Nothing is what I thought it would be. I thought after my mother passed, I would be freed of the memories of the past 7 years and remember her as my mother.
Not to be, Babalouie.
At first, I was grief-stricken and guilt-ridden. I didn't visit her in her final days. I didn't want to see what had happened to her--all the shrinkage and muscle wastage. The signs of the abuse I believed she received and I was powerless to stop.
And then, when I realized it was almost over--and making plans to visit--it was all over. She spared me the necessity of a final visit and the grief I would be riddled with when I saw what she had become.
She died, I believe, heartbroken. First Sam. Then me.
All she wanted was to be able to call me at 10PM. Brutal Betty. Beastly Betty harassed both her and me constantly. "We are looking after her health." Really--why is looking after her health antithetical to assisting her to call me when she will. In fact, after she started being harassed, she went downhill in rapid motion.
Up to the point where the aide broke her shoulder, she called me every night at 10PM. If I was going out, she told me to call her when I got back--no matter how late. Up until February, she would call me at 1AM--I would sometimes be just walking in. "Why didn't you call me." "Why can't you wait until I hang up my coat?"
When we couldn't do that anymore, she was heartbroken.
Brutal Betty the Beast was just concerned "she wasn't sleeping." Not that BBB broke her heart. That was the straw that broke the camel's back.
For two weeks, I couldn't walk out of the house without being stricken with tears. I was fatigued constantly. Why not--I slept not. I have 528square feet to call my own. My own--mortgage free at this time. A studio apartment. A box. Is this what my life will be always? If I die in my sleep--how long will it will be before I am missed? Autopay for maintenance. Autopay for phones. Autopay for the gym. How long indeed. Arbuthnot a day. I don't even have an Arbuthnot to not a day.
Two hours here, two hours there. Getting up at 8PM because--what was the point. The room was streaked with sunlight.
Then, from grief to anger and agitation. Anger at her--for making the wrong decisions over and over again. To not be. To lead a sedentary life. To allow the sarcopenia to gallop rampant. To decide to let her money drain to the assisted living and away from her children. Anger at myself. Why did I fail as a human being. She chose her life. How did I end up choosing this.
So that's where I am now. Anger. Agitation.
Exacerbated by financial ruin.