Tag Archives: Sandwich Generation

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Responsibilities

Spoiler: this entry could be boring to read. It’s just a dump for me and something that I feel like I can process better if I write it out. If I was still Catholic, I could confess it. I’ve had five-years of analysis, and I’m grateful for that, and really used it to process the trauma that my Dad inflicted which helped me at the end of his life to just show up: take him to appointments, talk to nurses, go to hospitals, go back and forth to his house, get a roofing company to help him get a new roof, get Life Alert set up, etc.

We’d been hit: I had 7 fractures and was in the hospital, my brother was dead, and my first gf was barely injured in 1988, but I am going to start in 1994 when I moved into my apartment that was mine, as a college student. I had few things–it was furnished–but my old roommate started coming over a lot and then we wound up being together intimately. That was a dick move on both of our parts because she had a cousin of a Spanish exchange student living with her in the dorms at the time and she called this guy her brother. She never saw her and was with me all the time and most every night. My landlord got mad after awhile, so the following year we got our own 2-bedroom apartment, and she mostly slept with me. She began seeing a high school classmate of mine too, and we’d go back to the state where I am from and see him. She still slept with me. She eventually was kinda still with my high school classmate, me, and her new bf (She eventually married him), and we just stopped being sexually intimate. It’s weird that few people know. I didn’t go abroad in college because I was with her and she freaked when I suggested it. I started seeing a guy for the first time really during my senior year of college. Yesterday, we’d have been married 25-years.

I lived alone in 1997 and really liked it. That was a year that my Mom wouldn’t really talk to me. My Mom was always my touchstone. She was so pissed at me for going to graduate school that she cut off emotional and financial support. She said that I was “acting like _______’s family who has money.” I told her that I didn’t want to work for Social Services which is all that I was qualified to do with a degree in English and another degree in Psychology (I had taken AP classes so that I received two Bachelor’s in four-years. Not a double major–but, I rather got two full degrees and diplomas.). She told me, “Maybe you need to work for Social Services.” I liked grad school. That was the first time that I felt solo. I ate for the first time in a restaurant by myself, which was weird at first, but is now something that I do all of the time. If I didn’t teach that day, I didn’t hear another human voice. I learned about being lonely and how it’s just a dynamic state that shifts and is not bad, but an uncomfortable emotion.

My previous bf pursued me and then asked me to marry him. I just said yes because I was 23 and really young and dumb. I was married to him for nine years. We never really used any birth control after I completed my degree and we didn’t get pregnant until 2004. That was when I really saw that he didn’t know how to be responsible for much. He never helped with cleaning or cooking. He liked to garden, and that’s about it. He hates being active outside. It’s weird because even to this day he says that he likes it, but if you’re outdoors with him he rages around and complains the whole time and is a bummer.

He is also not one to be inconvenienced at all. One time when our son had his days and nights mixed up, he yelled at him, “Sleep!” while he was smiling in a swing. It’s like my ex-husband wants to play, be on the Internet reading, read books, and not be bothered with any chores, but is fine going to a job that is straightforward: wash dishes or sell attire. It’s a good thing really that in 2007 I fell completely in love with my Boss. I found places for my soon-to-be-ex-husband to live when he screamed at me in front of our son while he was sitting quietly in the back of the car in his car seat. I’ve never looked back after our divorced finalized in March of 2008. I don’t have much respect for the way that he leads his life. His IQ is 142 and he works in retail sales. He lives in a 403-foot square-foot unrenovated apartment and the units next door have been renovated. I found this apartment for him in 2017 and he doesn’t move, ask about a 2-bedroom or inquire with the management or the owner regarding a good space for himself, and now, our son too.

I fell in love with her picture in 2009. I waited until she was single, and she had moved back here where she is from in 2012. She was single in 2013. She fell in love with me quickly, we got engaged in 2014 and married in May. We had some good times together, but are very different people.

I work in spurts. I work a lot too and have a capacity for enormous amounts of work. I have to get in a zone though and am not steady. She would get on my ass all the time about grading, prepping, opening mail, put away clothes, etc. She is beautiful, but super bossy. Actually, she’s probably controlling. I was around for her confronting her sex abusing stepdad, dealing with her leaving a therapy group that was a lot like a cult and all the aftermath from it, and her mental and physical health declining. She was around for helping me finish my dissertation and taking care of my son, and then watching my son decline.

My son made threats at school, he one-upped his gf and tried to get hospitalized, he began emotionally manipulating friends and family members, he punched himself in the face over and over when his Dad had moved out of state, and told friends that his Dad was back and abusing him, he robbed our neighbors and gave their possessions to “friends,” he got suspended from school, he has been on and off lots of meds, he experimented with drugs, he has done some things that I don’t completely understand that have resulted in him being bullied at school, he dropped out, and he has never been respectful to me when I’ve needed simple help in the house that we shared until 6th grade when he declined. He has lived with his Dad about a total of a year-and-a-half and now will never be allowed to return home without some serious family therapy and trial periods. He needs to grow up, or marry royalty. He has very little motivation though and gained tons of weight since the pandemic when he stopped playing sports. I know he vapes. I know that he occasionally smokes pot. I think he is drinking now, and his shape is less like a seventeen-and-a-half-year-old and more like a 30-something alcoholic. It’s sad. He’s charming.

He transferred schools and graduated early in one trimester and was Valedictorian. Teachers and many adults love him. However, my tenure is useless. I can’t impact him anymore and he doesn’t talk to me since I told him that I heard my last fu. He’s really just mad that he doesn’t have full run of a 1056-square foot basement including his own bedroom where his gf can come and go. Someday, he will realize that he makes his own messes. I don’t deny mental illness, but he lets it rule him. He’s been in therapy since he was 6 and completed 40-weeks of a very expensive Dialectical Behavior Therapy Group (DBT) and was only supposed to take two-months off and then do intensive work in that area, but he hasn’t called a new therapist. I’ll see it on my insurance if his gf ever makes him do that. I think that if he’d get up in the morning and take a simple walk, he’d feel better. He could make food when he got back and have some free time before he coaches at night. He told his Dad that he is taking a “senior year,” and his Dad said, “If you don’t have a full-time job by next spring, you’re a bum.” I’m sure that they’re having lots of fun in 403-square feet together.

I had one dog, and my ex-wife insisted on all these pets. They’re hard to afford, hairy, and make lots of messes. I do love them. They’re a ton of responsibility, but I’ll see it through. I do love them, but they are so much work and care.

While all these things were happening with my son, and I was in a new marriage, my parents went downhill. Several weeks after I turned 40 my Mom shattered her shoulder. About a year before that, my Dad stopped sleeping. I think it was the very beginning of dementia. Like me, he was always a good sleeper. I can’t tell you all the stress it caused to respond to all the falls that they both had while I was working two jobs, doing training, parenting and trying to preserve a new marriage.

One time there was blood all over the stairwell when I went to turn off all the lights at their house when my Dad was in the hospital for 4-days. They’d always discharge him to home and it would be another round. My Mom was at home with higher levels of private care (They used to have 225k in cash in an Account.) from 2014 to 2018 when she transitioned from care at home (17-21k per month) to the nursing home which is an average of 11k per month. She spent down, I did failed applications, and finally found a consultant, and got Medicaid. My Dad followed her midway through 2019. COVID would kill him and he would die with staff around him in hazmat suits on April 19, 2020. It was a blessing. He didn’t sleep except during the day and couldn’t communicate well and mostly sat in his bed with his eyes closed and earphones on listening to jazz. My Mom got COVID that June (2020) and her health just declined until she died on December 1, 2021.

My job involves taking care of students who are 11 through adulthood. It’s also very stressful. I’m only going to do it for 6 more years. I should mention that I teach graduate school too, and have also coordinated a graduate program. Neither of the people that I have been married to have contributed to my mortgage, or really ever had lasting careers. My ex-husband paid half of the monthly mortgage payment for one year, and then promptly quit his good job and that was back in 2003. He didn’t work, clean, cook or help for 8-months as he was “finding himself.” I work and make money. I have been responsible for so many people, am still at work, and for these 5 pets.

In relationship, I don’t ever want to be responsible for anyone ever again. I’m waiting for my son to need his money–I have 20k in an ESA for school–or need to move out of his Dad’s 403-square-foot apartment. I suppose that he may just move in his gf’s parents’ big house. They’re really wealthy. He met her in his DBT treatment. I could see him getting others to take care of him. He really doesn’t like to do much with the exception of watch YouTube and Netflix.

However, with intimate partners, I want to keep it simple and respectful. I want to have intentional time together that is mutually carved out. I want to take care of myself as well as I can now. As a 48-year-old person, I think that it’s time for me to be the best person that I can be so that I can add to others’ lives and they can enhance mine.

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Crush

Yesterday was emotionally intense. Around 3 I got a text from my Realtor and she told me that she had hung up with the Chief Operating Officer (COO) of the company who puts together projects for home sales. He felt badly about my getting stung at the house and winding up in Urgent Care, so he’s hiring out the landscaping. He called me about an hour later and told me that he was sorry. That went a long way for me. This process has been a complete freakshow. I liked having that acknowledged. I’m still going to write him out a timeline of everything. The house was supposed to be listed 7/1 and the company said that we could after 6/16. Here we are!

Shortly after I hung up with the COO, another Project Manager called me. He and I are meeting with landscaper today, and I’m hoping that we’ll also have time before I bowl tonight to document in pictures the horrible work and destruction. I want to also show him all the messes–like dumping joint compound and paint into the carport. I also want him to have photos that he takes and uploads of the destroyed sleeper sofa to the front facing app that the company uses for project updates. I wonder if there is paint on the carpet or problems under where they put it in the now finished basement? That wouldn’t shock me.

The day before the neighbors who want to buy the house cancelled a meeting with my Realtor and hired a Realtor. I was so upset. Mine explained to me that just means that they have to pay her and pay theirs. It’s dumb. Also, it makes me feel as if they don’t trust me at all. So, I’ve made a decision. The house is worth 525k now, and so they can have it for 500k. If that isn’t acceptable, I’ll get it looking pristine and we’ll go through the whole staging process–I have things to put in it–and list it. It will sell for well over 525k then, and I don’t need the money soon anyway.

I have decided that one thing that I want is a porch extension. I don’t like shoes in house. I want to design a little entryway because my porch is scary and people fall off of it anyway due to the height, and I’d like the sides of the small entryway to have boxes inside. I’ll call it the shoebox. People can put their shoes in the boxes. They put them back on when they leave. I’m going to use the money for it and then get the rest in CDs and another account so I can move $7,500 a year into my IRA. I don’t want my lifestyle to shift very much. I do want that one thing: the shoebox. There are certainly other things that I want to do in my old house, but can do them anyway when I’m not paying monthly maintenance to my ex-wife. Two payments left!

So, my Realtor is to thank for this shift. She and I had to text much of the day yesterday. She’s such an ace.

It’s been weird to work on the house. It made me think of my Dad a whole bunch too, and I scanned a picture of me in elementary school and one of him from high school and made a FB post. I look identical to him. My son does too, but has brown hair and blue eyes, so people don’t see the resemblance which is uncanny, because people are obsessed with skin and eye color. Good old threads of racism. Anyway, it’s just been heavy.

As a result of all the emotion and the savior complex that now I’ve put the Realtor in, I had another dream about her. It was one of those where she was coming onto me and I was confused by it. We did wind up kissing and such. It’s a dream, and I don’t confuse it with reality. I also don’t touch or hug her. I’m good with boundaries. Crushes, even when you’re 48-years-old are just sucky.

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The Oven Mitt

I was born in the city that I live in; however, my Dad was in a Civil Engineering program 25-miles away so I was first taken as a newborn to married student housing. We moved when I was 13-months, and then we moved all the time literally. This particular move was because my Dad dropped out of the program. I was always thinly blamed for that, which is so stupid. I didn’t ask to be born.

I guess that I had wicked colic. My Mom never much of an eater, and she said that I just basically screamed all the time; but given that my Mom really only liked coffee and cigarettes, I’m sure that my food wasn’t nourishing. I was weaned at 3-months. My Mom was obsessed with me. She held me while I slept. I eventually slept in 16-hour stretches. I guess until I could move around, I was dissociative 🙂 May have had something to do with the fact that my Dad wanted to leave me to die in the snow when I was screaming. My Mom told me that. He decided against it and when I was 5-months, I wasn’t colicky anymore.

On the fourth of July in 1981, I climbed up the hill behind the four-plex that we were renting at the time and got comfortable. That was the only time in my life that I have ever been stung by a bee. When bees sting you, they die and the barb stays. I’d been stung on the wrist and my arm looked like Popeye that night. I love bees. I know that if I hadn’t probably almost squished it in the clover where it was working, it wouldn’t have stung me. My arm was HUGE and we had to keep mixing a paste of meat tenderizer for it. My Mom did that many times and then I started doing it. I was 7-years-old when I got my first sting.

I do not love wasps. I do not love hornets. I have a complete disdain for yellow jacket wasps.

I have to complete all the conditions of probate. I have to file estate taxes by next June. I have to obtain a Personal Representatives Deed. Since 2014 these are many types of tasks that I have had to do. It’s well different than fighting with doctors who wouldn’t let my Mom get surgery, wouldn’t let my Dad take Seroquel, etc. He couldn’t even have one shot of whiskey. Not one. He asked the Medicaid Physician to kill him in November of 2019 and the rounding doctor said he wasn’t terminal. He told my Dad to pray. My Dad told him that he was an atheist. The doctor said, “Pray for death.” Did it work? He got COVID 5-months later.

My son and I went to the house to use weed whackers, but because the soil is so good the prickly lettuce was like bamboo. The Russian thistle could mostly be pulled, but some really had thick stalks. We borrowed hand shears and a bypass lopper from a neighbor. This neighbor wants to buy the house. That would be great. We could stop doing yard work then because I could sell it for 20k less.

The whole thing is Monopoly money anyway. 75k goes to my ex-wife and I have to ensure that I don’t do anything which will result in my having to pay capital gains taxes. Luckily, the final estate appraisal fee can come out of the estate account. There is very little money in there and I’ve already paid $6787.03 out of my pocket, and don’t want to pay anything again. Oddly, that is about what my debt is for the the next 19-months. Almost to the penny. I thought of it as the retainer for the lawyer, new engine mounts for my vehicle, and the trees and irrigation system, but it was really about what I was short this year. I know it didn’t help to be paying maintenance.

The subcontractors who work for the company that gets their piece of the Monopoly money pile at closing are actual shitty people. New things were Cheeto shrapnel, Monster cans and a divided lime. The latter was on the mailbox. When I moved it, a yellow jacket decided to sting me. I think he wanted the lime for a food home. I was able to do 3-hours of yard work, and it certainly hurt. However, yesterday my hand was disappearing. I went back and forth to Urgent Care because my insurance had changed and I initially had forgotten my cellphone. Anyway, it got so gross last night even through two Prednisone. I know that I’m not technically allergic to stings, but I do get weird reactions. I hope that I can bowl on Wednesday. The oven mitt that my hand has become reminded me of my first sting, and how these subcontractors are really unprofessional and sloppy.

Fat, red, swollen hand is difficult to use. Last night it was also past the wrist and 2/3 of the way up my forearm
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Slow Processor

It takes me awhile to put things together. I’m reflecting on the demise of my parents today. My Dad has been gone three years, and my Mom just over a year-and-a-half.

I mentioned that I’m on Slack now. It’s been fruitful–good connections. Last night during bowling our other teammate asked if I was dating or swiping or anything and I told her that I’m not. I’m actually fine being solo too. My divorce isn’t even a year finalized yet, and I know that will be a shift for me. Today I’m climbing with my friend and going out later to sing. The weather is disgusting. The night before I woke up at 4 and the house was 80 and this morning I woke up at 5 and the house was 81. It’s 71 right now; I’ll see if I can get it a bit lower in here. I have a large attic fan. I can buy a new cooler for the whole house (roof) next spring. I’ll shop around too. There’s gotta be one less than 10k installed, right?

Back to Slack. People wrote about aging and dying parents. I figured it was time for me to process in writing.

My Mom shattered her shoulder in 2014. My Dad called me at work and I had to tell my Boss that I was leaving early. She was a bit shitty about it, but my Dad sounded terrible on the phone. I rushed over there. My Mom was laying on the floor and looked ashen and gray. It was probably her 12th fall. The fire department had been getting irritated with her, because they had to help her all of the time. I asked her where it hurt and she said in her right arm. My mother had been paralyzed on her left side most of her life. I never knew her to be able to use her left side at all and she walked with a limp. This disability called hemiplegia was a result of a stroke that she had when she was in college at the age of 21.

Back to the floor in 2014. I didn’t want to move her; although, my Dad kept saying to please pick her up or help him do so. I stayed until the Fire Department got there and she winced when they put her back in her wheelchair. I heard a pop too. They transported her to the hospital, I think. Or she followed up that week. I don’t remember. I do remember seeing the x-ray and the doctor saying, “You just hurt looking at that,” where the socket was and bone shards were floating. They never operated. They had excuses. One time she went for surgery and hadn’t been off two of her medications long enough so they sent her home. Then she got the run around. Her one, good, usable arm could eventually be raised to almost shoulder level. Of course her other side was still paralyzed. I tried to work, finish my dissertation, parent, and attend to a new marriage while doing all these things for my parents.

She survived a stroke. She survived losing her son at the age of 39. She survived her childhood. She survived a terrible marriage. She survived that fall. She survived COVID. Then for the next year-and-a-half, she disappeared. Her voice got smaller and smaller. I used to visit her every week. During COVID it was phone calls for three-months, but with her tiny voice I couldn’t hear her. Then the staff broke rules and opened her window, put her ten feet back, I wore doubled masks and talked to her 6-feet through the window. I don’t think that I got to be next to her for 9-10 months.

I had gotten married a month before my Mom shattered her shoulder. One time, my Mom was in either the hospital or rehab as she was for three-years at intervals all the time, and my son, my wife and I had flu. We couldn’t move. They were both throwing up, and I was just achy, in bed, stomach churning for days in December during my vacation. I couldn’t get ahold of my Dad on the phone. My wife called her mother and her mother’s boyfriend and said that she would sanitize a key and put it in the mailbox. When they got to my Dad, he was on the floor covered in pee. They sat him up, gave him a glass of water that he gulped, and then he drank two more. He had the same flu. If they hadn’t gotten there when they did, he probably would have died on the floor. He went to the hospital. These things are the way in which people blow through 225k. For years you pay co-pays, a few thousand for your portion of 3-9 days in rehab, caretakers in your home, and then 11 – 15k per month for skilled nursing until you have 3,000k to your name.

All that to say that when the house sells, I’m meeting with my attorney to get my affairs in order. My parents had a will and all documents, but it didn’t help them ultimately. My son will not be my POA or MPOA like I was via my parents’ Durable Power of Attorney. They never asked me. They just did that. I had just turned 40 and had to try to do things that I was legally required to do.

I’m setting up a scholarship which will be permanent in my brother’s name this fall which will pay fall and spring. I’ll put 7,500 in my IRA every year, and when I’m 62, I’ll start paying out 12,000 every year to my son. I’m starting to pay for long-term care insurance this year or next at the latest. I need my Attorney to advise me with which company and the like. I’m changing my will too. I’m getting a DNR right now. I need to see options for people who don’t have a Durable Power of Attorney. That won’t be my son.

Image by Sabine van Erp from Pixabay
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Nooooooooo

I went to the house today and the realtor got out of her car and said, “I’m ready to fight and come in guns a-blazin'” with a super earnest look and then pulled me toward her chest to chest, abdomens touching. She is so good at her job. She also is a good hugger and I don’t think that chemistry can be faked because I feel it. Such a bummer.

After we met with them, and it was really unpleasant because the Senior Manager said that I have to take all emotion out of it and that is how contract work goes and that ripping up cushions was lazy and not malicious, we chatted about the next steps. I felt gaslighted. Recall that they dabbed up wet paint with the Caretaker’s shirt too. That’s not lazy; it’s completely bizarre.

I did find really nice sofa sleeper in a mountain town that they’ll move to her apartment. It was way nicer than the one that the contractors destroyed which belonged to me. Actually, it’s nicer than any of my current furniture too. So, I think that it’s moving forward. I bought her bedding yesterday so now it’s the tables and shirt. I’m going to let them start work when they have that sofa sleeper in her apartment, and then I hope to never hear from this horrible firm that puts together contractors who are negligent, disrespectful, and sometimes completing uncaring and mean.

I texted Maryland to pick up my mug. He hugged me a couple of times and generally looked like hell. He’s gained some weight too. I still think that as long as we talk about our platonic friendship, I don’t mind doing some long hikes with him. He is nice.

Now, I’m thinking about the realtor (photographer). It sucks too. Again, I give her a wide berth always and never would have hugged her, but she hugged me this morning. I know that we’re going to have some tension if after the house sells she does want to hang out occasionally. And I don’t think that there is any way to fake chemistry when you feel it coming off of someone.