2010 (Part 2)

As my visit progressed, mom and I had a chance to visit quite a bit. I was shocked that she'd been caring for dad at her age--with the grueling schedule. Even with the home health care nurses, the demands of his physical care when they weren't around was truly unbelievable. It was a wake-up call that something had to be done. We made a decision that was extremely difficult. We began to talk about transferring dad to a full-time care facility. I know it crushed mom to do this but it was either this or the continuation of her gradually killing herself. My journal entry:

6/28/10
Mon. 7:12 AM

Dad's care is grueling. It's really a 24-hour a day job. If mom feels trapped, I can see why. Today, I woke at 6:30 because my stomach was bothering me. I have diarrhea. I took something for it but I feel generally pretty bad. I've a cough that won't go away. This has been going on for the past several weeks. 

I can see why mom gets so depressed. Frankly, however, I don't see how a week in Maryland will solve the ongoing dilemma--it's just too much work. It really is as though mom is working a full-time job at 87 years of age. It's just crazy. 

I'm not sure if dad's case is unusual but it appears he is in great "internal" physical health. He takes all of his medications on schedule (mom sees to that) and he eats well. His ambulatory and memory skills, however, are another story altogether. How this is dealt with every day is just amazing. It takes a great deal of patience. At times, I can see mom getting short with him. This is understandable given the day-in, day-out grueling chore that is his full-time care. He does not respond to her in a thankful way which really irritates her. I've reminded mom that this is still dad's personality we are dealing with here. He's never been a person inclined to such behavior. In this respect, dad behaves no differently than he has all his life.

11:30 PM

Mom and I spent a good deal of time going through family photographs this morning. It was a real pleasure to revisit some of the memories we barely scratched the surface of last visit. One of the great things about doing this is are the wonderful stories I hear about all the family members and friends. Also, seeing dear departed relatives is a bittersweet part of this ritual. The photographs are a way for me to tap my memory bank as well. 

Seeing dad losing more of his memory every day gives me a great deal of anxiety when I think of how this appears to be genetic. Physically, I am so much like dad. I've the same skin, same features. It's all kind of frightening when I think about living to old age. But...who knows? I've no guarantee of living to a certain age. I don't even have a guarantee of outliving my parents! Wouldn't that be a shocker? 

As I read all of these journal entries, I'm transported back to that summer. My personal life was in upheaval. The stress of my life in Texas was exacerbated by my increasing dependence on alcohol to numb the reality. This visit to Pennsylvania strengthened my resolve to put in motion my eventual relocation to Virginia to be closer to my parents. What I didn't know is that we would be losing dad in January of 2013. The last nearly two years of his life would be spent in a nursing facility about seven miles from the home that he loved. Mom diligently drove each day to be with him. She never wavered in her support for the man she loved and she took the vows of her marriage very seriously. I do think that if we hadn't taken the steps to get dad into the facility, mom would have eventually suffered physically. She was already quite worn down from the demands of his care. 

7/1/10

Thurs. 5:05 PM

Today was a challenging day. We were to take my dad to a town called Phillipsburg to get new hearing aids. We got a late start because he went to the bathroom in his pants before we left. The plus on this is that he didn't do it after we left. I was disturbed with a few things watching the events of the morning unfold. First, it is both unrealistic and dangerous to just assume that mom can handle this role anymore. It is an untenable situation. In this morning's case, the nurse (who had performed an excellent job in getting him ready) was already gone. If I hadn't been here, there is no way she could have done it on her own. How she has thus far is a huge mystery to me. Secondly, she is increasingly fragile in the mental sense. I can see not only a short temper, but a pervasive depression interspersed with signs of resignation. I feel it should be a number one priority to get her some professional help as soon as possible to deal with the overwhelming pressure that she is under. Third, I am concerned about mom's physical health. Though she continues to have stellar check-ups, she seems tired and weak at times. I'm having a hard time recognizing if these are physiological manifestations from all that she is doing or perhaps just normal signs of aging. Whatever the case, it's alarming to see her this way. The resentment toward my father is building, while at the same time, her fears that he will need to go to the nursing home are valid and need to be discussed. We can't move ahead until these issues are dealt with. I am also concerned about my physical health. I'm so tired since I've been here that I honestly am worried. I can barely keep my eyes open as I write this. I'm sitting in the sun on the patio. The weather is absolutely gorgeous. It's been in the 70s and there is a cool breeze. 

While mom was in Maryland with my sister during a week of the visit, I got a much clearer idea of what it took to care for my father each day. My sister eventually had the talk with mom in which it was decided that we move forward with his move to Elk Haven. It was a sad and emotional time for all of us. But it afforded me a new respect for my mother. She was simply amazing. I think this is one of the major reasons it was so easy to finally make the decision to move from Texas to eventually take care of her. I honestly think I was preparing for that even before we lost dad. To this day, I'm glad I made that decision. 

Mom walking toward the patio of her beloved home. Elk Avenue, Johnsonburg, Pennsylvania. July, 2010.

2010 (part 1)

2010 was an incredibly stressful year for me. Oh...who am I kidding? Every year since birth has been incredibly stressful. But...2010 gets special credit for being extra stressful. Of course, I was still drinking.

In late June of that year I flew to Pennsylvania (I was still living in Texas) for a three week stay with my aging parents. My visit the previous September concerned me. Dad's dementia was getting worse and my nearly daily phone conversations with mom were downright depressing. I was convinced she was killing herself taking care of my dad. I dreaded going back to the town of my youth. My alcoholic behavior included a great deal of selfishness. I would have been much happier--I figured--vacationing in a place where I could continue the big party that was my life in my mid-forties. I was journaling extensively however and this trip would be an added bonus as dad shared that he would like to have me record his story for posterity--particularly the story about his time in the Air Corps and his 1950 near-fatal car accident. I was happy to comply. Just keep the drinks coming.

Shortly after I arrived, I wrote this:

6-24-10
...I look at my dad and see me forty years from now--if I'm lucky enough to survive that long. He is in terrible shape. The dementia, Parkinson's Disease, fragile skin...all of it will be mine if I  can survive into my eighties. I certainly don't want to live my life depending on others. I think the incontinence is the worst. The inability to control one's own bowels or bladder has got to be the most humiliating part of it all. 

Later, same entry:

Mom's mind is as sharp as it's been since as far back as I can remember. She is active (very much so in regards to caring for dad) and with the exception of moving more slowly and some depression, she does surprisingly well for her age. I've been enjoying the time I spend with her and I'm sure we'll never see eye-to-eye on some things--but my relationship with her is solid and good. Of course, I love her. She's a good soul. More importantly, she's my mother. The only one I'll ever have. I really can see myself living on after she's gone but I feel that there will always be a void. Same holds true for dad. But with dad, I already feel it now. Dad's presence now is a shadow of what it used to be. Sometimes, when I'm talking with him, I can see his mind wandering to another place. I wonder where that place is. I wonder if he's aware of how much he's already slipped away. It makes me very sad. And of course, sometimes angry. Angry that I can't do anything about it.

Mom would be leaving in few days to spend a week with my sister and her husband in Maryland. I would be alone with dad--taking care of him. It would be the last time I would visit with my father while he was living at the house on Elk Avenue. Subsequent visits would take place in a nursing facility in a nearby town and a couple very brief visits to his beloved home at holiday time. It was disappointing that I couldn't get more of the "story" out of dad during this heart wrenching visit but I had some of the most wonderful conversations with mom. They were a precursor to the conversations we'd have when we would eventually live together just four years later.  Reading about those visits gives me strength now as I reach out to her and hope for messages through the spotting of a cardinal at the birdfeeder or get lucky reading something she'd written years ago that just happens to speak to me today.

Three weeks in June and July.

There's a lot to unpack there. But I'm packing right now. So this is just going to be part 1.

Kathy & Marilyn & Me

There were two pivotal events that stand out from 2001. One, of course, were the events of 9/11 and the total upheaval and sadness that enveloped the nation and permanently scarred our national psyche. The other was obscure to most of the rest of the world but wounded me permanently on a personal level. Almost a week to the day--and almost to the exact time--I lost a dear cousin to cancer. She was so much more than my first cousin, however. She was my friend--and oftentimes, my surrogate mother.

We had drifted apart in the intervening years. She married and divorced during that time and although we kept in touch by phone and reconnected at various family functions, we weren't as close as we'd once been. I always knew she was just a phone call away, however. Her name was Kathy and she was an angel.

Being gay in a small town in the 1970s wasn't easy. When I first moved to Texas after graduating high school, I thought I could live a bit more "openly" but quickly found out that the world wasn't as accepting as I thought it would be. Also, the age of AIDS was dawning so any coolness that a gay identity may have had for me during the disco days of the 70s had evaporated like precious drops of water on asphalt in the hot Texas sun. I lived with an aunt and uncle in a suburb of Fort Worth and began to attend a small community college within walking distance. That aunt and uncle were Kathy's parents. Although I confided what was then my dark secret with my aunt, things unraveled quickly when my uncle found out. I was ordered out of their house when the semester was finished. Of course they knew that it meant I would need to move back to Pennsylvania as I had no real means of supporting myself. I was--at that time--working at a fried chicken shack, the kind one finds on just about every street corner in north central Texas. When the semester was over, I changed course. I found a roommate and a new job and, much to my aunt and uncle's and parents disgust, decided to stay on in Texas. That only lasted until November, when my crazy roommate and I parted ways and I found myself in a predicament. Tail between my legs, I went running home to mom and dad and the small town from which I had so desperately wanted to escape. I was by that time eighteen and my future didn't look very bright at all.

I stayed on with mom and dad with no real direction and, after a brief flirtation with joining a religious order in New York, accepted an offer to go back to Texas and try again--this time with a dear friend who was about to be married. She offered for me to stay with she and her soon-to-be husband. I jumped at the chance. In June, I was back in Fort Worth and my friend Natalie was happy to have me there. With an almost gleeful attitude, I drove her car over to my aunt's house and, with my new Madonna cassette blaring on the car stereo, expressed how happy I was to be back. We were still quite a bit at odds and the look of disgust on her face pleased me. It just so happened that my cousin Kathy, who lived in the neighboring town of Arlington, was visiting her mom at that moment. "Tom," she said, "why don't you come live with me? I've got an extra room. You'd get a job in Arlington in no time!" Aunt Bernice looked disapproving and that inspired me. Well, it sounded good. I knew she'd go easy on me regarding money until I found a job and my friend Natalie didn't mind. About a week later, Natalie and Dave were dropping me off at the little house on Pilant Street where my cousin and her teenage son lived. It wasn't long before I did in fact get a job flipping burgers. I was happy to have found a new home. Kathy was about as open and accepting as a person could be and she embraced me just as I was.

What followed were some of the happiest memories I have of my early years in Texas. Of course, none of it would have been possible if not for Kathy. She supported me emotionally during that time and all the while doing a damn good job of being a single mother to a teenage boy as well. I came of age in that little house. I can picture it perfectly just closing my eyes. I met my first (what I thought) "true love" while living there and Kathy comforted me after the inevitable breakup. I can't possibly forget her wise advice. "Tom, I know it hurts. Believe me, I've been there. But you'll get through this and you'll be happy again. Just wait." She was so fucking practical. Her cheerfulness just added to it. Everything she said was both practical and cheerful at the same time. One couldn't help but be infected by it. We both loved Marilyn Monroe. We shared deep conversations about everything under the sun--very often infused with the deep contemplation that comes from good weed. Yes, we shared that too. I think she may have been the coolest confidant I ever had.

Of course, it had to end. I finally got serious enough about a guy to try a place of my own with him. It ended disastrously and Kathy was right there...helping me pick up the pieces. Years rolled on with the usual ebbs and flows of life. Mine seemed to thrive on drama while Kathy finally found what seemed like contentment in a relationship with a guy she married--who would eventually break her heart. In the intervening years, when we'd visit, we'd always pick up right where we'd left off. I'd bring her a copy of the latest find from a bookstore--usually Marilyn related. We'd catch up and be on our separate ways. Then...

It was my mother who called me. From Pennsylvania. Kathy was in the hospital. Her cancer had returned and it didn't look good. She told me that I needed to be with her. Yes, even mom knew how important Kathy was to my life. No current drama could obscure that fact. I needed to be with her. I went to the hospital and there she was...looking like a concentration camp survivor--but with that incredible smile and infectious cheer. "Tom, you need to go over to the house and get that Marilyn statue. I want you to have it." I never did get it. At that point, all I cared about was being there with her. She eventually went back to that same house where I'd had it out with her now deceased parents all those years ago--to their old bedroom where my relatives and hospice cared for her until she died.

I'll never forget you, Kathy. You made a difference in my life.

Kathy in 1985. Hurst, Texas

Me with friend in the only photo I have of Kathy's kitchen. July, 1985.

Kathy's wedding announcement. Found among my mother's things.

Thomas Boylan · Kathymarilynme.WAV