You Don't Understand

A news article reports that a 26-year-old woman, whose son was killed in an accident she caused while driving under the influence, left his graveside funeral service and went to a bar to drink, rather than returning to jail. Why is there surprise that a drunk drinks? Why are we shocked when drunk drivers cause deadly accidents? The addiction is the problem: the method of addiction varies, but an addict's life is controlled by uncontrollable dependency on addictive substances. Once the substance abuse becomes the person, there is no life. Death becomes inevitable - either for the addict or for someone who shares time/space with the addict.

My friend is an alcoholic who is also addicted to prescription pain medication. She is an absolute master at doctor-shopping and knows how to space out her appointments and present her symptoms to get prescriptions for highly addictive drugs that she washes down with booze. If the drug is on the top ten list of most addictive, she has it. She self-medicates, mixing pills and booze as she tries to anesthetize the symptoms of a life that has deteriorated to desperation.

I grew up with alcoholism, and it isn’t pretty either for the drunk or for the people who have to deal with the drunk. When most alcoholics aren’t drinking, they can be great friends, but when the addiction wins, the spiral toward complete collapse can pick up family, friends, and innocent bystanders in the blink of an eye. I’ve confronted my friend several times, being explicit in my observations of her drunken ramblings, stumbling falls, and inability to function either personally or professionally. I’ve recommended that she commit herself to a treatment facility before it’s too late, but perhaps it’s already too late.

Her response is always the same: you don’t understand.

She's an addict who cannot acknowledge her addiction, and if there is no problem, there is no need for treatment. She tells me about her pain, the real physical pain and the imaginary pain that combine to make her life intolerable. She has reasons for needing the pain pills: the shoulder pain, the neck pain, the back pain, the arm pain, the wrist pain, the hand pain, the hip pain, the knee pain, and she has pills for all of them. She is stumbling and falling, causing more pain and bruising. Her life is defined by pain that she no longer can endure nor mask with medication or alcohol.

Recently, there have been many phone calls, the rambling incoherent cry for help that marks the descent into desperation. This time, it’s not the extreme physical pain, nor the debilitating depression that follows increasing dependency on the pills to blot out the reality that her life sucks. This time, it’s triggered by her husband, who no longer will accept nor deal with the death spiral. This time, I called him and left a message because he won’t answer his phone: he has distanced himself from the self-destruction and issued the ultimatum that she has 30 days to vacate the home they share – and he doesn’t care where she goes or what she does. This time, he will not give her money to relocate or help her in that process because he knows all too well that the money will be spent either on booze or her daughter, whose bills she’s paid since I’ve known her. This time, he says her daughter can step up and be part of the solution, rather than the problem.

Whereas most of us grow up in dysfunctional families in one way or another, addicts fuel the dysfunction for themselves and the people who occupy the planet with them. Whether it's a tough love strategy aimed at shocking her into getting help or simply his own frustration at being unable either to help her or to live with her, her husband has the clock ticking and she has come completely undone.

Last night, she called to share her plan. She’s going to take all of her money out of her retirement fund, pay off the mortgage and second on the home she owns that is occupied by her daughter and family, and then commit suicide. Physically, she’s always in pain, so she cannot continue to work; mentally, she’s convinced herself that where she is right now is a place she neither can control nor change; and emotionally, she’s determined that the world will be better off without her. There is no listening to reason because she’s incoherent 24/7, stumbling through her words and her world, all the while being watched by her 12-year-old grandson, a high-functioning autistic child who lives with her.

After last night’s call, I left the message on her husband’s phone: please help her. Whether she means to die or not, she’s taking pill after pill after pill, desperate to find anything that finally will make the pain go away. She is no longer rational nor capable of reasoning, and, perhaps, the end result is a foregone conclusion. I called back for 2 hours last night, but the phone was busy. I doubt it was her husband talking to her because he’s made it clear that he no longer is responsible for her life – or her death.

I’m expecting the call I don't want to answer. It may not come today; it may not come tomorrow; but it will come.

NOTE: her husband called to thank me for caring, but also to warn me not to care too much as there is little anyone can do until she takes the first step. He also warned me that she wants to move in with me as she feels that I can deal with her problems in a manner that will help her to stop drinking, drugging, and destroying her life. I told him that I've been there, done that - and it doesn't work for me or for the addict!

I had an opportunity to express my concern about the suicide strategy, but he says he's heard it all before and if he thought she would harm herself or anyone else, he'd step in and have her committed for observation. He says their g'son knows what's going on and he knows either to get out of the way or protect himself, especially by not getting into a car when his g'ma is acting "goofy." I'm not so sure I agree on this point, but the family is trying to handle the problem, so I can let go of it.

Plan the Work; Work the Plan

My eyes popped open at 4 am, so I got out of bed and began my day because I had nothing to read; hence, no early morning cup of coffee and a coupla chapters! By 6:30, I was movin’ through the house like a whirling dervish …

Well, that may be a slight exaggeration (what we in the biz call hyperbole), but I was cleaning the couches and the floors, Mia’s domain. For a short-haired dog, she sheds like few dogs I’ve ever seen. I used the vacuum left behind in the recent move and filled the bagless cup area 4 separate times with rug fuzz and dog hair. I banged the air filter at the same time I emptied the collection cup as the fine dirt that comes with the winds out here clogs everything. As I was trying to clean the tracks for the new slider, I noticed that the powerful “wind tunnel” wasn’t doing the job, so I hefted it onto a chair and took a look. My son shredded docs for days – and the air hose was clogged with chad! I had to disassemble the machine, which brought back the time many years ago when I purchased a new vac and son took it apart to see how it worked. Yeah, he put it back together, but there were a few tense moments.

Anyhoo, as I vacuumed, I also spot-cleaned the rug; however, there were so many spots that I just as easily could have called in Stanley Steemer (which I’ll do when I return the end of July from the second trip to Canada). The house both looks and smells fresher, but still needs the fan blades cleaned, the furniture dusted, and the tiles mopped (which I’ll do when it cools off).

Then it was off to Sam’s Club for the bare necessities: books! I found 3 of the titles on my list and picked up the last one next door at the Wal-Mart, where I also bought a new shower head. I loved using my children’s fancy adjustable shower heads, so I treated myself to one: just have to install it and then try it out. I also bought a new keyboard as I literally wore out several of the keys on the old one. I bought plug in and cheap as I’m not a big fan of the wireless products so many computer users favor. I’ve had several wireless mice and all I’ve done is replace batteries, which isn’t cost effective in my world view. I like this keyboard with the exception that it’s having issues when I type double letters, but what can you expect for $20?

Before I could go shopping, I had to stop by a friend’s home and empty her car, which has been sold on-line while she’s at home in PA. I had already showered and dressed in clean clothes, so intended to back the car out of the garage to make access easier and finish the job in a jiffy, but the battery was disconnected, so I got to worm my way between the other vehicle and the cabinets along the wall, which made the job harder to do. And, there was a lot of stuff in her car for an obsessive person who cleans her car every week even when she hasn’t driven it! It didn't take long before I was dripping sweat, getting my clothes dirty, and calling my friend some pretty choice names. Oh, well. It’s done, my shopping is finished, and the friend I picked up for company and I enjoyed our pan pizzas at Pizza Hut, and life is good.

My house sitter is coming by this evening after he gets off work, so I’m going to finish the cleaning and laundry that’s waiting for attention. I also have to get back outside to complete the paver patio project, but it’s into the triple digits again, but that can wait for much cooler days!

... And that has made all the difference.

The milestones in one’s life space out as the children age, so the first day of school is followed by high school graduation, college graduation, the first apartment, the career changes, and, sometimes, the birth of grandchildren. The 40th birthday of the first-born comes as somewhat of a shock, but, overall, these changes are a natural, progressive part of life, something we share as we move through life on slightly divergent paths. However, sending one’s only son to a foreign country to live the rest of his life is one of the most difficult life events I’ve faced, and I’m not sure why because it’s right for him at this time in his life. His wife completes him, smoothes his rough edges, and encourages him in ways he needs to be encouraged. They are a good, solid couple – and being a couple means living together, not maintaining an extremely long-distance relationship, such as the one that has been their life for the past 3 years.

My children were upset when I left home and moved to a state where I knew no one to accept a job that was going to be one way, but turned out another. There was a shared sigh of relief when Mom came to her senses, returned home, and resumed her career in education. It’s okay for the children to come and go, but the parents’ job is to stay put, change nothing, and wait for the prodigals to come home to grilled steaks and chilled salads.

Finding himself is not my son’s new life: he relocated to Canada to live with his wife. His immigration status is permanent resident, but he’ll retain his US citizenship. Not only do I approve of the marriage, but I also whole-heartedly support it as his wife is a loving, delightful woman who makes a wonderful daughter-in-law, as well as wife. Because she has a career, a home, family and friends, and has lived her life in one geographical location, my son suggested that he, an apartment dweller, relocate and find a job in Canada. They agreed that path could be best for their future together, and then it was a matter of applying for and receiving the approvals necessary for him to achieve that goal. Fortunately, at the same time his job was eliminated by a company buy-out, his approval to relocate to Canada came through. Then it was a matter of doing whatever it took to walk out of SoCal and into Canada, a task accomplished between May 1 and June 17, 2008.

Talking about it logically, planning the logistics, and executing the plan are different skill sets than saying good-bye to my son and then flying to my home 3500 miles away! There is an emotional heaviness, regardless of how much I logically approve of the plan, because he is my son. I’ll miss him because he’s not a hundred miles down the freeway, a quick trip by SoCal standards. No more b’fast at Denny’s, lunch at Olive Garden, ice cream at Baskin Robbins, movie reviews that prove the professionals are idiots, or Lakers games via cell phone.

Life has moved on, and, as Robert Frost said so eloquently, “… knowing how way leads on to way,” our paths will cross less frequently in the future. We’ll plan our time together and make it happen, regardless of the price of gas or an airline ticket, but the journey is not going to be the same without my son here to share it.

What's the Plan, Stan?

George next door is taking care of Mia, happily so, according to my ex-husband's wife, who speaks Spanish and confirmed the pictogram I made so George and I could discuss this situation. What a huge load removed from my mind! He and Mia have bonded through the chain link fence, so I am completely confident that she will be well-cared for while I'm gone.

My friend has a key to the house and the remote for the garage, so she's all set to come by and check on things. Another friend always has a back-up set of keys, too, because you just never know.

The packing isn't finished, but it's close. Today is son's day to do the last-minute errands associated with leaving for another country, as well as packing the last stack of small boxes. We worked long and hard yesterday, but couldn't quite finish the process. Neither one of us is a fine physical specimen, but we do know hard work and consistent effort, so we're overcoming the obstacles to the stupendous task we've been given.

Tuesday, son will pick up the trailer while I drive back to his apartment. We'll move boxes down the stairs (God, do I HATE stairs) and into the trailer. When the trailer's full and the apartment empty, he'll turn in his keys and we'll start the drive to my house, so I can shower, change, pick up my suitcase, lock up the house and start driving to the far eastern seaboard.

Then, the true challenge begins: can son and mother co-exist in a locked vehicle traveling 3250 miles together? If we weren't so much alike, it could be easier, but being so much alike has made the whole process possible because one of our common traits is our commitment to stick with it until it's finished -- come hell or high water.

Life isn't always pretty or easy, but it is doable, so let's just get this done!

YUK!

Remember the sunburn that resulted from the birthday lunch at the beach May 31? Last evening, my upper arm itched, so I reached to scratch it and found -- yuk -- it's covered in blisters!

I'm not sure why it took a week for the blisters to show up, but they are gross and some of the largest blisters I ever remember as a result of sunburn. They are filled with fluid and starting to ooze when I rub the itchy skin. Soon, the skin will dry up and then the flaking and peeling will start. Meanwhile, the tender skin beneath the sunburn will require extra pampering, including lots of high-number sunscreen.

I'm old enough to know better, but missed the wiser part of that saying or I would never have been outside for 3 hours without sunscreen protection.