It’s 2:30 am and I’m up. The old man was still up and I can’t find my cat. She’s here somewhere but that always wakes me up. I hope I can get back to sleep – I have insomnia. Too tired finish tomorrow.
Does anybody know how to change fonts on this blog – let me know – I need it bigger.
So I did get back to sleep somewhat. For some reason he was wandering last night, coughing as he does with the Parkinson’s and getting into the foot of the bed and then trying to crawl up it. Sometimes I could wring my hands in despair.
The social worker comes today at noon to see about getting him into a facility. It is so time. My son and I can’t take much more although sonny boy is starting to make aw shucks Dad should stay at home noises. I told him what for I can tell you! It is not sonny boy who wipes everything – and I mean everything – off the walls and floor and toilet and wherever his father goes – it is not sonny boy who helps him dress or take a shower or shave or who serves him his meals I’ve cooked three times a day. Sonny boy pretty much stays in his room and comes out for meals. He does the dishes at night and then heads back to his room. He says his life is awful right now. I’m hoping he will eventually figure out that it’s time to get out of the room. I gently explained to him that once I have his father in a nursing home AND HIM OUT ON HIS OWN IN AN APARTMENT that I am selling the house and moving. I may not move too far at first so I can visit his Dad but eventually when the grim reaper decides to spare DH anymore indignities I will move way out of here. Like wherever I can afford to live – and it may not be in this country.
DS has a genetic disability he inherited partially from my side of the family. I don’t think all of his disability comes from our side though. And neither did his doctors. At any rate I have lived quite fine for 61 years with a version of his disability and I have worked, raised a family – not well enough to get them out of the house – but still raised them – put up with a spouse who wasn’t around for 22 years because he would rather be working and now I have the responsibility of caring for said spouse for the last 3 years.
Three years ago I got a good full-time job. I didn’t like it a lot because it involved talking to customers on the phone that were pissed off about their cell phone bills. They were nasty. There were limits on what I could do but if I didn’t go over those limits the customer would ask for a supervisor and the supervisor would automatically give the customer what they wanted and I would get “coached” on not escalating a call. And then if I did give the customer what they wanted I got “coached” on not negotiating enough. Damned if you do kind of situation.
The money, however, was awesome. I could pay all our bills and still have money left. I had medical insurance. I had a bonus every February. I had nice people I worked with. Two months after I started this job DH got sick with shingles. He was so sick I felt like I couldn’t leave him at home alone. But I had to because I only had so much time off at my job. I hadn’t qualified for any family leave yet.
Sad but true I remember that when DH was working those 22 years 7 days a week he wouldn’t ever miss a day of work because I was ill or because his son was in the hospital or for any reason at all. He went to work telling me how important his job was to our lives.
So when I finally, after 32 years of marriage and raising the kid alone and being by myself physically and mentally and emotionally – when I get a good job – DH comes along and gets all sick and weepy because I’m working. He wanted to go to the doctor almost every day. Which I couldn’t do because my job didn’t give me time off every day. And I felt trapped – trapped by a job that wasn’t flexible and trapped by a spouse who expected a lot more than he ever gave.
During part of that 22 years I also was “gifted” with his son from a former marriage who was 10 years older than my son. It involved a huge and expensive custody battle that lasted 4 years. I worked in the legal field at the time and I was the contact for all the lawyers on our side. It was exhausting. DH’s ex-wife was a barracuda – really – and hate enveloped my life. The boy was not an easy person. He lived with us from the age of 11 until he was almost 17 – at which time he was catting around with 47-year-old women and doing drugs, drinking, etc. He “ran away” with the help of his sister-in-law who had sent him to us back in 1982. She sent him a plane ticket to Minneapolis and then calls saying he thinks he made a mistake. Oh yeah he sure did. I made sure he didn’t come back. It is hard enough raising your own child alone but raising someone else’s was not in my realm of what a good life should be. His father never said a good word to him after he turn 14 and yet DH cried for a week after the little shit ran away. Go figure. He’s tried to get money out of his Dad since and had his grandmother set up a meeting – with all of which DH refused.
So our lives together have been nothing but me doing everything and him working. I didn’t get that opportunity and now I’m not going to have a pension or anything like that to help me in my “golden” years. Such is life.
Choices do make a difference. I would argue to make them wisely. Very wisely.