My mother isn't dead, but wishes she were. “I'm no use to anyone,” she said. “I don't know why I'm still alive. I'd rather be dead.”I have mixed reactions when she says things like that. My inner two-year-old wants to scream, No, you can't die! Who will take care of me? My terrified inner demon wants to find the nearest cliff to shove her over (the longer she lives, the less money she'll leave behind). My inner adult wants to treasure every precious moment with my scrawny maternal parental unit. I could be wrong, but I sense she is winding down toward the end. I try not to think about it. I don't want to feel my grief yet.
It's strange to watch her decay. The river of life was carrying her along, and she was staying afloat, more or less, until about six months ago. She knew her mind was eroding; hence, the move to the retirement center in early April. In the past few months, she's grown increasingly fragile, like a little boat made of twigs and sticks. The current is moving as fast as ever, but her vintage craft is listing and taking on water, coming apart at the seams. It's her brain, mostly, that is disintegrating, although her body is weakening too.
She may yet surprise me. Somehow despite intermittent uncontrollable diarrhea attacks, she's managed to gain two pounds since she moved into the retirement center. I don't know where she put them, she's as skinny as ever. We are all applauding her, clapping her on the back (gently), congratulating her achievement. (I wish people would do that for me.) It is pretty great that she's gained some weight. But at what cost, I wonder? No dairy, no wheat, no coffee, no orange juice... no cherry pie. No wonder she feels like life is not worth living.
Tonight I met my brother over at her apartment to meet with the real estate agent and go over the two offers that came in on my mother's condo. I know nothing about real estate, but I managed to glean some knowledge after Googling prepaids, reserves, and closing costs. I don't think the real estate agent knows much more than I do. My brother bought a house about twenty years ago, so I consider him the expert. My mother's formerly extensive knowledge has gone to that great landfill in the sky. She sat passively on the end of the couch while the real estate agent, my brother, and I discussed the merits of the two offers.
I hope the Universe treats my mother gently as she goes down with her ship. That is what I want for me. I don't have the funds to move into a fancy place like Mom's retirement home. I doubt if Medicaid will be there for me should I need it. So my alternative is to die in place, wherever that may be. Apartment, motorhome, sidewalk, park bench. I will attempt to make sure my footprint is super small and easy to toss in the trash for whoever finds me, if I haven't lost all my marbles before then.
