More Tales from the Dark Side...

:: deep cleansing breath ::

I liken my memories of last week's events like the fast whir of the outside scenery outside from inside a moving train. Like when you are in a subway train and the posters and concrete wall swoosh by fast and silent. It seemed like an eternity while I was down there, though. Sunday couldn't arrive soon enough, yet the events unfolded so rapidly and so erratically.

I suppose I should start from the very beginning of the ordeal...start where I left off as it were.

So, after a long night of preparation and little sleep, I dragged myself out of bed the next day and began to gather my things and put them in the car. Miss Kitty had been sleeping on my suitcase all night and was slinking about in a rather agitated state. She knew I was about to leave her again and she was sad. I was sad. I dreaded what lay ahead. The long monotonous unknowing journey to see a woman for who I had little, if any, regard. Had it not been for my grandmother's pleas, I would not have gone.

Funny story. I stopped at a neighborhood gas station on my way out of town. I pulled up and parked my car at a pump, got out and was about to start the transaction when a creepy, greasy, snaggle tooth little old man snuck up behind me and said "You have to pay before you pump, you know." I turned around and looked at him. He was standing there with a fist full of cash looking up at me with this rather impish grin. I could tell he wasn't quite right. I dismissed him and simply said, "Yeah, I'm using a credit card." He smiled and retreated to the truck that I now noticed was parked behind me. I focused my attention on pumping the gas and chuckled to myself. "You gotta pay before you pump..." struck me as quite ironic and funny. GET IT? HA!

All gased up, I hit the open highway with my trusty iPod to keep me company.
The actual trip down there went as it usually does. Hours and hours of mind numbing highway intermingled with a few phone calls to break things up. I had ample time to think about a lot of things going on at the time as I listened to the music blare. One album in particular struck a deep chord with me, Fearless by Jazmine Sullivan. It was as if she knew all the same pain and strife that I did. A kindred spirit in womanly heartache and pain. As I drew closer to my hometown and the awaiting doom, I played one song "Lions, Tigers & Bears" over and over again and I wept for many miles listening to it and reveled in the lyrics she sang so soulfully. I was and still am afraid to love. I never learned how. That's something you learn, isn't it?




Another song that perfectly illustrated my station in life at that time was "My Foolish Heart" by Jazmine Sullivan. Story of my life. Unrequited love or what I thought was love. Obviously, I don't know what it is and I cried for fear that I never would know. I hadn't heard from him in a week again. William, the second. He did it to me again and I felt so low and undesirable. Wounded and I knew better, but I couldn't help how I felt.



8 hours of driving, thoughts, regrets, fear and tears, I arrived at the hospital where she was again. I parked and slammed the car door as I exited and headed for the hospital entrance. I was pissed. I didn't want to see her again. I had nothing to say and I felt nothing for her, but my brother was there and I knew he needed me. I called my brother to get the hospital room and composed myself on the way up. I steeled myself.

My brother had just left to take his kids to their football & cheerleading practices. So, I was left alone with her.

Entering her room, she lay there looking pitiful. Just as she had planned all along. I was pissed. I knew right away this was all a ploy. "MY BIRTHDAY! SHE WANTED ME TO COME HOME FOR MY BIRTHDAY and I wouldn't so she threw a big fucking hissy fit and made herself sick.", that's what went through my mind as I stood there next to her bed. She gestured at some lip balm on the hospital tray and ordered me to put some on her lips. I complied. Then, she requested a sip of water and I held the cup up to her lips so she could sip. Then, she wanted me to cut up some dill pickle into small pieces making sure to remove the skin and feed them to her. I complied. I remember feeling disgust and I placed the small chunks on her lecherous tongue and watched her suck and gnaw at it like a lizard. Soon, a nurse entered and took her vitals and did what nurses do. I sat quietly and cast on for an afghan with some stash yarn I brought with me. Nothing spectacular, just something to pacify me. I noticed she hadn't touched her dinner tray. She hadn't been eating. The nurse left and came back in holding a protein shake and begged her to drink it. He held the cup to her lips and she sipped and took furtive glances over at me. I knit and fumed...I knew what was about to happen. The nurse informed her that her blood sugar was low and that she had to eat something. Just so happens that they had come to take her uneaten tray of food away a few minutes earlier. They looked at me and I said, "Alright. Well, what would you like to eat, ma? I'll run and go get you something." She thought for a minute and said, "I want some Taco Bell. You know a taco salad with sour cream and..." The nurse looked relieved. I hadn't even been there 30 minutes yet, fresh off of an 8 hour trip and I was back in the car again to fetch her something to eat. Just like old times! I picked up my purse and my knitting bag and left. Getting back into the car, I started the engine, let out a great sigh, blared my angry music and drove to the one Taco Bell in town that made the salad just the way she liked. Swiftly returning to the hospital, I noticed the nurse kneeling beside my mother's bed as she sat with the "big air" oxygen mask on her face. I didn't think anything of it....taking both my bags down with me to the car, but unbeknownst to me at the time, she had launched into yet another hysteric fit while I was gone thinking I had abandoned her like before. I placed her food on her table and began to lay everything out just how she liked it. The nurse was relieved to see I had returned. She had told him how I left her before and how she was afraid I wasn't coming back. My face burned with rage and embarrassment, but I restrained myself and sat back down with only my knitting bag this time. I explained that I wanted to leave one of my bags in the car that's all. I was back. No harm no foul. She began to eat and I could see that she was letting go of the pitiful act she had been feigning and was returning to her normal selfish self. She grabbed that spork and began to shovel the food down like it she was snorting a line of cocaine. I starred blankly at the tv and knit. Soon, she began to talk in that weak tortured voice she has now. She wanted to talk about why I had abandoned her. She wanted to know what she had done. I grimaced and simply said I wasn't ready to talk about it. How could I? I knew that she'd fly into hysterics again and they'd have to run in there with a crash cart or something. I refused to talk about it. I couldn't. I wouldn't. She probed and prodded and begged and I stood solid. Resolute not to divulge my most inner feelings about the woman I hated. Why bother. She would never understand or care anyway.

It was time for Monday Night football. Finally, something to look forward to. My brother had returned and we all sat in the room and watched tv for a while. Intermittently speaking. It was awkward to say the least. Knowing but not willing to talk about the big BLACK elephant in the room. I could see that my brother was absolutely exhausted. He hadn't slept in over 36 hours I think. He'd been up all night driving and had been at the hospital and running errands and seeing after our grandmother, his kids and ex wife all day. I told him to go home and rest. I'd stay at the hospital with her and keep her company for the rest of the night. He was relieved and left us. I knit and glanced up at the tv from time to time. She nodded off to sleep here and there and made small talk. I grunted a few words here and there, but mainly just knit.

Soon, it was 11:30 PM and I was completely drained. I said good night and informed her that my brother wouldn't be coming back that night to sleep in that uncomfortable hospital recliner. He had been up for so long that it wasn't safe for him to drive. She didn't say anything. I made the short drive to the house where they lived, my mom and my grandmother, Nanny. My brother answered the door. He was sleep walking basically. He grumbled something about going back to the hospital and I admonished him to go back to sleep that she would be ok. "I told her you're not coming back tonight. I told her you haven't slept in 36 hours." He looked relieved and flopped back onto the sofa where he had crashed earlier.

I peeked in on my grandmother. She was fast asleep. I found my way to the room, my mom's old bedroom, where I would sleep. I closed the door behind me, turned off the light and fell into bed. I lay there looking up at the moonlit window above me and drifted off to sleep.

The next day, I woke to a flurry of activity. I managed to sleep in a little late, 9 AM and my brother was off to run errands and take my mother some breakfast. I called his mobile to make sure he called to get her breakfast order. I knew all too well that she had already made up her mind exactly what she wanted earlier that night. I got myself composed and sat in the living room and talked to my grandmother for a while. I had to get the real story of what happened that weekend. She let out a deep sigh and began to recount the events of that weekend.

She explained that my mother was upset that I chose not to come home that previous Sunday. The day after my birthday. My mother had called me that Sunday morning and I told her rather plainly that I WAS NOT was coming down that day. She cried and said, "WHY YOU DOING ME LIKE THIS! I told folks you were coming home. They are expecting you to be here." I had no response other than to say I was tired. I hung up the phone. Then, my aunt and uncle called and asked if I would be going home. I said, "NO! I don't feel like it." Apparently, my mom had been calling and crying to my aunt who in turn lamented to my uncle who in turn called me to no avail. So, that prompted my mom to as we say down South "throw a fit". Nanny said that she has been unbearable all day and managed to make her nerves bad enough that her heart rate raced up into the 200 bpm. Interestingly enough, my mom had instructed my grandmother to pack her hospital bag and call 911. Then, as they were loading her into the ambulance, Nanny said that my mom saw a car similar to mine drive by and asked the EMT if that was her daughter driving up. Nanny went on to recount how miserable and mean my mother had become and how badly she had treated her. How tired and worn down she was and that she was happy that we came to see about our mother. She told me that the previous morning when she and my brother arrived at her hospital room that my mother had another "fit" and they had to bring in a crash cart to settle her down. I sat and shook my head. I looked at my grandmother and said, "So, this whole mess is because I didn't want to come down here for my birthday!?" She looked at me then at the ground and said, "Well, you know how she is...if she don't get her way..." Tears began to well up in my eyes and my face burned and my stomach turned and I wanted to burst into a million pieces. How much can you hate one person? I told her that the reason I left was because I had a breakdown. I lost it. I didn't know what to do and I knew I had to escape. My grandmother nodded. She said she had never seen me like that. EVER. but, she knew what her own daughter was capable of. How she can drive someone completely insane. My eyes teared up as I blurted out how I was the one that raised my little brother. How my mother never cared about us. How she left us to fend for ourselves. I was the strong one. The one that never asked anyone for anything EVER! My grandmother nodded. She remembered how when I was only 19 I purchased my own car by myself and how I put myself through college and never asked anyone for a penny. She contrasted that with my mother who never took responsibility for anything. Never saved her money, never really made anything of her life. She said how proud she had always been of my accomplishments and even though I left in such a flurry of emotion that she knew I was strong and that I'd be ok.

My grandmother and I lingered a while and talked and caught up on recent affairs. It was nearing noon and I knew she would want to eat again. I called my brother to see what she wanted to eat. This time it was pizza. I wanted to run by Taco Bell and get one of those taco salads for myself, then I would have to run across town to get the pizza. She was trying to make me remember where this particular pizza place was and I heard my brother in the background say "I know where it is mama, I'll go get it." Then, she added that she wanted a chocolate shake from McDonald's. Yeah, a whole 'nother place to stop. So, the work was divided. I would go get myself something to eat and run a couple errands and my brother would fetch the food.

Arriving at the hospital with my food, I encountered my brother sitting in one of the waiting rooms. I heard him call out my name and I joined him there and began sitting out my food to eat. He explained that the nurses where doing something with mom in the room and she requested he leave. So, we sat and talked. We pondered what to do about her. He expressed frustration and guilt about this whole situation. About dealing with our mom, his ex wife, his kids and his current love interst. All the while, knowing he'd have to leave in a day to go to Africa.
Soon, she sent him a text mesasge with the all clear and we joined her in her room. We sat and watched tv and chit chatted. Some time later, a doctor came to visit and informed her that she was ready to be discharged from the hospital. She didn't know who this doctor was and insisted that she speak directly to her regular doctor. She completely discounted anything he said. I could see that he was frustrated by her indignant attitude and he left promising to return with her regular doctor so he could reassure her that everything would be ok. Later, her regular doctor came to visit with the new doctor in tow. He sat down and began to explain her new medications and my brother and I began to ask questions. I wanted to know if all this was because she had a big ole hissy fit. The doctors didn't really answer that only saying that she needs to comply with her diet and exercise in order to get better. That she could live a few years longer if she wanted to. That her new symptom of the racing heart was not unfounded and had to be treated, but there was an issue. She had fallen out with the local cardiologists and refused to see them saying they were unreliable and unfriendly and she doubted their judgement. She feels they dropped the proverbial ball, but in fact, their assessment was correct, it wasn't just her heart that was causing all her problems and after many weeks of testing they found the real culprit was her lungs. At any rate, now the issue remains of finding her a reputable local cardiologist. 'sigh Every now and then, I'd glance over at my brother and could see the fear and loathing in his eyes. He was beginning to see just what was going on. That we had been bamboozled. She wasn't dying. She was lying. Yes, she really is sick. I get that, but at the same time she's not taking responsibility for her illness and she's making everyone miserable and crazy. She's pissing off the doctors and nurses and well, everyone right now and she doesn't give a rat's ass. She informed her doctor that she wasn't ready to be discharged yet and began to make hints towards another "attack" coming on. She said she needed some time, at least another day, to accept the idea of leaving the hospital. The doctors obliged and made their way out of the room.

As the doctor's made their way out of the room, my brother followed and talked to them in private out in the hallway. He had to make a decision right then. Would he stay or would he go serve his country? He was racked with guilt and uncertainty. He texted me from across the room many times inquiring what he should do. I told him to go. Do what he had to do. She'd be fine and it she wasn't there was nothing we could do to change her fate. He feared he'd be so far away when she did die and feared the guilt of not being there. After talking to the doctors, he disappeared for a while and when he returned to the hospital room gently broke the news that he had decided to stay. That his commanding officer gave him permission to stay. We sat for a little while longer and then it was time for my brother to go pick up his kids and deliver them to their football and cheerleading practices.

I was alone with her again. We sat and watched tv and I knit some more, then she began to ask the questions again. Why did I leave? What happened? This time I answered. I told her that she drove me away. That she broke me. I had to escape from her. I told her that I didn't want to come home for my birthday because I didn't like being around her. That she made me crazy. She asked me about my childhood. I told her I needed a MOTHER not stuff. She looked confused and hurt at once. She apologized and began a long diatribe about her own broken childhood. She told me stories about my grandmother. How my grandmother had treated her and the rest of her siblings growing up, saying "We don't come with instruction manuals. You just make do. You do the best you can with what you know. I didn't know any better growing up. I treated you the same way I was treated. I did the best I could and besides if I hadn't given you those things growing up would you be the person you are today? If you didn't have the computer and the like, would you be where you are today?" I thought about it. I wondered if that had any merit. Would it have made a difference? I conceded that maybe it would have made a difference, but that I made myself who I am today. I chose not to be like her.

** more later, I'm sick of writing **