tactfullyblunt

the hostage negotiator

This one goes out to my family.

When I started writing this blog, I didn't make it public. It was for my thoughts only, and I shared it with a few select (two) people within the family because at the time I thought I was going to be writing about more lofty things--everyone has dreams of being better than they are, and I am no different. And, as far as the lofty part goes, I soon realized that what I had to say wasn't so much lofty as mundane. Some would say that when you write about the mundane well, it becomes elevated in a "God is in the details" kind of way. So far, that hasn't been my experience.

There came a point when I realized that the real reason I started writing was because I needed a place to vent. A lot has happened in my life in the last five years, and too often my way was to swallow it down like some bitter pill, make a few faces, and then move on. When I started writing about how I felt about what was really going on in my life, I was able to either see the humor in it, make peace with it, or decide to take action to change it. I can't begin to tell you how good that has been for me.

I decided to take the blog public when I was getting responses from other women saying they had very similar experiences and they got some support out of what I wrote. I am so happy that I did take it public in the wake of Mom's death because it has helped so many other people which has in turn also helped me grieve her loss in a "productive way".

In the last few weeks, several of you have been moved to share with me either directly or through other family members the hurt you feel about the things I have written directly referencing you. While I have never fabricated anything either about you or the way you interact with the world at large, I can see that holding a blinding mirror like that up to your face would probably be very painful. However, I cannot back down from what I wrote because it is the truth, and I don't take that lightly.

I don't know all of your reasons for feeling hurt and/or betrayed by my bluntness, but I'm going to take a stab at it here just so you can see I'm not all heartless: we've all been through a lot the last year, and as we are beginning to come back out of that, we are turning to one another for more support than we have ever done before. Stumbling across or being directed toward a site that points out the moments you fumbled, stuttered and failed as a human being really isn't what you need right now (or probably ever, for that matter). For hurting you, I am deeply sorry.

Still...if you took the time to read every single entry and not just continually return to read those that pertain to you alone, you will see that the bulk of what I write turns that same critical eye towards myself. I'm not entirely blind to the fact that, in many ways, I'm still trying to grow into the person I'd like to be one day. In short, many days I feel like the world's most colossal fuck-up, a weak-kneed human being, and someone obviously not benefiting from the gifts they have been given. I am no better than you in that respect and I know that.

On the flip side, I have also written things about each of you detailing the depth of my love for you. I know when you are hurt you can't see that, but at some point you should try going back and looking for those entries as well, because they are also my own personal truth. It hurts me that you choose to ignore those things in favor of focusing entirely on the negative, but given both how we were raised and the fact that I never censored my thoughts and feelings when I wrote the way I did/do when we're speaking directly, I can see how you find those entries a bit difficult to believe.

I'm not perfect and I don't pretend to be. I am well aware that each of you thinks I sit on some high throne meting out judgments and decrees on you while holding myself above reproach. I guess that's part of the "mysterious mantle" of being the oldest in a family where there is such a huge age gap between us. The fact is, I have never thought I was better than any of you--what I have thought/hoped/dreamed is just that by virtue of being older that I am "further along", whatever that means.

The real truth of what I think is this, and I hope that at some point you will be able to see it for the extended hand it is meant to be:

Sometimes the struggle of our growth into adulthood gets to me and I have to vent. (If you think I've been hard on you, you should know that I'm brutal with myself.)

None of us are one-dimensional characters--we all have many things going on in our lives that motivate us to do and say the things we do. I don't view you as one-dimensional, so please don't think of me that way either.

I AM NOT PERFECT. I never said I was. I am a fallible human being but I do my best to have compassion for other people and I treat their lives and needs with the same respect I would like to receive. However, disrespect me repeatedly and you need to understand I am not only going to bitch about it--I will expect you to continue treating me poorly, especially if you are treating others in the family poorly as well. Still, if you make a concerted effort to "make things right", I'm your quickest ally--I'm a softie at heart.

I love you all so much that often it hurts. We are all so different that it is entirely possible that we will never be close. I'm not ok with that and I never will be--but that doesn't mean I'm not going to keep breaking my own heart with the dream of that actually coming to fruition.

I wish this wasn't the legacy we've been left with but it is. I'm doing my damnedest to get past it all. I just can't do it alone.

ED NOTE: To the person who keeps googling to see if their name appears, you should refresh your browser and see that your first name has been removed. Already you're having to alter the search to find yourself, and soon you won't be able to find yourself in that entry at all. Consider that.

scanner surprise

Early this January found Bill going through the Monica Lockard archives looking for photos for the unhappy celebration, aka funeral services. The happy side product of that was that he was given carte blanche to go digging through what was previously off limits to the whole family: all the photos from my adolescence and childhood that sadly are still how I mentally envision myself (picture a slightly dumpy girl, with middle-parted flipped back mousy hair and a HUGE gap between her front teeth in a Princess Diana kerfuffle shirt and you've got me at 13). But I wasn't the sole object of his scanning frenzy--he also got 3-year-old Robbie dressed up in his superman costume, 2-year-old Annie with the haircut that still leaves us all asking what in God's name was Mom thinking, and the twins forever frozen in the CHEESE! mode they seemed destined to be stuck in from the ages of 3-15.

The other day Bill got out the scanner for a project he is working on only to find these precious little dumplings where he'd left them three months ago. He left them on my desk so that when I came upstairs yesterday morning they were the first thing I saw. God how I loved those little girls, the way they smelled, the way it felt to hug them or hold their hands, to kiss their cheeks and feel them just goosh with the chub. I don't think I really realized how much I missed them being that small until I saw those pictures.

I cried.

If this is what it feels like to have kids of your own grow up, I don't think I'm ready for that.

all quiet on the southern front (subtitle: Surviving The Rat Pack)

Overall Mi Poppay did very well Friday. He sailed through the colonoscopy but not before he told me in the waiting room how his own father needed 35 units of blood after his colonoscopy (note to self: conversation about copious quantities of blood quiets in-patient surgery in an instant). Afterwards, true to form, he asked to be taken directly to the Bob Evans. Apparently this year it didn't sit so well with him, because about an hour later he was startled out of his naptime by the need to projectile everything right back up. Still, we were willing to accept this as payment for hearing the doctor say that he doesn't have to come back for five years. He was so happy that he told me he expects he might be dead before then. But I digress.

This was the first time I'd been down to my parents' alone since before Mom died. It was difficult enough but was made even moreso by my beginning the thankless job of trying to pare down the amazing amount of crap that has been pack-ratted. I'm positive that my parents' compulsion to keep unbelievable amounts of junk that even they don't know why they have (and yet refuse to let me throw away) is what created my OCD need to be continually throwing things away and reorganizing things. Positive.

So I started going through the boxes of disorganized papers she saved for her children's memory boxes. The worst part of it was going through the things related to me. She kept letters and receipts I'd written to my father while I was in college; these letters were sent to his personal post office box because that was supposed to be "secure" (the fact that she stole them pisses me off to no end). She also kept letters of support I'd written to my sisters when they would write me about stuff going on at home. She kept all kinds of things that made it appear she was making a case against me. In the end, I left there with a clearer picture of who she thought I was and the sense that I had so much to atone for in her mind. Holding on to all of that junk was just poison, and I don't know how she could've kept it for so many years.

I did discover one thing that was amusing: she'd saved my father's photos from his 2001 colonoscopy. So I put them next to the ones from Friday and told Dad, "Look, Bob, no poop this year."

He laughed.

ain't nothing in the world can't be cured by bob evans

Last November my father called to ask if I would drive him to get his "mechanisms checked" in January. Things being what they are, he had to reschedule for this Friday morning. While I know this is yet another thing visited upon him by aging, there is a part of me that is concerned. The old dude is a scrapper and seems to be in perfect health so I'm holding on to that fact.

Three years ago, after his last visit, my mother had quite a time getting him home. It seems that it all starts out laughs and jokes until he gets (as she put it) cantankerous and demands (demands!) to be taken to Bob Evans. Apparently he is of the belief that if he is required to flush his system so vigorously the night before that he needs to, ahem, plug the hole the morning after with lard. This is something I cannot understand--at all--because eating that food has absolutely the opposite effect on me.

The thing that makes me really wonder is that they send you away with photos of your incredible journey. Photos. I'm all for being excited about your work, but for the love of all that is good in the world, a colonoscopy is not a summer trip to Wild, Wacky, Who-Ha World, people. I don't want photos of my Dad's intestines to put in a keychain viewer or on an airbrushed t-shirt. And I certainly don't want them after he told me that Mom took great satisfaction in telling him how dirty his intestines were the last time:

"See that? That's poop, Bob, POOP. I told you you weren't done. I can't believe you made Bruce look at that..."

With that you get a window into my mother's pathology: she was infinitely more concerned that her friend Bruce saw feces in her husband's intestines than she was with the fact that her friend Bruce was poking around her husband's heiney-hole. If there ever was a reason for me to be thankful for not going to med school, it would have to be knowing that Bill will never have to make small talk at a company holiday party with the man who inspects his rectum (you're welcome, honey).

Man, I hate Bob Evans.

uncle

went to the mall to finish the family's demanding santa list.

saw the ex for the first time in five years.

on a day when I look like ass, he looks great.

hid in the old lady section.

got sweaty pits.

immediately called home for support and got a reality check.

sisters fighting over who is bossing whom more about mother's care.

apparent moral of story: it's wrong for me to feel like I got punched in the gut by the ex-sighting when there are more important things to be upset by.

Tuesday Tarred-day

In the last few days:

1) My aunt so totally redeemed herself that I'm too tired to write it all here. She is a wonderful woman, and ultimately she was looking for someone to help her circle the wagons more tightly--someone whom she could trust to leave her sister with while she went home to her own family for the holidays. Apparently to her and my godfather, I am the rock upon which my mother and father are leaning right now.

2) I gently dropped the hammer on my brother to motivate him to at least try to see if he can stay for longer than 24-hours over Christmas, and to call more than once a week to make Mom a priority instead of to yammer on for an hour about some date with a girl from Yale. (more about this tomorrow after I get rested)

3) Sociopath has never called to speak to my mother. In fact we've all placed bets that she will call LATE Christmas eve to demand that someone drive 2 hours to pick her up and bring her home, wherein she will remain until she gets her gifts and then she will demand to be taken home. We have also placed bets that Dad, while telling us that it's because of my mother's ill health, will drop everything (as he always does) to run to Sociopath's beck and call.

4) I have apologized more times in the last few days to my sisters for any little thing which I perceived they might be hurt or find fault with--what I don't need right now is to have them turn against me or a rough road from the outset. Taking care of Mom is difficult enough without us all turning against one another.

Still, there are times when I have to take control of the situation and get their attention. I recognize that they are being respectful in their own way by hanging back and awaiting "orders" when I'm around (I did the same thing when Aunt Mary was still there), but sometimes I wish they didn't make it like that for me. I suppose I'm willing to take the credit for her care, but I don't want to have to work so hard with them to get it. Ha.

5) Mom is sharing a little bit more than just her pain concerns with me. I can tell that she does not want to die, that she is very upset about it and fighting it the best she can. She has never wanted to miss anything, and it's no different now.

6) The delivery of her meds is not through Hospice but through the family. The first night she came home, we had to go to the pharmacy to pick up her new medications. She had been schooled by the nurse that she was not to mix her meds, nor was she supposed to go back to the meds she'd had in the house when we took her to the hospital a week prior. Even so, as soon as the nurse was out of the house, she started in on each of us, belligerently looking for one of us to crack and give her one of the old pills (I picked up all the old bottles, gave them to my father and told him to get them out of the house and not to tell anyone where he put them. He wondered if that was a good idea, and I told him it was the only way we could ensure that the "weaker links" wouldn't cave in to her demands. He saw the light and the meds left the house to destinations unknown). The wagons circled that night, and she was NOT happy about it.

The nurse comes once every two weeks to count the narcotics to make sure no one else is sampling the goods. We are supposed to keep strict records of how many and when so that they can reconcile it with how many are left. At 2:14am when you're whupped, it's often easy to forget to write it down in the journal, but we've been doing pretty well with it so far.

The pain meds she's on currently are working so much better than what she was on last week, and she is much more comfortable. In some ways I'm thankful that the family is in control of relief delivery, but I know that soon it will become more difficult, as will she, and it will begin again to take its toll on the rest of us. So for now we are all happily playing angels of mercy, even though every pill brings on the barrage of comments about how we're all controlling her.

Always a pinch of salt in the open wound.

my sister, the sociopath

Here it is, in her own words people. It pissed my brother off so badly he had to send it to me. While I am dancing dangerously close to offending her by invading her privacy, something tells me that if I don't share this with some part of the general public, my job as the truth teller will be in jeopardy.

-------

WSD: i begged
WSD: for my life i begged
WSD: and cried a whole lot
WSD: I explained my life to the judge
WSD: one year min with a $1000 fine
WSD: my citation is worse than a DWI
WSD: (wasn't aware of that)
WSD: no bail, must do 6 months before a probatory hearing
WSD: the cop that gave me the citation that night helped defend me again
WSD: since i had no lawyer
WSD: the DA asked if i was compliant
WSD: then turned to me and goes "are you ok? you look like hell"
WSD: when he asked me I thought I finally had myself composed enough to negotiate
WSD: but when he asked me...I fell apart again
WSD: and said "I'm right in the middle of finals week, I havne't slept in 2 days, my mom is dying on me, I'm broke, I'm starving, and I was not aware I broke the law till this gentleman pulled me over that night when I was being the DD for my drunk friends for a work repair order because my headlight was out. Does that sound like its worth one year in jail?" The cop stepped in and said "she was not aware of the prexisting citation when I pulled her over that night. She was visibly distressed emotionally when I reminded her. She told me of her family situation that night and why she failed ot appear to contest the ticket in court. Since then she has stated that she has paid the ticket and no longer drives the vehicle." The DA asked me " do you have a valid license? and where is the car now" I said, "here is my valid license, I've paid my ticket and all the MVA fines. MY car is parked at my parents residence. I no longer have tags. I took them off because I cant afford the insurance right now." the Cop said again "I move to amend her charges Dan, she doesn't deserve this, the falling out with her family seemed to snowball this" and then when I stood up in court the DA walked me through the proceeding because when I was crying and taking a break from saying "this is the most stressed out I've ever been in my life" and trying to breathe, I told him I had no lawyer because I just learned the difference between 10 business days and 10 calendar days. I told him I didn't want to be in jail when the holidays came and went and I didn't want to be in jail to fail my classes and I didn't want to be there when mom dies...then the DA goes "I'll amend your charges because the deputy is pleading for you. That is rare once the court comes to trial Ms. Lockard you are aware of that" I said "change it to what? am I going to jail still?" He said "I will amend it to something of a lesser offense" I said "does that mean I'm going to jail still?" lol....I kept asking him...he wouldn't tell me
WSD: I was a wreck
WSD: everyone was going to jail that day, I looked around the room and everyone was all teary eyed
WSD: well everyone with citations
WSD: I went towards the end because my offense was the worst
WSD: sat through all the DUI and DWI cases
WSD: and then there was me...
WSD: Driving on a suspended license
WSD: felt really lonely in my own category
WSD: after my trial was heard I sat for my reciept that I had to pay...$12 bucks fine awith the 20$ court services fee
WSD: 35 bucks total
WSD: forgot what the other 3 bucks were for
WSD: I read the charge he amended it to
WSD: and it was just for "failure to wear seat belt"
WSD: heh
WSD: I said a prayer man and was so happy

-------

I'm happy that she didn't go to jail, but I'm so fucking sick of her goddamned manipulations. The "falling out with her family" was something she engineered, and using her mother's terminal situation really disgusts me.

I'm so disappointed in her I don't know what to say.

news

There will be no 24-hour nurse. There will only be someone who comes in periodically to deliver pain meds. Further, my dad's insurance only covers 15 days of this half-assedness and then it will fall on his pocketbook. It's no different than when she was released the last time--she was too well to go to the nursing home, but too sick for my dad not to get her nursing care (for which the staffing company was only willing to give him a nurse for 8-hours of the day, and she often didn't even show up). You can see where this is going, can't you?

Tomorrow I drive down to see what help I can offer as my mother is released from the hospital to go home. I'm sure I'll be more in the way than a help, and she'll never remember I've been there anyway.

I finished the shopping today.

I was released from the studio for the entirety of this week and next.

We are finally making the Christmas cards. Don't be expecting any long messages. We're pooped.

I feel like a quantity of vomitus

It's true, I do feel like I need to vomit. I'm hoping this will pass if I just get my blood sugar under control.

Things of note in the last 24 hours:

-------

I don't know the details yet, but The Prodigal has avoided incarceration again. I guess this is the 9-lives variation she inherited from my mother. I have my suspicions about how this went down, but I'm going to wait until I get confirmation before I share it here.

Just by reporting her melodrama I feel used.

-------

Georgetown has refused to take Mom because (drum roll) she's too sick. Instead, they finally discussed Hospice with my mother directly. Understandably she isn't taking it well, but she is being released to go home tomorrow, wherein she will have round the clock care from a nurse who will help her "transition". This is the PC way of saying "die" in the new millennium.

I am headed down there tomorrow to see her. I'm a little concerned about this because my aunt has been calling me every hour or so to guilt me for not coming sooner. Ok, she's not been guilting me the entire time, but she sneaks it in now and again.

"Are you coming down here tonight?"

"When are you planning on coming down again?"

"I'm not leaving to take any breaks, I don't care what you say. I'm here for a purpose and your Mommy needs me--I can't leave her now." (My 'Mommy'? What are we--five?)

That last crack was also said in a separate phone call to Annie. When we discussed it between ourselves, Annie volunteered first, "That made ME feel like real crap." I told her I was glad she felt that way because it hit me like a ton of bricks as well. I was instantly transported back to the summer when after three days of dealing with my mother I needed to leave (and start the 24 hour shared-shift/watch). It was emotionally, mentally and physically draining to deal with that for us, so to hear that we weren't giving 100% was painful.

In fairness to her, she made it plain at the beginning of the week that she needed to leave to go home this weekend so that she could start getting ready to spend Christmas with her grandkids. I told Annie that I suspected she was already anticipating the amount of guilt she was going to feel if/when Mom passes away and she isn't present for that "transition". I'm telling myself that she's just trying to put in more than what's called for so that when the inevitable happens she can know that she did what she needed to do to assuage some of that guilt.

Which really isn't any less than what the rest of us have already done, nor any more than what the rest of us will do in the coming weeks.

-------

I expect to have Santa's shopping done today.

I'm glad that we are all older now, because the shopping seems less painful than it could've been had there been tons of toys to buy. Still, there were a few times where I had to get a grip on myself so that I didn't burst into tears at the mall. The voice inside my head made me laugh: "C'mon, Jen, Jesus, could there be anything more pathetic than crying at the mall? Just think about the other poor schlubs who've already done that--do you want to join their masses? No, you don't, so just keep on truckin'. You're too good for that kind of mall-o-drama. Heh-heh-heh."

Smug bastard. I wish he'd just shut up sometimes.

there are pianos falling all over the world right now, and they're all aimed at Lockards

For the record, the title of this post came straight from Bill and not from my brain pan. (I'm on day two of not being "on shift", and I'm beginning to feel more healthy. Which is right on time because I'm headed back to the hospital tomorrow night.) He said it in response to some new developments:

Cathy filed a sexual harrassment suit against a fairly sizeable group of young men going to her college on full scholarships. They were all expelled earlier last week. We are all awaiting the next go round, because the way this thing has been evolving, it's not over yet by a long shot.

Christi is still awaiting results from her spinal tap to know exactly what it is that she has. We've been unable to have contact with her for about 24 hours, because the only number she took with her was the phone number to my mother's room phone at GUH. THAT phone is broken.

Rob called this morning to tell me that his girl broke up with him. Over the phone. After a long, painful, protracted period where it was pretty obvious to everyone else what was coming. But not to Rob.

Dad told me today that GUH is officially releasing my mother to a nursing care facility sometime early next week. When I pushed him to find out if this facility was able to cater to her special needs (ie, her mental issues are out of control at this point and there is NO telling her not to try to get out of bed, even though she's fallen three times), he was vague and agitated. In his mind, she is getting better and my questioning him on any level where she is concerned is upsetting. He is in total denial about her condition, despite the fact that his death grip was the only thing keeping her from breaking her hip the other day. I wish I could put the blinders on with such tenacity.

My father and Annie are headed back to Ohio this weekend for her school. She hasn't packed yet and there are certainly some storm clouds brewing on that horizon. She does seem to be over her cold pretty well, though, so that's good.

I'm still trucking along. My contract was renewed for another month, so I don't have to worry about where money will be coming from. That was so lucky, I can't even believe it.

Today I walked around the house before leaving for work. I was thrilled to see that the Alyssum I'd planted for the wedding has FINALLY decided to start to grow and flower. And the geraniums I transplanted to our barren front flower beds also seem to be taking off. Most of the other beds seem to be growing English garden style since I've not been around to take care of them--except for the bed directly next to the bird feeder, which seems to be about to give up the ghost to the mold Catonsville grows so well. Overall, it was nice to see things growing so well. I had a nice, deep sigh over the fact that I'm doing pretty good at keeping things alive for someone who's never around.

I know it sounds strange, but with all of the not so great things happening to family members, I am feeling pretty lucky right now. It makes supporting them all a little easier, even if it is only a little bit.

At least I know I'm me and not them, and that's not a bad place to start.