. Daryl was now angry with me because she could not drive again. Her friend who supplied her car took it away at my insistance. She would call me and argue with me, and then say "I love you" and hang up.
It is so funny to me sometimes, no matter how angry she is with me now, before she hangs up she will tell me "I love you".
Enough time has passed, and Daryl is able to drive again. She does not call me often, because she is still mad at me. But she did call me to tell me she purchased a house. Being as she is on permanent disability, she gets a social security check. A fixed income. I guess that is enough to guarentee payment. I have not been there to see the house. She is angry I could not come help her to move, but she managed to get others to help her. Next time I go to Springfield, maybe she will not be so angry with me and let me visit her there?
Never know, but no matter how angry she is, and no matter how much she protests it, I will always be My Sisters Keeper.
Saturday, August 29, 2009
I Am My Sisters Keeper part three
The post before this is of photos only because I had very much difficulty putting the photos where I wanted them to be, accidentally deleting them several times. Even when I thought all was in the correct position, I found that they are slightly off after i publish the post. Well, at least the photos are there. These are the photos that I have filed on the computer. You may have figured out that I don't always go at my projects with enthusiasm, otherwise, I would have scanned several more to share, but then, I have very few of her in childhood, a sore subject I will not go into.
On to my memories of Daryl.
Amazingly, my at the time significant other, Randy, was very tolerable of Daryl and her son Brendan. Randy had been my husband in my earlier life, but that again is another story. He and Daryl had not been the best of friends. I think that he did not mind her at this time due to that she had such a childlike mind, and he could "pull the wool" over her eyes quite easily.
We had to have a routine, and Daryl was not happy with it. She had to keep active to help to improve her memory. She had a medication that she had to take every six hours, and not miss, because it kept the pressure in her brain low. She had to take it for a month or so after the surgery, or the pressure would increase, possibly causing further brain damage.
As I said earlier, Daryl had a child like mind. She could not remember most of her life. You would tell her something she had done, good or bad, and her response was always in a confused "I did that?" She argued that she didn't do drugs. Then when she accepted the fact that she did do drugs, she would say, "well, I didn't do that many."
She would get a kick out of when I would tell her some of our childhood stories. It really tickeled her that she used to beat the crap out of me. Every time after hearing a story where she had been mean or cruel, she would say in the sweetest voice, "but I am nice now, ain't I?"
We made arrangements for home therapy to help strengthen her now weakend right side. Speech therapy was to help her with her memory. She would not remember what some things were called, such as a fork. She would try to say it, then would have to ask me, "Tom, what is this?" It would usually take several repetitions for her to learn what an item was. Occupational therapy made attempts for Daryl to use the computer, as that is what she did at her employment before the aneurysm, but Daryl would not have anything to do with it. They instructed her to lift cans to strengthen her arm. Her response would be, "I don't have to do that, I am fine." That was her response to anything that she didn't want to do.
When I had to return to work, the home health aide that I had set up to come care for her while I worked fell through. Randy was working himself, and I had no one else who could stay with Daryl while I worked. She could not be alone for that length of time. She could not cook for herself, or her son. She would forget she had lit a cigarette and go to another room and light another cigarette. She would forget to take her medication.
So I gave in and called Ramona. She had said that her sons girlfriend would come and stay with us so that I would not have to worry. Ramona's son and his girlfriend came. I found out that when this girl was supposed to be "watching" Daryl, she was upstairs running the airconditioner and sleeping all day. Ramona's son would be on the phone all day, eating me out of house and home, or causing commotion with my younger son.
Soon Daryl wanted money. She told me that I was getting her paychecks. She got agitated when I bought her generic cigarettes instead of Marlboros. She began arguing with me about how I only wanted her to stay with me so that I could keep her money. She would not listen to the fact that there was no money yet. Some of her co-workers had given her money as gifts when she first became ill, but that money had been used for her son before she even left the hospital. I had opened a bank account and deposited any money I received for her into it. She did not believe that I was paying for her cigarettes and medicines. David had paid for storage on her belongings.
Then she got into a fight with my son Curtis. Then Ramona's son started trouble. Then I realized what had happened. Ramona's son had been talking to her on a daily basis. Many times a day. Ramona had probably been talking to Daryl too. Filling her head full of lies. Making her believe that I was stealing from her and that I wanted custody of her son. Even when Daryl's disability checks started coming in, they were not enough to pay off her debts, let alone leave anything for me to steal.
Luckily, I kept records of what I spent any of her money on, and when Ramona filed for my guardianship to be ended, which was near end anyways, I handed all records over to Daryl's court appointed attorney. He had been appointed when I went to court the first time to obtain guardianship, while Daryl was laying in the hospital in a coma.
What little bit of money that Daryl had left had to be paid to that attorney, because Ramona wanted early dismissal of my guardianship. If Ramona had waited only two more weeks, there would have been four hundred dollars more for Daryl. It does not seem like much, but when you have nothing, four hundred is alot.
When Ramona filled Daryl's head full of falsities, Daryl began arguing with me. She had an arguement with Curtis earlier and he pushed her away. She wanted the police called and have him arrested. Ramona's son kept yelling that Curtis could have killed Daryl, and Daryl picked up on that. It was chaos in the house that night. I fought to take care of my sister, but I finally had to tell her to leave because it was a situation I could not win. Because I had to work full time, I could not be at home to protect Daryl from Ramona's lies.
What Daryl did not know, was Ramona wanted Daryl to live with her so that Ramona could steal her money.
When Daryl went to live with Ramona, all therapies and doctors visits stopped. Ramona would have Daryl call frequently for money that was still not coming in. Though I had applied for disablity, retirement insurance and whatever I could apply for to assist her financially, it took months for anything to start coming in. Ramona truly thought I was collecting Daryl's paycheck and squandering it away. Ramona also thought that there would be much more coming in than what finally did begin coming.
After Daryl left, I did make arrangements for any payments to go directly to Daryl at her new address. Though she did have somewhat of a mental handicap at this time, it did not take her long to figure out that Ramona was trying to take all her money. When Daryl received a check, Ramona would ask to borrow money that she never repaid. Or, she would ask Daryl to buy groceries. Later she would tell Daryl she had to pay bills.
Daryl called me one day to tell me of what Ramona was doing. Then she said, I am moving back to Springfield. Daryl had secretly made arrangements with one of her previous friends, to rent a house and even set a date she would be there. I do not know how she got Ramona to return her to Springfield, but soon Daryl and her son were taken to live with Daryl's friend.
Now, Daryl was not necessarily ready to live on her own, but I could not control what she did. The friend lived nearby, and kept an eye on Daryl for probably a year after Daryl moved back to Springfield. Daryl still had a short turn memory problem. She would call me several times and tell me that I stole her money, and I would have to go over that there was no money at first and what I did with the money that I did get for her. Then she would say to me, "Ramona wanted my money, but she didn't get it." and then there would be a little chuckle after that.
on to part four
On to my memories of Daryl.
Amazingly, my at the time significant other, Randy, was very tolerable of Daryl and her son Brendan. Randy had been my husband in my earlier life, but that again is another story. He and Daryl had not been the best of friends. I think that he did not mind her at this time due to that she had such a childlike mind, and he could "pull the wool" over her eyes quite easily.
We had to have a routine, and Daryl was not happy with it. She had to keep active to help to improve her memory. She had a medication that she had to take every six hours, and not miss, because it kept the pressure in her brain low. She had to take it for a month or so after the surgery, or the pressure would increase, possibly causing further brain damage.
As I said earlier, Daryl had a child like mind. She could not remember most of her life. You would tell her something she had done, good or bad, and her response was always in a confused "I did that?" She argued that she didn't do drugs. Then when she accepted the fact that she did do drugs, she would say, "well, I didn't do that many."
She would get a kick out of when I would tell her some of our childhood stories. It really tickeled her that she used to beat the crap out of me. Every time after hearing a story where she had been mean or cruel, she would say in the sweetest voice, "but I am nice now, ain't I?"
We made arrangements for home therapy to help strengthen her now weakend right side. Speech therapy was to help her with her memory. She would not remember what some things were called, such as a fork. She would try to say it, then would have to ask me, "Tom, what is this?" It would usually take several repetitions for her to learn what an item was. Occupational therapy made attempts for Daryl to use the computer, as that is what she did at her employment before the aneurysm, but Daryl would not have anything to do with it. They instructed her to lift cans to strengthen her arm. Her response would be, "I don't have to do that, I am fine." That was her response to anything that she didn't want to do.
When I had to return to work, the home health aide that I had set up to come care for her while I worked fell through. Randy was working himself, and I had no one else who could stay with Daryl while I worked. She could not be alone for that length of time. She could not cook for herself, or her son. She would forget she had lit a cigarette and go to another room and light another cigarette. She would forget to take her medication.
So I gave in and called Ramona. She had said that her sons girlfriend would come and stay with us so that I would not have to worry. Ramona's son and his girlfriend came. I found out that when this girl was supposed to be "watching" Daryl, she was upstairs running the airconditioner and sleeping all day. Ramona's son would be on the phone all day, eating me out of house and home, or causing commotion with my younger son.
Soon Daryl wanted money. She told me that I was getting her paychecks. She got agitated when I bought her generic cigarettes instead of Marlboros. She began arguing with me about how I only wanted her to stay with me so that I could keep her money. She would not listen to the fact that there was no money yet. Some of her co-workers had given her money as gifts when she first became ill, but that money had been used for her son before she even left the hospital. I had opened a bank account and deposited any money I received for her into it. She did not believe that I was paying for her cigarettes and medicines. David had paid for storage on her belongings.
Then she got into a fight with my son Curtis. Then Ramona's son started trouble. Then I realized what had happened. Ramona's son had been talking to her on a daily basis. Many times a day. Ramona had probably been talking to Daryl too. Filling her head full of lies. Making her believe that I was stealing from her and that I wanted custody of her son. Even when Daryl's disability checks started coming in, they were not enough to pay off her debts, let alone leave anything for me to steal.
Luckily, I kept records of what I spent any of her money on, and when Ramona filed for my guardianship to be ended, which was near end anyways, I handed all records over to Daryl's court appointed attorney. He had been appointed when I went to court the first time to obtain guardianship, while Daryl was laying in the hospital in a coma.
What little bit of money that Daryl had left had to be paid to that attorney, because Ramona wanted early dismissal of my guardianship. If Ramona had waited only two more weeks, there would have been four hundred dollars more for Daryl. It does not seem like much, but when you have nothing, four hundred is alot.
When Ramona filled Daryl's head full of falsities, Daryl began arguing with me. She had an arguement with Curtis earlier and he pushed her away. She wanted the police called and have him arrested. Ramona's son kept yelling that Curtis could have killed Daryl, and Daryl picked up on that. It was chaos in the house that night. I fought to take care of my sister, but I finally had to tell her to leave because it was a situation I could not win. Because I had to work full time, I could not be at home to protect Daryl from Ramona's lies.
What Daryl did not know, was Ramona wanted Daryl to live with her so that Ramona could steal her money.
When Daryl went to live with Ramona, all therapies and doctors visits stopped. Ramona would have Daryl call frequently for money that was still not coming in. Though I had applied for disablity, retirement insurance and whatever I could apply for to assist her financially, it took months for anything to start coming in. Ramona truly thought I was collecting Daryl's paycheck and squandering it away. Ramona also thought that there would be much more coming in than what finally did begin coming.
After Daryl left, I did make arrangements for any payments to go directly to Daryl at her new address. Though she did have somewhat of a mental handicap at this time, it did not take her long to figure out that Ramona was trying to take all her money. When Daryl received a check, Ramona would ask to borrow money that she never repaid. Or, she would ask Daryl to buy groceries. Later she would tell Daryl she had to pay bills.
Daryl called me one day to tell me of what Ramona was doing. Then she said, I am moving back to Springfield. Daryl had secretly made arrangements with one of her previous friends, to rent a house and even set a date she would be there. I do not know how she got Ramona to return her to Springfield, but soon Daryl and her son were taken to live with Daryl's friend.
Now, Daryl was not necessarily ready to live on her own, but I could not control what she did. The friend lived nearby, and kept an eye on Daryl for probably a year after Daryl moved back to Springfield. Daryl still had a short turn memory problem. She would call me several times and tell me that I stole her money, and I would have to go over that there was no money at first and what I did with the money that I did get for her. Then she would say to me, "Ramona wanted my money, but she didn't get it." and then there would be a little chuckle after that.
on to part four
Photos of Daryl
This is a photo of Daryl in 1969 at a public pool with brother David. Her hair pulled tightly back into the ponytail that she always wore. She was about 12 years old in this photo.
In this photo, Daryl is holding the family dog, Penny. Starting with the woman and going clockwise, Mom, David, Tomasina (me), Terry and Robbie. Also taken in 1969. Don't you like our shorts? It was probably Daryl's idea to roll them like this.
In this photo, Daryl is holding the family dog, Penny. Starting with the woman and going clockwise, Mom, David, Tomasina (me), Terry and Robbie. Also taken in 1969. Don't you like our shorts? It was probably Daryl's idea to roll them like this.
This is August 14, 2001. Daryl had just come to live with me after her surgery.
This is November 30, 2001. Daryl had returned to her own home at this time.
This is July, 2002. One year after her aneurysm.
November 2005.
June 2008 with newest great nephew Carter.
July 2008 with son Brendan.
December 2008.
This is the "whole clan" taken at my nephew's wedding July of 2008.David age 53 - Robbie age 46 - Terry age 48
Tomasina age 52 - Ramona age 56 - Daryl age 51
Thursday, August 27, 2009
I Am My Sisters Keeper, cont'd
Daryl was in ICU for several days, her right side paralyzed, she was on a ventilator for a bit. They used an endotracheal tube placed down her throat to her lungs so that the air could be forced into her lungs. Soon she was able to breathe on her own, which was good as she had pulled the "breathing tube" out on her own. She woke up from her surgical coma angry and confused. They restrained her left arm and leg because she had kicked a very large nurse across the room. When the hand was free, she would grab at tubes and wires and pull at them. They had to sedate her to keep her calm most of the time.
Most times, she would not recognize even me, but she would hold my hand while i sat next to her so that her arm could be free from restraints. Speech was difficult, and she asked the same questions repeatedly. She could not remember the answers for more that a few minutes. They had shaved half of her head for the surgery. Staples made a jagged line from her forehead to behind her left ear. The right side of her mouth drooped slightly.
She tried to get out of bed to go pee, not understanding what a foley catheter was and why she had that. Stickers on her chest with wires to monitor her heart. She would feel for things with her left hand and bring them up to her eye to look at it.
"What is that?" was a common question.
"Where am I?"
"Why?"
"I want to go home. Take me home."
She was like a little girl again. She had her temper tantrums just like when she was a small child. She threatened to beat me up when she would not get her way with me. That was when she was not calling me Mom.
"Mom, where am I?"
"Mom, why am I here?"
"Mom, untie this for me."
I would tell her, "I am not mom, I am Tomasina."
"No you're not." would be her angry response.
"Why do you say that?"
Then other times she would not recognize me at all.
David would come up to the hospital, and I would leave for short whiles. Then Daryl would be angry because I had not stayed. Friends from work would visit her, but she did not know who they were. One person she recongized was the friend who went to the emergency room with us that one night. Daryl remembered that this friend told the doctor she did drugs. She would have nothing more to do with this woman. She banned her from her life.
In the private room, she did not require restraints anymore, but she still needed constant supervision. Her memory was very slow to return. She required therapy to help her to walk again, but her right leg would drag behind her slightly, and her right arm would sag to her side.
They placed her in the extended care facility for further therapy, when she no longer needed to stay in the hospital, but was not strong enough to go home.
When she was here, I brought her son to visit. Sadly, she did not remember him. It was hard to watch him talk to his mom and she would say to me, "Who is this kid?" She wanted me to take him away, until I finally convinced her that he was her son.
The next day, she questioned me.
"I have a son?"
"Yes Daryl, you have a son."
"When did I have a son?"
"You adopted him Daryl. It was final when he turned 5."
"I have a son?"
Confusion twisted her face each time she asked me this question. Even when she came to my home on her release, she could still not remember the son she had cared for since his birth. He was now 10 years old.
The doctors wanted her to go to a skilled home where her therapy would continue. She required speech, physical and occupational therapy. She refused to go to the facility, because it would take her farther from her home. She was beginning to remember some things, but she had such a short term memory she forgot what she remembered much quicker. After multiple visits from her friends, she would finally remember their names and how she knew them.
She understood that she would not be able to return to work for a long time.
"But I am going back to work." She would tell me that often, though she could not remember what type of work she did.
During the first few days of all this, I had to acquire legal guardianship for her. I had to have the legal right to sign papers for her, pay her bills, request past pay checks, fill out social security disablitly forms. Anything she normally would have done. When she found out this, she became so irate, that she had lost her "freedom". She could not see it as my helping her to get back on her feet. She argued with me every time I saw her. She would demand that I give up the guardianship. She would not listen when I tried to explain that the guardianship more or less just ended. The judge set a time limit on how long I could be her guardian, and to renew it if needed, I would have to return to court.
Her financial life had become a tangle of unpaid bills that needed to be taken care of. She was behind in her rent, so I had to pack her things and put them into storage. She was so angry that I could not keep her home. Why she could not go back and live in it. We argued about money that she didn't have. David helped me to pay some of her bills and the storage fees.
When they released her from the extended care facility, I brought her to my home. Her son had already been living here. Her room was upstairs because that was all I had available except to put her in the living room. She was able to take the stairs with some difficulty, but due to my worries, David came and put a bannister onto the staircase. It was a great improvement in helping her to get up and downstairs. My son Timothy happened to visit at this time, and he built a porch out the back door so that it would be easier for Daryl to come in and out of the house.
So began our lives with Daryl.
to be cont'd
Most times, she would not recognize even me, but she would hold my hand while i sat next to her so that her arm could be free from restraints. Speech was difficult, and she asked the same questions repeatedly. She could not remember the answers for more that a few minutes. They had shaved half of her head for the surgery. Staples made a jagged line from her forehead to behind her left ear. The right side of her mouth drooped slightly.
She tried to get out of bed to go pee, not understanding what a foley catheter was and why she had that. Stickers on her chest with wires to monitor her heart. She would feel for things with her left hand and bring them up to her eye to look at it.
"What is that?" was a common question.
"Where am I?"
"Why?"
"I want to go home. Take me home."
She was like a little girl again. She had her temper tantrums just like when she was a small child. She threatened to beat me up when she would not get her way with me. That was when she was not calling me Mom.
"Mom, where am I?"
"Mom, why am I here?"
"Mom, untie this for me."
I would tell her, "I am not mom, I am Tomasina."
"No you're not." would be her angry response.
"Why do you say that?"
Then other times she would not recognize me at all.
David would come up to the hospital, and I would leave for short whiles. Then Daryl would be angry because I had not stayed. Friends from work would visit her, but she did not know who they were. One person she recongized was the friend who went to the emergency room with us that one night. Daryl remembered that this friend told the doctor she did drugs. She would have nothing more to do with this woman. She banned her from her life.
In the private room, she did not require restraints anymore, but she still needed constant supervision. Her memory was very slow to return. She required therapy to help her to walk again, but her right leg would drag behind her slightly, and her right arm would sag to her side.
They placed her in the extended care facility for further therapy, when she no longer needed to stay in the hospital, but was not strong enough to go home.
When she was here, I brought her son to visit. Sadly, she did not remember him. It was hard to watch him talk to his mom and she would say to me, "Who is this kid?" She wanted me to take him away, until I finally convinced her that he was her son.
The next day, she questioned me.
"I have a son?"
"Yes Daryl, you have a son."
"When did I have a son?"
"You adopted him Daryl. It was final when he turned 5."
"I have a son?"
Confusion twisted her face each time she asked me this question. Even when she came to my home on her release, she could still not remember the son she had cared for since his birth. He was now 10 years old.
The doctors wanted her to go to a skilled home where her therapy would continue. She required speech, physical and occupational therapy. She refused to go to the facility, because it would take her farther from her home. She was beginning to remember some things, but she had such a short term memory she forgot what she remembered much quicker. After multiple visits from her friends, she would finally remember their names and how she knew them.
She understood that she would not be able to return to work for a long time.
"But I am going back to work." She would tell me that often, though she could not remember what type of work she did.
During the first few days of all this, I had to acquire legal guardianship for her. I had to have the legal right to sign papers for her, pay her bills, request past pay checks, fill out social security disablitly forms. Anything she normally would have done. When she found out this, she became so irate, that she had lost her "freedom". She could not see it as my helping her to get back on her feet. She argued with me every time I saw her. She would demand that I give up the guardianship. She would not listen when I tried to explain that the guardianship more or less just ended. The judge set a time limit on how long I could be her guardian, and to renew it if needed, I would have to return to court.
Her financial life had become a tangle of unpaid bills that needed to be taken care of. She was behind in her rent, so I had to pack her things and put them into storage. She was so angry that I could not keep her home. Why she could not go back and live in it. We argued about money that she didn't have. David helped me to pay some of her bills and the storage fees.
When they released her from the extended care facility, I brought her to my home. Her son had already been living here. Her room was upstairs because that was all I had available except to put her in the living room. She was able to take the stairs with some difficulty, but due to my worries, David came and put a bannister onto the staircase. It was a great improvement in helping her to get up and downstairs. My son Timothy happened to visit at this time, and he built a porch out the back door so that it would be easier for Daryl to come in and out of the house.
So began our lives with Daryl.
to be cont'd
Wednesday, August 26, 2009
oh to learn to edit before posting!!
it looks like i should do this in a draft first or in word then copy and paste it. i just read what i had written last night, and it was horrible. i could not believe what i had "turned loose" for others to read. it has now been edited. i think i will not "post" something before proof reading it again, lol.
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