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
Sunday, December 6, 2009
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.
Tuesday, August 25, 2009
I Am My Sisters Keeper
i am my sisters keeper, but i have been slacking on that job lately. who is to say what the responsibilities of this job are though?
the sister i am supposed to keep is one year younger than i am. daryl anne. never forget the e please. she has told everyone who needed her name for anything, "that is Anne with an E", for all of her life. well, at least since she started speaking.
daryl was born one year and one week after me. we celebrated our birthdays together because it was easier for mom to do one party. as a parent now, i understand that, but as a child i always wanted my own party. daryl did get her own party, but that is daryl. when we had our parties together, whatever gift i got was automatically hers too.
mom raised us as twins and people thought we were twins. i hated that. our clothes matched most times. if there was a color choice, it was given to daryl, hterefore i always had to wear pink. i never got the blue dress, or the blue blouse. when daryl's breasts started developing before mine, i had to wear a bra because she would not wear one other wise.
though she was a year younger than me, and even a premature baby, she was bigger than me, and always beat the crap out of me. i remember the three older kids; ramona, david and me, holding daryl down to give her medication to calm her down. it was a pale green liquid that smelled pepperminty. that was in the days before the word hyperactive was used, which has since become ADD. mom would take the dropper and put the medicine into her mouth, which daryl would then to spit out all over who ever was nearest to her face.
it was almost routine for daddy to come home after work and take his belt to her. it made no matter if she had misbehaved that day or not. the beating was for something she might have done that he might not be aware of. the beatings were because "she was too much like him".
i hated when he came home because of that. i would hide myself and cover my ears so i would not hear the belt hitting it's mark. so i would not hear her crying out to stop. today, that would be called child abuse. then it was discipline.
daryl was and still is a vain person. she would not wear anything that had a hole in it, and since we shared clothes, i always got the ones that did have the holes. you had to tell her how pretty she was. she would drink a small glass of apple cider vinegar every day because someone told her it would make her skin beautiful. she would brush her hair forever, then slick it back into a ponytail, so tight we told her that she would look like she was a chinese girl one day. this was all before she was twelve years old even. it got worse after that.
one day, she was combing her hair back into a ponytail. the rubber bands we used to tie our hair back were the thin green ones that came on the newspaper. if they broke, you knotted them and used them again. one day, daryl broke her rubber band and it was too tiny to tie back together. it was no longer than the small i in this font type. she insisted that i tie it while she was holding her hair back into the ponytail. when i informed her it could not be done, she told me to do it or she would beat the crap out of me. well, it couldn't be done, so i told her to go ahead and beat the crap out of me. she pushed me back onto the bed and started punching on me. i was tired of fighting with her, to only lose, so i just lay there to let her get it out of her system. she yelled at me to fight back. i yelled at her no i wouldn't. she kept hitting me and yelling to fight back and i again said no, then she stopped. she told me, it was no fun to fight with me if i was not going to fight back. from that day on, she went and fought with david instead.
if i had only known!! i would have stopped fighting her years before.
when christmas came, we usually got identical presents. from teary dearie to barbie dolls. daryl would take her toys and put them away. boxed up like brand new, in this long file cabinet drawer, that only she could touch. then she would play with my toys. when my toys were no longer useful to her, she would bring all of her toys out. we would all sit on the back porch at her demands, and she would put on a show for us. she would display her toys on the steps, and we were to ooh and ahh over them.
i think the last time we got identical toys was the year that mom and dad bought us dolls that were not babies, but more like toddlers. ramona got the brunette doll, daryl got the blonde doll, and i got the redhead doll. i could not believe that i had gotten the doll i actually wanted! i loved that doll. i kept her hid under my pillow and would sleep with her every night. one day i went to get her, and found that all of her hair had been cut off. daryl was so jealous that i did not mind having this very doll, that she cut off her hair to punish me for liking the doll.
to this day, daryl still has many of the toys that she received when she was a child. she never had a daughter to give them to, but then i wonder, would she have given them to anyone else?
while in highschool, daryl got into drugs. her friends were not my friends and after i graduated, we had a falling out. when i became pregnant, daryl was even more cruel to me. she threatened harm to me and my unborn baby. mom feared for me, so she sent me to live with her sister in florida. i was gone for about 4 months when they must have gotten some type of help for her, as i was allowed to come home and she did not bother me.
when she got her GED after dropping out of highschool, she went to work for the state, and got her own place. after daddy passed on, she moved from our small town of pana to springfield, the capital of illinois. she made good money for such a young person, but she still had a problem with drugs, and began dealing them.
association between daryl and me was pretty much nil by this time. she would come to visit me and my children occasionally. she was good and normally "clean" when she visited.
now i should tell all, i was not perfect in the drug situation either. i had married a drug dealer, so i learned how to smoke marijuana during that time, but daryl was doing drugs other than that. when my last child was born, the drugs stopped on my part, and i did not allow my husband to deal drugs anymore for fear that he might be caught and arrested, therefore, i would lose my children.
when my last child was born, i left illinois and went to florida for two years. when i returned, there was no association with daryl. during this time, she got breast cancer. i was not told. mom had moved to chicago with baby sister terry (who was not a baby at this time) and older sister ramona.
when i divorced, daryl helped me to make ends meet. things between daryl and i were a bit better. she helped me to get back onto my feet financially when i was on my own with four children. when i remarried, she was there. the nice daryl. i began working in springfield and i would visit her after work, but it did not last.
daryl caught her fiance in bed with another woman. she took some drugs and called me to tell me good bye. she was telling me what to do with all her belongings. "give the grandfathers clock to......" i don't know if i just forgot who she said, or just didnt hear it, but then she was telling me i could have her dolls. i drove 40 miles in a panic, hoping to get to her before she was beyond saving. i was a nurse. i had seen overdoses. i did not know what drugs she had taken. i did not know if she took enough to kill herself or was just crying out for attention.
it was such an array of confusion for me. the sister who i loved but hated was in so much pain she wanted to die. i must have called her fiance before i left home. this was in the days before cell phones. when i got there, the door was locked and i could not get in. did she get up to answer the door when i was pounding on it calling out her name? she must have, as no one else was there. she was groggy at first. when i insisted she go to the hospital, she refused. she lay on the sofa and told me, "just let me die". she refused assistance, and when i continued to insist on it, she demanded that i leave. she became her raging self at that moment. the horrid sister i remembered she could be. she demanded that i leave, she pushed me out the door. she called the police to make me leave. even though i told them that she had ingested drugs to kill herself, they still made me leave her.
by this time, her fiance had come. she told the police to arrest me. she told me to leave and never bother her again. the police escorted me to my car, and i went home. i was through with her.
then mom was dying.
i don't know exactly how many years this was after the suicide incident, but it was several. there was no contact between me and daryl. it may have been about 5 years. i had just moved out of the house from my second marriage and was settling into my new home. i received the call from ramona. mom was dying of liver cancer.
i rushed to moms bedside at the hospital in indiana. a 5 or 6 hour drive. how fast can you rush when the distance is so great? i feared that mom would die before i arrived. other family members were arriving. ramona and terry already being there. robbie from ohio and david from down by me in pana. and daryl. all of mothers children were there with her. one or two in the room at a time. mom suffering so. was it pain? we tried to make her comfortable, she kept turning back and forth in the bed. first to one side then to the other. reaching her arms out as she did. grasping at something that was not there. she would cry out, "i can't go. i want to fly away, but i can't go".
mom had alot of indian blood in her. she wanted to fly with the eagles to her resting ground, but she kept crying out that she could not go, she had to wait. i thought that she wanted permission from everyone that it was ok to go. that we would be fine if she were to leave, so i had each of my siblings go in to tell her it was ok to leave. in my nursing training, and years of experience, that is what i learned. many people will not pass until they are given permission.
they all thought i was crazy, but they went in and said their good byes. they gave her permission to pass over and fly with the eagles, and when i took my turn to say my good byes to her, she said to me, "i cannot go, i have to wait on her".
wait on her? "who do you have to wait on mom?" i asked her.
"daryl" was her answer.
"i have to wait on her because no one will take care of her".
in all the troubling times, and problems that this child had given our mom. the hateful things she said and did, mom knew something was going to happen, and mom could not leave her behind. so, on my mother's death bed, i promised her that we would take care of daryl. i told mom that she could pass over with the eagles, because daryl would be all right. nothing was going to happen to her.
when i said that, mom became quiet. she was no longer restless. they were able to move her from the icu into a private room where more persons could sit with her. the next day, in the afternoon, she left with the eagles.
i never told daryl what i told mom. i still hated the sister i loved. i spoke with her occasionally and even visited her, allowed her to visit me, but there was no closeness.
daryl called me one week to tell me that she thought she had a stroke. she said she was seeing a doctor and they ordered a cat scan for her. she was doing ok now. the next day she went to the hospital and had the test done. that night she called me because she was in so much pain, could i please come help her. when i arrived to her home, she was on the sofa in a dark room. her head hurt so bad she could not tolerate light. her neighbor helped me to get her into the car and to the hospital. her supposed best friend was there too, telling the emergency doctor the whole time that daryl did drugs. the doctor said the cat scan done earlier was negative. he gave her some demerol and when the pain eased up, sent her home.
i was now working in a nursing home in shelbyville. about 20 miles east of my home in pana. i was at work when i received the call. one of my daughters called me and told me, "ma, aunt daryl is in the emergency room, she had a seizure."
i immediately called the hospital and they would give me very little information. i finished what work i was doing at the time and informed my administrator i was leaving. it took me almost two hours to get to the hospital in springfield.
when i got there, she was still in the emergency room. she was comatose. a friend called the ambulance early in the morning hours because he had heard strange noises coming from her bedroom. upon checking her, he found her to be thrashing about in the bed, grunting. when the ambulance arrived, she was still having this seizure. they had to medicate her heavily to get the seizure to stop so they could transport her to the emergency department. the emergency room doctor told me that she had the seizure because of drugs. i was stupid to believe him.
then they found the bleed.
my sister daryl, had a major bleed from an aneurysm in her head. this caused her to have grand mal seizures, which they had to medicate her heavily to make them cease.
surgery would be required to repair this bleeding in her brain, but they could not do it today (friday) because she also had a heart attack. so they transferred her to the neurological floor. there i was able to read the records and the only drug she had in her system at that time, was the drug they had given her to stop the seizures that she was having. it had been greater than a week since she had done any other drug, and it may have been even greater than that, as she had stopped the drugs because one of her friends had been arrested, and she feared that he would turn her in and they would take her son.
daryl had talked to me about that some time before, it had just left my mind when all this was happening. but then, i could not be too sure she had told me the truth when she did tell me about it.
daryl lost use of her right side during the seizure. when she awoke, she of course tried to get out of bed. i had to literally sit on her to keep her in bed. i had to let her almost fall to get her to believe me that she could not stand up. i had to tolerate her beligerance because i was keeping her prisoner. she went from not knowing who i was one minute, to cursing me the next. she called me mom, more often than not. she pulled ivs out of her arms. we had to tie her to the bed. i stayed with her for three days. around the clock except for the short while my brother david came to stay with her while i went to her house and showered.
her son went home with my oldest daughter. her dog and birds with a friend.
late sunday, ramona and terry arrived, bringing their children, and made a party out of it. on monday, robbie got there too. no one wanted to sit with daryl for me to even leave the room to pee.
on monday, they decided her heart was well enough for the surgery.
they took her into surgery and of course it was a forever day. when the surgeon came out, she informed me that daryl had died when they brought her out the first time and they had to return her to surgery to stop another bleed. she was still in recovery at that time, but was now stable.
the family now moved to the icu waiting area, taking turns to see daryl. tuesday, everyone went home. it might have been wednesday. i do not have the best memory, and in stressful events, i lose track of time and days.
so here i am. my sisters keeper.
to be cont'd.
the sister i am supposed to keep is one year younger than i am. daryl anne. never forget the e please. she has told everyone who needed her name for anything, "that is Anne with an E", for all of her life. well, at least since she started speaking.
daryl was born one year and one week after me. we celebrated our birthdays together because it was easier for mom to do one party. as a parent now, i understand that, but as a child i always wanted my own party. daryl did get her own party, but that is daryl. when we had our parties together, whatever gift i got was automatically hers too.
mom raised us as twins and people thought we were twins. i hated that. our clothes matched most times. if there was a color choice, it was given to daryl, hterefore i always had to wear pink. i never got the blue dress, or the blue blouse. when daryl's breasts started developing before mine, i had to wear a bra because she would not wear one other wise.
though she was a year younger than me, and even a premature baby, she was bigger than me, and always beat the crap out of me. i remember the three older kids; ramona, david and me, holding daryl down to give her medication to calm her down. it was a pale green liquid that smelled pepperminty. that was in the days before the word hyperactive was used, which has since become ADD. mom would take the dropper and put the medicine into her mouth, which daryl would then to spit out all over who ever was nearest to her face.
it was almost routine for daddy to come home after work and take his belt to her. it made no matter if she had misbehaved that day or not. the beating was for something she might have done that he might not be aware of. the beatings were because "she was too much like him".
i hated when he came home because of that. i would hide myself and cover my ears so i would not hear the belt hitting it's mark. so i would not hear her crying out to stop. today, that would be called child abuse. then it was discipline.
daryl was and still is a vain person. she would not wear anything that had a hole in it, and since we shared clothes, i always got the ones that did have the holes. you had to tell her how pretty she was. she would drink a small glass of apple cider vinegar every day because someone told her it would make her skin beautiful. she would brush her hair forever, then slick it back into a ponytail, so tight we told her that she would look like she was a chinese girl one day. this was all before she was twelve years old even. it got worse after that.
one day, she was combing her hair back into a ponytail. the rubber bands we used to tie our hair back were the thin green ones that came on the newspaper. if they broke, you knotted them and used them again. one day, daryl broke her rubber band and it was too tiny to tie back together. it was no longer than the small i in this font type. she insisted that i tie it while she was holding her hair back into the ponytail. when i informed her it could not be done, she told me to do it or she would beat the crap out of me. well, it couldn't be done, so i told her to go ahead and beat the crap out of me. she pushed me back onto the bed and started punching on me. i was tired of fighting with her, to only lose, so i just lay there to let her get it out of her system. she yelled at me to fight back. i yelled at her no i wouldn't. she kept hitting me and yelling to fight back and i again said no, then she stopped. she told me, it was no fun to fight with me if i was not going to fight back. from that day on, she went and fought with david instead.
if i had only known!! i would have stopped fighting her years before.
when christmas came, we usually got identical presents. from teary dearie to barbie dolls. daryl would take her toys and put them away. boxed up like brand new, in this long file cabinet drawer, that only she could touch. then she would play with my toys. when my toys were no longer useful to her, she would bring all of her toys out. we would all sit on the back porch at her demands, and she would put on a show for us. she would display her toys on the steps, and we were to ooh and ahh over them.
i think the last time we got identical toys was the year that mom and dad bought us dolls that were not babies, but more like toddlers. ramona got the brunette doll, daryl got the blonde doll, and i got the redhead doll. i could not believe that i had gotten the doll i actually wanted! i loved that doll. i kept her hid under my pillow and would sleep with her every night. one day i went to get her, and found that all of her hair had been cut off. daryl was so jealous that i did not mind having this very doll, that she cut off her hair to punish me for liking the doll.
to this day, daryl still has many of the toys that she received when she was a child. she never had a daughter to give them to, but then i wonder, would she have given them to anyone else?
while in highschool, daryl got into drugs. her friends were not my friends and after i graduated, we had a falling out. when i became pregnant, daryl was even more cruel to me. she threatened harm to me and my unborn baby. mom feared for me, so she sent me to live with her sister in florida. i was gone for about 4 months when they must have gotten some type of help for her, as i was allowed to come home and she did not bother me.
when she got her GED after dropping out of highschool, she went to work for the state, and got her own place. after daddy passed on, she moved from our small town of pana to springfield, the capital of illinois. she made good money for such a young person, but she still had a problem with drugs, and began dealing them.
association between daryl and me was pretty much nil by this time. she would come to visit me and my children occasionally. she was good and normally "clean" when she visited.
now i should tell all, i was not perfect in the drug situation either. i had married a drug dealer, so i learned how to smoke marijuana during that time, but daryl was doing drugs other than that. when my last child was born, the drugs stopped on my part, and i did not allow my husband to deal drugs anymore for fear that he might be caught and arrested, therefore, i would lose my children.
when my last child was born, i left illinois and went to florida for two years. when i returned, there was no association with daryl. during this time, she got breast cancer. i was not told. mom had moved to chicago with baby sister terry (who was not a baby at this time) and older sister ramona.
when i divorced, daryl helped me to make ends meet. things between daryl and i were a bit better. she helped me to get back onto my feet financially when i was on my own with four children. when i remarried, she was there. the nice daryl. i began working in springfield and i would visit her after work, but it did not last.
daryl caught her fiance in bed with another woman. she took some drugs and called me to tell me good bye. she was telling me what to do with all her belongings. "give the grandfathers clock to......" i don't know if i just forgot who she said, or just didnt hear it, but then she was telling me i could have her dolls. i drove 40 miles in a panic, hoping to get to her before she was beyond saving. i was a nurse. i had seen overdoses. i did not know what drugs she had taken. i did not know if she took enough to kill herself or was just crying out for attention.
it was such an array of confusion for me. the sister who i loved but hated was in so much pain she wanted to die. i must have called her fiance before i left home. this was in the days before cell phones. when i got there, the door was locked and i could not get in. did she get up to answer the door when i was pounding on it calling out her name? she must have, as no one else was there. she was groggy at first. when i insisted she go to the hospital, she refused. she lay on the sofa and told me, "just let me die". she refused assistance, and when i continued to insist on it, she demanded that i leave. she became her raging self at that moment. the horrid sister i remembered she could be. she demanded that i leave, she pushed me out the door. she called the police to make me leave. even though i told them that she had ingested drugs to kill herself, they still made me leave her.
by this time, her fiance had come. she told the police to arrest me. she told me to leave and never bother her again. the police escorted me to my car, and i went home. i was through with her.
then mom was dying.
i don't know exactly how many years this was after the suicide incident, but it was several. there was no contact between me and daryl. it may have been about 5 years. i had just moved out of the house from my second marriage and was settling into my new home. i received the call from ramona. mom was dying of liver cancer.
i rushed to moms bedside at the hospital in indiana. a 5 or 6 hour drive. how fast can you rush when the distance is so great? i feared that mom would die before i arrived. other family members were arriving. ramona and terry already being there. robbie from ohio and david from down by me in pana. and daryl. all of mothers children were there with her. one or two in the room at a time. mom suffering so. was it pain? we tried to make her comfortable, she kept turning back and forth in the bed. first to one side then to the other. reaching her arms out as she did. grasping at something that was not there. she would cry out, "i can't go. i want to fly away, but i can't go".
mom had alot of indian blood in her. she wanted to fly with the eagles to her resting ground, but she kept crying out that she could not go, she had to wait. i thought that she wanted permission from everyone that it was ok to go. that we would be fine if she were to leave, so i had each of my siblings go in to tell her it was ok to leave. in my nursing training, and years of experience, that is what i learned. many people will not pass until they are given permission.
they all thought i was crazy, but they went in and said their good byes. they gave her permission to pass over and fly with the eagles, and when i took my turn to say my good byes to her, she said to me, "i cannot go, i have to wait on her".
wait on her? "who do you have to wait on mom?" i asked her.
"daryl" was her answer.
"i have to wait on her because no one will take care of her".
in all the troubling times, and problems that this child had given our mom. the hateful things she said and did, mom knew something was going to happen, and mom could not leave her behind. so, on my mother's death bed, i promised her that we would take care of daryl. i told mom that she could pass over with the eagles, because daryl would be all right. nothing was going to happen to her.
when i said that, mom became quiet. she was no longer restless. they were able to move her from the icu into a private room where more persons could sit with her. the next day, in the afternoon, she left with the eagles.
i never told daryl what i told mom. i still hated the sister i loved. i spoke with her occasionally and even visited her, allowed her to visit me, but there was no closeness.
daryl called me one week to tell me that she thought she had a stroke. she said she was seeing a doctor and they ordered a cat scan for her. she was doing ok now. the next day she went to the hospital and had the test done. that night she called me because she was in so much pain, could i please come help her. when i arrived to her home, she was on the sofa in a dark room. her head hurt so bad she could not tolerate light. her neighbor helped me to get her into the car and to the hospital. her supposed best friend was there too, telling the emergency doctor the whole time that daryl did drugs. the doctor said the cat scan done earlier was negative. he gave her some demerol and when the pain eased up, sent her home.
i was now working in a nursing home in shelbyville. about 20 miles east of my home in pana. i was at work when i received the call. one of my daughters called me and told me, "ma, aunt daryl is in the emergency room, she had a seizure."
i immediately called the hospital and they would give me very little information. i finished what work i was doing at the time and informed my administrator i was leaving. it took me almost two hours to get to the hospital in springfield.
when i got there, she was still in the emergency room. she was comatose. a friend called the ambulance early in the morning hours because he had heard strange noises coming from her bedroom. upon checking her, he found her to be thrashing about in the bed, grunting. when the ambulance arrived, she was still having this seizure. they had to medicate her heavily to get the seizure to stop so they could transport her to the emergency department. the emergency room doctor told me that she had the seizure because of drugs. i was stupid to believe him.
then they found the bleed.
my sister daryl, had a major bleed from an aneurysm in her head. this caused her to have grand mal seizures, which they had to medicate her heavily to make them cease.
surgery would be required to repair this bleeding in her brain, but they could not do it today (friday) because she also had a heart attack. so they transferred her to the neurological floor. there i was able to read the records and the only drug she had in her system at that time, was the drug they had given her to stop the seizures that she was having. it had been greater than a week since she had done any other drug, and it may have been even greater than that, as she had stopped the drugs because one of her friends had been arrested, and she feared that he would turn her in and they would take her son.
daryl had talked to me about that some time before, it had just left my mind when all this was happening. but then, i could not be too sure she had told me the truth when she did tell me about it.
daryl lost use of her right side during the seizure. when she awoke, she of course tried to get out of bed. i had to literally sit on her to keep her in bed. i had to let her almost fall to get her to believe me that she could not stand up. i had to tolerate her beligerance because i was keeping her prisoner. she went from not knowing who i was one minute, to cursing me the next. she called me mom, more often than not. she pulled ivs out of her arms. we had to tie her to the bed. i stayed with her for three days. around the clock except for the short while my brother david came to stay with her while i went to her house and showered.
her son went home with my oldest daughter. her dog and birds with a friend.
late sunday, ramona and terry arrived, bringing their children, and made a party out of it. on monday, robbie got there too. no one wanted to sit with daryl for me to even leave the room to pee.
on monday, they decided her heart was well enough for the surgery.
they took her into surgery and of course it was a forever day. when the surgeon came out, she informed me that daryl had died when they brought her out the first time and they had to return her to surgery to stop another bleed. she was still in recovery at that time, but was now stable.
the family now moved to the icu waiting area, taking turns to see daryl. tuesday, everyone went home. it might have been wednesday. i do not have the best memory, and in stressful events, i lose track of time and days.
so here i am. my sisters keeper.
to be cont'd.
Tuesday, August 18, 2009
When Six Becomes Seven and Third Becomes Fourth
this is a photo of my mother when she was 18, and my father at the state fair in 1950
i was born the third child of six. there was two boys and four girls. now, i am the 4th child of seven.
you will never figure it out, so i will have to tell you the answer to the question that you are thinking. i can hear you.
"how did that happen? she cannot be the 4th child of seven. she just said she was the third child. you do not move to the 4th when another child comes into the family."
"how did that happen? she cannot be the 4th child of seven. she just said she was the third child. you do not move to the 4th when another child comes into the family."
well, this time, you do.
many, many moons ago, my parents were not married. my father had been married, and already had five children. my mother had been married and had one son, who was adopted by her parents, so she didn't have a son anymore, she had a brother instead. you may have figured this one out on your own, they were married, but not to each other.
ahhhhhhhhhhh, you see, i am from a strange world.
when my parents met, i do not really know. i do not know if my father was already divorced from his first wife, but my mother was divorced from her first husband. my father was 26 years older than my mother. he had one daughter that was also older than my mother, by one year. there were four girls and one boy in his first family.
are you with me?
now the story goes, as told to me by one of daddies first daughters, (lenora, she was his third daughter) mother and daddy had an illegitimate child somewhere back in the late 40's. that's the 1940's. it might have been 1950, but i am not really sure of the exact date. lenora said she went to the hospital to visit the baby. she was a teenager at the time. the nurse told her that the baby was born dead. the baby was three months premature and did not survive. lenora was not allowed to see the baby.
lenora told me that she did not believe this. that she believed that mom and daddy had given the baby away.
the summer of 1994, i became the 4th child of seven children. i received a phone call from a woman who told me she was my sister. we talked for hours. i do not remember the conversation, or if i believed her at that time. her name was louise.
the story louise told me was something like this:
"when i was born, they took me immediately from the hospital to the catholic orphanage. my adoptive mother was the nurse who helped to deliver me. i was very tiny because i was 3 months premature. i remained in the catholic orphange until i was 6 months old, then my mother adopted me. they also adopted a boy later. he was mean, but they loved him more. i could never do right by them because of my brother."
i had called my older sister, who now was not the oldest, and she said, "don't you remember mom talking about the baby that she had lost?"
um, no ramona, i don't remember that. if i had, do you think i would be asking you about this? there is another story on my feelings about ramona. someday i may write that one too.
louise led a life of abuse from her brother and her mother. she did say her father loved her and sometime before he died, he gave her the names of her real parents. she then did research and made calls to all the durbins in the area, where someone gave her my name and she called me.
by the time louise found us, both my mother and my father had already passed on. mom less than two years before. so i could not question either of them.
later the package with photos arrived at my home. any doubt i had that louise was not my sister was lifted. i was looking at photos in front of me which could have been of ramona, or my mother, or someone else in the family. photos of her daughter looked like photos of my daughter. this woman had to be my sister.
arrangements were made for me to meet her face to face. the week of easter in 1995, my at that time almost husband, myself, and my four children, drove from illinois to the farthest point of texas, almost mexico, to meet my sister.
when we arrived, it appeared no one was home. this was before we had cell phones, so no calls could be made to check. we knocked on the door with no answer. we walked around the house, finding no one, so we hung out in the yard, watching the cows in the pasture, waiting.
soon, i heard someone calling my name, and i turned from the fence. in the bright texas sun, i thought i was hallucinating. i had started to walk towards this woman who was calling my name, but i was dumfounded when i saw her face. my feet became frozen to the ground, and i could not even speak. i could only choke out a sob as this woman reached me and we grabbed each other in a hug.
who i saw coming towards me was my mother. the identical likness of her, except for my mothers long black hair. louise had thin, short black hair, but everything else was my mother. the stature of her body, her walk. the shape of her hands and the length of her fingers. the way she sat in a chair with her legs twisted up in a pretzel beneath her. when she held a cigarette, it was the same as mom.
finally i got over the shock of the first meeting. we were able to get past a past that we didn't have together. my family remained in texas for two weeks before we returned home, but i knew when i left, i was no longer the third born in the family. i was now the exact center.
Sunday, August 16, 2009
The Rest of the Story: The Pink Blanket
now i have gone and done it. i opened my secret place to the family. i will have to be careful what i put in the family folders now. lol
just want to add on to "the pink blanket" blog for now. to let all know what has become of that blanket that was put away for over ten years. my son Tim married a beautiful woman. Olivia. you gotta love her. together they had a beautiful son. the blanket of course was beyond use, so i had to think of a way to pass on the blanket that my son held onto for so many years.
what i did, was make Tim's new baby another blanket, and inserted the scrap pieces of his old one inside. i cannot find the pictures of the blanket by itself, but here is one of Joey sleeping on it.
this is joey being cocky before he even knew what cocky was. just like his daddy, he already knew how cute he was and began wooing the ladies right away.
and this is joey today. yup. still being a real womans man, lol.
and here is a poem i wrote to give to Olivia when i gave her the blanket with a few left over scraps.
Folds of Love
Inside the threads of this blanket
Are the threads of another
The one that wrapped a first born son
Whilst in the arms of his mother
The blanket torn and tattered
From use of nineteen years
Laid to rest inside a box
With a mothers tears
Beyond repair this blanket
Could not be tossed away
It yearned to wrap another child
It waited for the day
The rags of this old blanket
Placed tenderly inside
Two pieces of material
And stitched in place with pride
Now when you wrap your new child
Inside this blankets folds
You’ll wrap him in the folds of love
Made with new threads and with old
Inside the threads of this blanket
Are the threads of another
The one that wrapped a first born son
Whilst in the arms of his mother
The blanket torn and tattered
From use of nineteen years
Laid to rest inside a box
With a mothers tears
Beyond repair this blanket
Could not be tossed away
It yearned to wrap another child
It waited for the day
The rags of this old blanket
Placed tenderly inside
Two pieces of material
And stitched in place with pride
Now when you wrap your new child
Inside this blankets folds
You’ll wrap him in the folds of love
Made with new threads and with old
and that, is the rest of the story.
The Pink Blanket
One of the most joyous occasions in a woman’s life is the day she gives birth to a child. At least to most women it is. Tim is my second child. He came two weeks late on Dec. 12th. Three days before my fathers’ birthday.
It was early in the morning. Still a young woman, just out of my teens, I was so afraid. With the delivery of my first child less than two years before, in a not so professional manner, I was really scared. I was waiting for the doctor to bring in extra nurses to push the baby from my womb. I don’t think I was screaming so much from the delivery pain as from the fear of how this child would be born. This doctor didn’t do that though. He yelled at me to quit screaming and put that into pushing the baby out. I was shocked, but I did as he said, though I did throw in a few curses at this child to be born.
It is funny what things our mind chooses to remember. When I had my children, it was before the epidurals and sonograms and things of that sort that make delivery calm and collect these days. I had to depend on a shot in the bottom to relieve the pains I felt with each contraction. They didn’t allow your husband or mother into the delivery room to help calm your fears. Nor did you have these nice and cozy birthing rooms. You only had the cold room with the bright lights and some grouchy old nurse who had delivered baby Jesus and was still in practice to deliver your child too.
Then after he was born, they would not bring him to me to breast feed. Not right away. That poor child went over 5 hours with nothing because of their ignorance, and I was too young to understand or demand that they bring my child to me. I did not have anyone to ask questions of, or to go and check on my baby for me. The nurses would only tell me that the baby had to stay in the nursery because it was not time for him to be brought to me.
When I tried to breast feed him, my milk would not come in and he would vomit because he tried to eat too much to quench the hunger that he felt. When I put him onto formula bottles, he no longer vomited and began sleeping better.
Such a happy little boy he was. Always laughing and giggling. His little mouth could make the biggest smile. White blonde curls on his head. The darkest brown eyes you have ever seen.
He would not sleep anywhere but his own bed. Not even a little nap in my arms in the rocking chair. You had to lay him in his crib or the playpen for him to rest well.
We lived in a world before car seats and safety belts, and Tim would crouch down on the floorboard of the passenger side in the truck. That is where he would ride many times we went places, until we had a car. Then he would get down onto the floorboard in the back seat.
Someone had given me a baby comforter when I was pregnant. It was just a piece of pink material, folded over some cotton batting, with pieces of yarn to make little tucks into it. It made no matter to me the color of the blanket. Warmth of the child was what mattered. I wrapped this child in this blanket the day I brought him home with me, and I received it back from this same child when he left my arms to join the navy at the age of 19. It was no longer pink and fluffy, but dingy and gray, with the corners chewed off and repaired many a time. A tear that was non-repairable and batting that could never be held in with a piece of yarn again. I tucked it away in a box with other memories of my little baby born on a winter’s night.
It was early in the morning. Still a young woman, just out of my teens, I was so afraid. With the delivery of my first child less than two years before, in a not so professional manner, I was really scared. I was waiting for the doctor to bring in extra nurses to push the baby from my womb. I don’t think I was screaming so much from the delivery pain as from the fear of how this child would be born. This doctor didn’t do that though. He yelled at me to quit screaming and put that into pushing the baby out. I was shocked, but I did as he said, though I did throw in a few curses at this child to be born.
It is funny what things our mind chooses to remember. When I had my children, it was before the epidurals and sonograms and things of that sort that make delivery calm and collect these days. I had to depend on a shot in the bottom to relieve the pains I felt with each contraction. They didn’t allow your husband or mother into the delivery room to help calm your fears. Nor did you have these nice and cozy birthing rooms. You only had the cold room with the bright lights and some grouchy old nurse who had delivered baby Jesus and was still in practice to deliver your child too.
Then after he was born, they would not bring him to me to breast feed. Not right away. That poor child went over 5 hours with nothing because of their ignorance, and I was too young to understand or demand that they bring my child to me. I did not have anyone to ask questions of, or to go and check on my baby for me. The nurses would only tell me that the baby had to stay in the nursery because it was not time for him to be brought to me.
When I tried to breast feed him, my milk would not come in and he would vomit because he tried to eat too much to quench the hunger that he felt. When I put him onto formula bottles, he no longer vomited and began sleeping better.
Such a happy little boy he was. Always laughing and giggling. His little mouth could make the biggest smile. White blonde curls on his head. The darkest brown eyes you have ever seen.
He would not sleep anywhere but his own bed. Not even a little nap in my arms in the rocking chair. You had to lay him in his crib or the playpen for him to rest well.
We lived in a world before car seats and safety belts, and Tim would crouch down on the floorboard of the passenger side in the truck. That is where he would ride many times we went places, until we had a car. Then he would get down onto the floorboard in the back seat.
Someone had given me a baby comforter when I was pregnant. It was just a piece of pink material, folded over some cotton batting, with pieces of yarn to make little tucks into it. It made no matter to me the color of the blanket. Warmth of the child was what mattered. I wrapped this child in this blanket the day I brought him home with me, and I received it back from this same child when he left my arms to join the navy at the age of 19. It was no longer pink and fluffy, but dingy and gray, with the corners chewed off and repaired many a time. A tear that was non-repairable and batting that could never be held in with a piece of yarn again. I tucked it away in a box with other memories of my little baby born on a winter’s night.
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