In real life

I had to dig deep for my 100 days of blogging experiment to *not* talk about the issue that has been weighing on me since September. There were, in fact, three or four posts that touched on the situation, but I had to unpublish them when things took a turn and I thought it would be prudent to not look too...human. 

Well, I guess now I can.

Long story short (that would be eight months into one paragraph): my mother broke her hip in early September, and my husband and I cared for my autistic, non-verbal adult sister for one month in their home nearby. It was not nearly as difficult as I always feared, but because I missed my own children, I didn't object when my mother wanted to come home. It was immediately evident that she wasn't able to care for herself, much less my sister, so, with two of my other sisters, we began pursuing guardianship. We tried to discuss it with my mother calmly, but it didn't matter. We began legal proceedings, and before my mother found out, she proved our point for us by nearly giving my sister medication that she doesn't need, which could have killed her. It was excruciating, but it was only a matter of time. The attorney my husband engaged did a fantastic job with a frustrating set of circumstances, and we were successful. 

Having spent most of my life being gaslit about my family, it was amazing to have a judge validate, um, reality. I didn't feel the proverbial weight lift off my shoulders, but I felt more optimistic than I have in a long time. Problems no longer required me to talk in circles; I still have a number of challenges I need to meet, but I now have the authority to meet them. And that is not nothing.

One of those challenges remains my mother. When she was served with legal notice, she was so angry with me that she made it clear she didn't want me to come to their home. When I did finally go back after the case had been settled, she told me how nice it was to see me. Based on conversations she's had with my sisters, I know she has no recollection of the matter, based on her manner with me as well as her conversations with one of my other sisters. And that is infuriating: a neurology nurse practitioner assessed her in November and could only come up with "mild cognitive impairment". I have no idea what the official definition of dementia is, but I do assume it includes forgetting conversations within minutes, and that's where we are now.

Where we are now, but not where we're going to stay. That is a promise.

Deb in the City