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8/8/09

A really, really crappy day

Friday, August 7, 2009

Daphne and I have been switching off taking every other Friday off, yesterday was mine. I take some Trader Joe's stuff, Pepsi, and cigarettes (why can't she forget that she smokes???!) over to Mom, so we aren't leaving Mookie in the room alone.

I ask if she remembers talking with L. about Mookie, she says no. So, for Pete's sake, I have to tell her again and tell her about Boston Rescue and that he's on the list. She starts crying.
She's worried Mookie won't remember her. Can he come visit? I'm not sure, depends on the person who adopts him and where they live. She doesn't want to go get something to eat because she's been crying. So I head over to the cafeteria to get her lunch to go.

On my way out, I stop by to see L. and update her on the progress.
She says, "Oh you misunderstood, I didn't want to be mean, I thought you'd realize I meant 48 hours." "He needs to leave today. He can't live here anymore." "I'm getting complaints from staff and residents." (The staff is complaining too?! That's new.)

Now how on God's green earth am I supposed to "pick-up" that she meant 48 hours when she didn't SAY that? Dammit - my mind reader's license just expired! Silly me.

Then she has the nerve to ask how I was doing, because she's "often more worried about the family than the residents." "You need to take care of yourself first." And then touches me on the shoulder. Do. Not. Touch. Me. Yesterday I was shell-shocked, now I'm PISSED.

I bring back lunch for Mom and let her eat before I have to tell her - surprise her - that Mookie has to leave now. I feel set-up. The fucking bad guy - AGAIN.

In the meantime, EBF calls. He must have asked if I was there, because Mom whispered really loud, "She's here now." It's so funny on some level.
When I asked if that was Tom (EBF's real name revealed!), she said, "Oh I don't know who the heck that was."
So, you in the habit of telling people you don't know on the phone that you love them? Interesting. "How's his wife doing?" I ask. "Okay I guess", she replies. Good grief.

Mom's told me several times that I don't like men (oh really?) and I wonder if he's told her that and she's repeating it. Or, because of her dementia, me not liking HIM equals not liking all men. She's right though, I DON'T like dickhead jerks who take advantage of/use women, one of whom is my mother.

Out of the blue ten minutes later, she tells me to mind my own business and that I can go now.
And then I have to say that Mookie has to come with me.

She thinks he's going to Boston Rescue and I'm going to let her think that for now. She goes back and forth between wanting to help carry stuff out (no) and crying. The staff knows that this is happening and are ready to pay special attention to her. I get everything (but the crate) out and get Mookie, who is just as excited as he can be because the word "go" was used. (Car ride - my favorite!) He doesn't even pay attention to her as we walk by. L. is telling Mom he can come visit - shut up! you don't know that! Pisses me off.

I sit in the car and cry for 20 minutes. I can't take him home. I don't want to. Call the vet, they're full up, but they recommend another place in CH. She says she's full, but is getting ready to make calls to confirm reservations. I tell her the sad story, it turns out she has two Bostons herself and she finds a spot for him at least until Monday. She'll make some calls to people she knows who foster dogs too. Poor Mookie. I go home and cry another hour.

I'm depressed about my family. Do they not call or respond to emails because they think I'm so strong that I don't need emotional support? Is it a compliment? Is it truly out of sight, out of mind? This is their mother too. What has happened to us?
My father is rolling over in his grave. He'd smack us all into the middle of next week if he were here.

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