Good morning, y’all. There is nothing in life as important as a good helpmate, and I’m doubly blessed with Mulva. She has watched while I struggle with the words and she knows how hard it is for me to type out my thoughts. She bought me this recording device that I can tell my stories into. Then there is software that will listen to my words and type them into the computer for me. Ain’t science wonderful? I expect I’ll have to teach it to speak Southern, but, I should be able to get a story in during lunch time. I’m trying to get caught up on Mom’s situation. Any typos from here on in, blame the software.
When we left the story, it is Friday, January 2, 2015 and I have returned back home from Asheville, just in time to call my bail bondsman. If any of you have seen “Dog The Bounty Hunter”, think Dog with less teeth and less hair, and more Beth, if you know what I mean. Anyway, we’re good and he gives me my plan for the fifteenth. I check in with Jackson and he tells me that we are “a go” for transfer to the rehab facility on Saturday, weather permitting. The hospital will give Mom some “anti-anxiety” medication to make the transition easier, and Jackson will follow along behind. I tell Jackson how happy I am that he is there, and that I’m hoping everyone can “get over themselves” for a little while and just do what was right for Mom.
Jackson is not so sure, he relates a string of emails he’s received from Charlotte, and he thinks when push comes to shove, Charlotte will throw a monkey wrench into the plans. My only response is, “you break it, you buy it”. In my mind, Mom’s current caregivers have the opportunity to step aside and allow professional people to take care of Mom. If they can’t see the sense in that, or have other compelling issues ($$$$$), that prevent them from letting go, then I’m done. I wish Jackson “God speed” and ask him to call me when “the eagle has landed”.
I go looking through my emails, “just lookin’ for trouble” as Daddy used to say. I find this little gem from Charlotte:
Good morning, Bud!
Thank you so very much for this update.
I agree with this plan outlined below.
I am not being a martyr now in saying my truth that the way Mother ripped into me the morning of Dec. 31 with the worst look of pure hatred on her face and in her eyes, was the stake through my heart after all the years of abuse from her, since I was six years old and telling me “Sometimes I wish you had never been hatched.”
As long as she is not mentally stable, I fear she will continue to lash out at me just she even sees my face. I have not done anything wrong to deserve her abuse. I hope both Jackson and you can understand my wanting to stay away from her.
I am grateful to both Jackson and you for all you have done and are doing now. I trust both of you, and I know you both will do all you can to help Mother and do the right thing about the safekeeping and cataloging items in the condo, etc. That is a brilliant idea. Thank you!
I have been trying to fight off a cold. I am scheduled to have a Sleep Sunday Monday night at the Sleep Center here.
My crazy phones are still acting up and I have only been able to get a princess phone to work here.
Thanks so much for everything!
Charlotte
Charlotte must have been in her “best” mind when she wrote that one, or there’s a ghost writer somewhere. I scrolled down my email list a little further, and found the following poignant message from Charlotte, addressed to every living family member we have. The message was in about a 72 point type. Charlotte was convinced we all read our emails one letter at a time:
“Mother told me years ago she had a bike wreck and had head injury when she was 15. She told me she was unconscious for hours, at least 8 hours, as best I can remember.
She said she could not raise her arm(s) and Grandpa Lowe had to brush her hair. I think he may have given her one of those “Dutch Boy Haircuts” so she could better manage her hair. They thought if you hit your head, you weren’t hurt.
Edna would probably remember more of the details of Mother’s bike wreck and head injury.
A head injury and unconsciousness is the beginning of many issues.“
Dare I point out that Charlotte’s diagnosis is coming seventy four years after the incident? Fortunately, Jackson had already addressed the issue, the first line being the killer:
“No reply desired
The cat scan at hospital revealed no brain traumas current or past.
It was George that fell off the wagon. “
The message was sent to the same mail list and I hoped it would be the last word on the topic.
Charlotte stays out of email diagnosis for about a week before she returns with this stunner, addressed to me, entitled, “Mother Has A Lump”:
I am back in the loop since I have had a little rest. I was at Rehab yesterday and found it interesting that neither you or Jackson had me listed as a family member on Mother’s information. Did you forget I am a family member of Mother’s?
Anyhow, I was out at Rehab yesterday to visit Mother. I have never seen her feet so swollen. She was weak and wanting to rest. I took her more soft blanket and clothes Edna had washed for her.
She has complained about a tooth ache for some time now. I am worried about an abscessed tooth, which we all know can travel to the brain and kill a person.
I asked the Social worker and she told me they were giving Mother an antibiotic before they send her out to a dentist. I think Mother needs to go to a Dentist NOW and be x-rayd to see if she has an abscess and needs to get that tooth pulled.
I think the important thing to point out here is that Mom went in the hospital on December 31, 2014 and Charlotte did not visit her until January 12, 2015. Now, Charlotte was involved mind you, hourly emails about the “garbage key”, twice a day mailings about the condo association fees being due, and once a day character assassinations of her niece Maggie. Charlotte hated Maggie because Maggie was the “daughter Mom never had”. I think at one time, Mom had left everything to Maggie. I found evidence that Mom had had a partial change of heart with regard to Maggie, though.
In Maggie’s defense, as we get older our own families take over our priorities, and Maggie was unable to jump as often, or as high, as Mom wanted, after Maggie had children of her own. Mom started restructuring her will based on “years of service”, “how much Mom had helped the individual in life”, “how well the grandchildren turned out”, and other nebulous criteria. In short, Charlotte was getting crap, and she knew Maggie was going to fare better when the will was read. Nothing brings a family together like the reading of a will.
To address the charge, “that neither you or Jackson had me listed as a family member on Mother’s information“, it’s just not true. We did not list Charlotte as a person who could get, or discuss Mom’s diagnosis. Mom might be marching to a different tune right now, but I was sure that Mom didn’t want her diagnosis blasted out to all living family members as her “bicycle accident ” had been. Like birds migrating South for the Winter, I was sure that the portion of Mom’s brain that didn’t want Charlotte “managing my case” was burned indelibly into her DNA. Mom would never forgive anyone who turned her personal chart over to Charlotte.
The “lump” Mom complained about was a bad tooth she had mentioned to me at Thanksgiving. She had assured me then that she already had a dentist appointment and that Edna was going to take her and wait for her. I figured it was going to be taken care of, I was wrong. I called the Rehab facility and discussed the situation with Mom’s nurse. The nurse told me that they had already started Mom on antibiotics and they were scheduling an appointment with Mom’s dentist for the earliest possible opening. Good deal, enough said.
We are two weeks into rehab and Mom is getting stronger it appears, but is still unable to follow a straight line of questions. I will be going to court in two days, and I certainly have some questions that I will need to answer.
Good morning, y’all. There is nothing in life as important as a good helpmate, and I’m doubly blessed with Mulva. She has watched while I struggle with the words and she knows how hard it is for me to type out my thoughts. She bought me this recording device that I can tell my stories into. Then there is software that will listen to my words and type them into the computer for me. Ain’t science wonderful? I expect I’ll have to teach it to speak Southern, but, I should be able to get a story in during lunch time. I’m trying to get caught up on Mom’s situation. Any typos from here on in, blame the software.