I had a great evening though – the four of us had a very successful first rehearsal with our new music (all wonderful love songs) as we gear up for the wedding (and whatnot) season ahead. As is our custom, we finished off the evening with a round at the pub… although our usual haunt was closed when we got there, so we went to the rather loud bar at Boston Pizza instead. Meh. Doesn’t matter, the company was the important part. We ran a bit later than usual, because I had a board meeting to attend first, and then we wanted to get through as much music as we could once I arrived.

My husband was not amused when I waltzed through the door at 11:35. Oh, he didn’t say anything, but he pretty much ignored me until he went to bed just before midnight. Swell.

So yeah, I didn’t get to bed until after 2am, and then once I settled in, I waited to fall asleep. And waited. And waited. *sigh* It felt like I had JUST gotten to sleep when he actually stormed into the bedroom and demanded that I get up and get Wee One dressed for school, and do her hair. This is after he’d specifically told me yesterday that he was going to get up with her and see her off to school so I could sleep in, because he was heading to the walk in clinic first thing (he has an ear infection. again.). Jeckyll? Meet Hyde. Meet ASSHAT.

So anyway, because he’s clearly unable to run a brush through a 5 year old’s hair, and dress her in clothes that don’t resemble a clown suit… (and the teen, who was also there, was unable to do so either apparently) I got up, without a word, and did so. I have no idea what crawled up his leg and bit his ass, but he was in fine form this morning. He has no idea how close he was to a concussion. You just do not speak to me like that.

Anyway, after that lovely ray of sunshine, I find out that my grandmother wasn’t doing well last night, and my mother needs me to be with her when she checks in on her… just in case. Sure, why not. Now, my grandmother is 98, and has been declining steadily for a few years now. She’s just not “there” anymore. These things are to be expected, and I think we’re all prepared for the inevitable. So fine; “Here I come, Mom.” I walk in, take one look at her – still breathing – and say “well, her hip is broken again”. There is no mistaking a broken hip on someone who is that small and frail. So an ambulance and paramedics took up the rest of my absolutely wonderful morning. I didn’t go to the hospital with them, but Mom has phoned me a couple times with updates; yes, another break, right below the first one (from 4 years ago), and they’re waiting on the surgeon to come and assess. Poor Mom. She’s had so much to contend with the last few years, and she’s not doing all that well herself. There are days when she can barely hold anything in her hands (she has Reynauld’s disease, which causes swelling in her hands, and a host of other problems), and she’s small herself, so having to move my now completely-immobile grandmother is getting to be too much for her. Anyway, I think the end of that road is coming – I don’t know that she’ll be going home again.

Sorry for the unhappy post today. I’m not in a good place, and forgive me for saying it has very little to do with my last remaining grandparent heading down the final road.

Well, my folks went on a casino trip with friends today (my father went kicking and screaming…[not really, but in his mind I'm sure he was trying to find a way out]) and of course, who gets to look after my 97½ year old, incontinent, immobile, incoherent grandmother? Me. Natch. Of course I can just not work today, and drag my 4 year old with me while I fetch and do other things that don’t bear chronicling in here. Why not?

Go, go. Have a good time. Don’t worry about a thing.

It’s actually not all that much work, because once her morning routines (Liz, a wonderful PSW who cleans and dresses her, and Wendy, the wound care nurse who changes and dresses the gaping hole in her derriere that will never heal, courtesy of the nursing staff at the hospital who allowed her to develop a massive bed sore when she was in with a broken hip 3+ years ago) are taken care of, she has her breakfast and then is moved into the family room, where she sits in front of the massive TV perched on the wall and watches reruns of game shows from the 70s. You know the one, Match Game, where most of the people on the panel have been dead for years? All day. At top volume. The walls actually vibrate when a modern commercial comes on. She takes in none of this, because almost the minute she is settled into her chair, it’s lights out until lunch.

Her lunch is (well, will be) served to her in her comfy leather reclining chair, because she doesn’t have the strength to get out of the chair again so soon. It’s a sad life, and sadder still for my mother, who has to do this day in and day out, and watch this once-feisty lady degenerate and regress into infancy. Putting her in a home is out of the question; my mother would never let it happen. Yet having her there, and being her sole caregiver means my mother is a veritable prisoner in her own home, because she can’t leave her alone. Not that grandma would go anywhere, of course, but she has been known to faint and/or tip over to the point where it’s possible she’d tip herself right out of the chair. Mom does get a reprieve twice a week, when Liz comes and spends 3 hours in the house, caring for grandma while Mom escapes for a bit. But what can you do with 3 hours? She shops, wanders around, and then heads home. It’s a farce, but for now it’s all she has, and she’s grateful for it.

I have come to dread the words: “Jenn, we’ve booked our vacation.” My father makes a concerted effort to get Mom out of town at least twice a year. They enjoy cruising (who doesn’t? It’s my favourite vacation!) and do one every year. They are now planning for a vacation to Italy in September for my father’s 65th birthday, and I was horrified to overhear the word “extended” whispered recently.

Don’t get me wrong, I don’t begrudge my mother any time away. She deserves it considering what she’s going through on a daily basis. But I am the only one they can count on to be there when they go, and heaping their household on top of me (considering I own 2 businesses and run 2 others, all at the same time, plus my children, plus my rehearsals, plus a few other miscellaneous things in my own household) is really tough on me. I can’t expect my husband or my kids to help me with certain things that need to be done for my grandmother throughout the day, even if they were here and not at work or school. They can’t help with the nurse or the PSW. There are things that they just do not need to see.

I know my grandmother can’t help the way she is now. That she has lived so long and had the life she has had is a grand thing. I am sad that this is the way I will remember her though, when her time finally does arrive.

Go, go. Have a good time. Don’t worry about a thing.