...on my biological mother's demise.
I spoke to Stu, as was suggested by my father, and found out that she hasn't been living with him for the last two months. She fell five times in three weeks, and had been moved to a nursing home. Last Friday, she became unresponsive - a nearly complete catatonic state. So she was hospitalized, and she began to show improvement.
The problem? Her liver. She had hepatitis C, and her liver had been going for some time. According to Stu, her liver had already been mostly nonfunctional. And it's almost common knowledge that the elderly don't receive transplants; not when those parts could be going to someone younger and in better health.
Anyway, she started improving, and there was a tremendous buildup of fluid that the doctor's wanted to drain. There was also a possible blood clot that they wanted to investigate, and had planned for surgery today. Instead, at midnight last night, they ended up calling Stu to say that she had died.
And Stu...is determined to see her properly buried. Her ongoing wish while she was alive was to be buried next to my older brother, Michael. This was, I believe, common knowledge. But when she divorced my father, he saw no need to honor her wish. In fact, as I understand it, my father would rather not have my biological mother buried at the family plot at all. The problem now is that the spot my biological mother wanted may no longer be available.
Personally...? Well, since I use this blog to primarily vent my feelings to a small audience, my thought for some time now is that she not be buried at our family plot. She fostered bad relationships with so many people, most of all those whom she had the most contact. While Barry hates everyone, I believe he hates my biological mother most of all. (I almost said "our," but Barry isn't her biological son.) His hatred of the masses holds its roots with her, and it was essentially the way she wanted it. Barry, all those years ago, flat-out asked her why she adopted a child if she was going to hate it? So you see, she spread the hatred around pretty thick, and made sure all her children knew how to carry a grudge.
Me...? I wouldn't call what I feel toward my mother "hatred." It's more akin to apathy. I just don't care. I can't care. To care would be to put myself in an extremely vulnerable spot. Should I get emotionally beaten, I'm going to end up reacting physically, and that kind of illness is only going to make things worse for me. As it is, after taking some time to absorb the information of my biological mother's demise, I suffered through one of my typical symptoms of depression and slept. It wasn't a very restful sleep, either. If it wasn't some external noise jarring me awake with a scream, it was something in my dreams that would have me waking with a start.
As I said in my last post, I cannot attend the funeral. I couldn't endure a last-minute trip by bus to attend, when with my Charcot arthropathy collapsing more of my foot as time goes by. (Stu asked why I didn't just have the foot removed, to which I explained that doctors don't like removing things that can still be treated.) We might be able to swing something financially, but then the big problem is that Becky's classes start on Monday. Even the best of excuses wouldn't go over well with demanding professors. I can almost hear them now..."Your fiance's mother - not your husband's mother - died, so you took time off? If you'd been married, we'd be more understanding. As it is, we are not." So I told Stu that I wouldn't be attending, and that I'd eventually make my way to the family plot to pay my final respects.
Now some of you out there might be wondering why I'd do such a thing. I haven't had anything nice to say about the woman. When my friend Igor suggested that there must be some good memories of her, I admitted that there weren't any. In almost four and a half decades, I don't have a single good memory of my biological mother. Even when I thought she and I were getting along, and she took me in when I had nowhere else to go, I learned that I was under all of the wrong impressions. But I will go when I'm able, for I am a dutiful son. And it's what a dutiful son would, and should, do.
I'm off to do something other than spewing my emotions on my blog. Be well, all, and DFTBA.