Two Years Ago Today...

Once again I find I am apologizing for falling behind. The funny thing is, I have lots of ideas swimming around my brain of things I want to write, but sometimes there is so much I just freeze and don't write anything. Claudia mentioned New Month's Resolutions, and maybe this will be mine - to write at least two to three times a week (no need to set the bar too high to start out!)

I am actually going to switch gears, at least partially, for a little while. When I started this blog, I had a couple of reasons. One, because I was enjoying others' blogs, and I am enough of a big mouth to want to have my say, and two, because I wanted to record some things which had happened to me, for my own posterity, whether others found it interesting or not. I've fulfilled a lot of that by talking about our experiences adopting through foster care, but I also wanted to write about my mother's passing two years ago, and never could find a way into the topic. It's been weighing on my mind as of late, and I think the time is right. Those of you who are here for adoption issues, please bear with me... my kids will still be driving me nuts periodically, and I'll still write about that, too!

Two years ago this evening (actually, about 2 hours ago was the exact time) I was blithely enjoying a post New-Year's rush. Our house was full, and getting fuller by the minute - we had hosted two foreign exchange students for the holiday break, and were expecting two new arrivals any minute. DH's cousin's daughter and college friend were headed for a day of shopping here in "The Cities," and had taken us up on our "anytime" offer of a place to crash. We were happy to have them, and said they were welcome as long as they weren't picky about accommodations. I was busy making beds, getting out sleeping bags, and basically preparing for visitors. I love a happy, energized house, so I was looking forward to spending time with this lovely young lady and her friend. And then the phone rang....

My sister-in-law (with whom I am very close), was calling me from CA. When I picked up the phone, the answering machine kicked in, and I rushed downstairs to turn that off, so my call wouldn't be broadcast to the entire household. Hearing my SIL over the general din of the household, it sounded to me as if she was laughing, so I figured I was about to hear another tale of the general zaniness of my very dysfunctional family.

I had misheard...

When I reached the relative quiet of the bedroom, she told me that my mother, age 56, had just passed away due to what we presume was a pulmonary embolism. Now, my mother was young, but she did not keep herself in the best of health. Severely overweight (not that I am one to talk), and extremely inactive, I knew she also suffered from bouts of depression, and didn't go to the doctor regularly. She had had issues with embolisms before, and poor circulation appears to be an issue in our family. I'm not sure how to explain this, but while her death was very shocking, it was understandable given her general health. Does that make sense?

What really made this spooky for me was an incident which had happened the wee hours of the preceding day. It was just after midnight, the start of the new year, and DH and I were already in bed. He had been napping, and I read until the last minute, woke him up and turned on the TV for the countdown, then we kissed good night. Yes, we are party animals. The new year always makes me pensive... I think about the changes the past year has wrought, and the potential of the coming year. I'm sure I'm not alone in this. As I contemplated the year ahead, I was filled with and overwhelming feeling of "wrongness" about it. I took stock - jobs OK, kids OK, marriage OK, house OK. I couldn't put my finger on something to account for that feeling, but it was there nonetheless. I leaned over and poked my semi-sleeping husband and announced, "Don't you dare die on me this year!" He mumbled something confused, to the effect of "Huh? Wah???," and rolled over for more sleep. It was the only thing I could think of at the time. In retrospect, I know it was a premonition. You may scoff, but I'm certain of it, and I've had others that have come to fruition in the past, too (rarely, but definitely).

Now, I'm sure there are others of you who have experienced the death of a parent or loved one. It's not that unusual, and in that respect my story is of no note. But it's the aftermath of that death that truly opened a lot of issues for me.

Some background.....

To start with, my mother did not raise my two brothers and me, and we were not close at all, for a variety of reasons. My parents divorced when I was about 3 or 4, at least in part due to my father's explosive and abusive temper. My earliest memory of my father was of him hitting her and the police being called (lest you get the wrong idea, my father has a much better leash on his temper now, and they even have always had a cordial relationship. I'm certain both of their stubborn streaks played a role in the situation. They acknowledged that while they cared for each other, they were not meant to be married to one another. They were young (19 & 20, I was an oops), and simply not ready for the pressures of marriage with children) My mother spiraled into depression, and we were cared for by my maternal grandmother (Grandma - then age 60) and her sister, our unmarried great aunt (Auntie - then age 62), with the help of my paternal grandparents, intermittent stays with my mother, and even the help of some wonderful friends of the family. Our sleeping place would sometimes literally change day-to-day, but we were always loved, well cared for, and given the best that Auntie and Grandma could provide.

When I was in 6th grade, my mother met and married LL, and soon they moved us in with them, to a small, messy house nearby. At first, we all slept in sleeping bags in the living room, the lucky one got the couch. Later, I was moved to an army cot (and later a bed) in the small back bedroom, which was used as a library, and had previously been used to grow pot. My brothers slept in bunk beds in the dining room. I grew up fast, was responsible for getting my (unwilling) brothers ready for school, and other chores around the house. Mom and LL liked to sleep late, so we had to keep it quiet. There were other abuse issues, which are not the issue here, but basically within a year and a half, we were moved to foster care, then later to live full time with relatives - me with Grandma, my twin brothers to Auntie's. The courts gave Mom a choice - LL or us; she chose him. I had neither seen nor talked to him at length since age 12, except to ask to speak to her on the phone (which for a while sent me into minor anxiety attacks). I tell you this just to set the stage for what is to come.

My mother's biggest issue was that she was a hoarder. It was bad when we lived with her as children, but in subsequent years, it had become tragic. It wasn't just that she had a lot of things. No, this is the type of home you hear about on the news. Her home and 3/4 acres of land in Bolinas, an eccentric small town on the CA coast north of San Francisco, was completely filled from top to bottom with junk - rotting, smelly, useless junk, sprinkled with items worth saving. I'll get into that some other time, but when I learned she had died, I realized with dread that we would have to go through that stuff. Piece by horrible piece.

She also hoarded animals. Not cats, or dogs, or rabbits, or even hamsters... something manageable. No, she hoarded horses. And we would have to figure out what to do with them.

She was also delusional - not in a diagnosed-mental-health-issue kind of way, but in a way that seemed so sane that you'd swear she was a normal level-headed person, and feel ashamed for doubting her. She created her own network of lies about her life, about her plans, about everything, and in some way I think she actually believed them. She would talk about this job she was getting, or this problem she was solving, or imagined hurts and slights, or her own innocent role in the past, and I really think she believed them.

I also realized that I would have to see my stepfather again, after 25 years. I did not know how this would go. I had not wanted to have to find out, especially not in this way.

With one sentence from my SIL, the things I had dreaded in the back of my mind for years (cleaning out, seeing my stepfather, etc.) had become reality. I got a sick feeling in my stomach that still hasn't completely gone away. I don't recall all of the conversation, but my son heard me through the door and went to get DH, saying, "Mom just said, "Oh no!" and it wasn't the good kind of oh no." About that time, our guests arrived as well, but I blurred out the voices and action downstairs.

I also learned that my brother (TW) had headed out to the house (about 1 1/2 hr. drive from anywhere) to check out the situation and stay with my stepfather (age 59), who was threatening to kill himself, either with one of his guns or by OD'ing, within the day. TW had the unfortunate duty of being there to wait with LL and my mom's body for the coroner (who also had to drive for an hour), and of staying the night with a suicidal man (with whom he had had only slightly more contact than I had during the past 25 years) I did not envy him that, and I appreciate that he took on that responsibility. Of course, since we three estranged step-children were my stepfather's only remaining family, there weren't a lot of options. I was a 3 hr flight away, my other brother (EV) a 5-hr drive away.

I spent several hours that night on the phone - contacting a few people, arranging a flight, arranging a place to stay, letting my boss know I'd be out, etc., before I collapsed in a flustered heap for the night....