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Good Sister just got back from one of her bimonthly trips to Florida to see Mom. Mom asked GS what her relationship to the Wendling is. Le sigh.
And from the Dept. of Dark Goodness, Mom appears to have given up trying to hide her dementia from her doctors. She didn't get dressed in time, so GS had to take her to the neurologist in her PJs. Then, instead of miraculously pulling it together for fifteen minutes as she usually does, she unloaded a whole parcel of delusions on the doctor, saying that Dad's alive, that she's got nurses living with her, etc. Good Sister quotes the neurologist as replying, "Huh."
Why is this good? Because we're not going to have to fight doctors to get Mom what she so clearly needs.
While GS was debriefing me, she got to talking about plans to dispose of Mom's and Dad's remains. Dad requested that their ashes be scattered together along the Blue Ridge Parkway in Virginia, where they used to go on drives together. Good Sister asked me if I wanted to come along. Of course I said yes. How many more chances am I going to get to go on a road trip with my pain-in-the-ass, salt-of-the-earth Good Sister?
GS asked me if I was OK going to and through Trumpland, and I said yes. It's wonderful that she was thoughtful enough to ask, but horrible that her question is reasonable. We kids used to visit our grandparents there, dammit.
But there's something else notable about my sister's plans: they could be called premature. Mom isn't near death's door, progressive loss of marbles notwithstanding. Good Sister admits to hoping that Mom dies sooner rather than later of something besides dementia, because the frontotemporal dementia that Mom has can end in losing the ability to swallow. It can be a slow, agonizing death.
I don't presume to judge my sister. She's easily suffered the most from the horror that our mother has become. But I also hope, reasonably I think, that somebody is wrong about Mom's medical details.
Edited to add: If this road trip happens, I'd be thrilled if Evil Sister joined us. That doesn't change my position, which I've communicated to Good Sister, that ES owes me a great, big apology.
And from the Dept. of Dark Goodness, Mom appears to have given up trying to hide her dementia from her doctors. She didn't get dressed in time, so GS had to take her to the neurologist in her PJs. Then, instead of miraculously pulling it together for fifteen minutes as she usually does, she unloaded a whole parcel of delusions on the doctor, saying that Dad's alive, that she's got nurses living with her, etc. Good Sister quotes the neurologist as replying, "Huh."
Why is this good? Because we're not going to have to fight doctors to get Mom what she so clearly needs.
While GS was debriefing me, she got to talking about plans to dispose of Mom's and Dad's remains. Dad requested that their ashes be scattered together along the Blue Ridge Parkway in Virginia, where they used to go on drives together. Good Sister asked me if I wanted to come along. Of course I said yes. How many more chances am I going to get to go on a road trip with my pain-in-the-ass, salt-of-the-earth Good Sister?
GS asked me if I was OK going to and through Trumpland, and I said yes. It's wonderful that she was thoughtful enough to ask, but horrible that her question is reasonable. We kids used to visit our grandparents there, dammit.
But there's something else notable about my sister's plans: they could be called premature. Mom isn't near death's door, progressive loss of marbles notwithstanding. Good Sister admits to hoping that Mom dies sooner rather than later of something besides dementia, because the frontotemporal dementia that Mom has can end in losing the ability to swallow. It can be a slow, agonizing death.
I don't presume to judge my sister. She's easily suffered the most from the horror that our mother has become. But I also hope, reasonably I think, that somebody is wrong about Mom's medical details.
Edited to add: If this road trip happens, I'd be thrilled if Evil Sister joined us. That doesn't change my position, which I've communicated to Good Sister, that ES owes me a great, big apology.
