My parents celebrated fifty-five years of marriage today.
By doing absolutely nothing.
They live over five hundred miles from any relatives. They are both in poor health. I spoke to my mother this evening and she sounded terrified. Drunk. But terrified.
My mom was a mysterious and vibrant woman. My father a mysterious and vibrant man. They lived out their flaws silently in front of me.
Now they are alone. I wish I could take care of them but I take care of my youngest grandson and given the choice, I chose my grandson. I might be making a mistake but I have made so many mistakes in my life that I'm not afraid of making the rest of them. Fuck it. The decision has been made and I'm committed.
The sting of having to make hard decisions is ameliorated to a degree because I have seen my parents bank statements. They can afford to change the situation. They have options because of my father's financial prowess, and also because the post WWII generation lived in a different economy that I do. (I am alarmed to admit that my children have become adults in an economy weaker than the one in which I raised my kids.)
I hate to hear my mother weep in sorrow and fear. Death stalks them now. They face it alone together while they each witness the other visibly slip closer to the darkness.
They are not doing anything to help their situation. I can't judge them because I don't know what it's like to have my fifty fifth wedding anniversary come and go as if it did not matter. I know my mother wanted something to happen and nothing happened.
I am troubled by this.
On the other hand, it is their anniversary, not mine. I have no job and no income whatsoever. My greeting card options were even severely limited. My parents know my situation. It seems to me they could have had a nice dinner catered in, ordered a cake and had it delivered, and celebrated together.
But no. Instead, they did nothing and I regret not being able to do more and I wonder why I didn't make more of an effort.
By doing absolutely nothing.
They live over five hundred miles from any relatives. They are both in poor health. I spoke to my mother this evening and she sounded terrified. Drunk. But terrified.
My mom was a mysterious and vibrant woman. My father a mysterious and vibrant man. They lived out their flaws silently in front of me.
Now they are alone. I wish I could take care of them but I take care of my youngest grandson and given the choice, I chose my grandson. I might be making a mistake but I have made so many mistakes in my life that I'm not afraid of making the rest of them. Fuck it. The decision has been made and I'm committed.
The sting of having to make hard decisions is ameliorated to a degree because I have seen my parents bank statements. They can afford to change the situation. They have options because of my father's financial prowess, and also because the post WWII generation lived in a different economy that I do. (I am alarmed to admit that my children have become adults in an economy weaker than the one in which I raised my kids.)
I hate to hear my mother weep in sorrow and fear. Death stalks them now. They face it alone together while they each witness the other visibly slip closer to the darkness.
They are not doing anything to help their situation. I can't judge them because I don't know what it's like to have my fifty fifth wedding anniversary come and go as if it did not matter. I know my mother wanted something to happen and nothing happened.
I am troubled by this.
On the other hand, it is their anniversary, not mine. I have no job and no income whatsoever. My greeting card options were even severely limited. My parents know my situation. It seems to me they could have had a nice dinner catered in, ordered a cake and had it delivered, and celebrated together.
But no. Instead, they did nothing and I regret not being able to do more and I wonder why I didn't make more of an effort.
