One year ago today

September 1. This is an anniversary of sorts. It is the date of my mom’s fall and her first subdural hematoma last year. While I didn’t realize it at the time, the date – 9/1 – would become my own personal 9/11, just without one of the 1s. I look back, and I wonder how in the world we got to the point we were on that date, and how we managed the events of the past year.

A friend of my sister’s said many months back, “Wow. You just can’t make this shit up.” It’s become somewhat of a mantra for Beth and I. As life became more and more unstable, and the bizarre continued to get more bizarre, we would think to ourselves that it was beyond making up. People have told us we need to write a book.

The thing is, I’ve also come to learn that nearly every family has some level of drama and heartache in it. Even the “normal” families have some member who skews the curve. I used to think that I grew up in a normal family. We were upper middle class, my parents were conservative and forced us to follow rules that would allow us to grow into responsible adults. My parents worked hard and were well educated. They passed along a good moral compass and strong ethics.

In 1996 my brother rocked “normal” in our family by having his life of illegal lies outed publicly – something that was enormously embarrassing for my family as our name was dragged through the headlines day after day. In the years since he has yet to hold a steady job in between his stays in jail. Yet still, with the exception of my brother, I considered the rest of my family normal. My sister and I both graduated from college and went on to obtain Master’s degrees. We both married and had children. We both held good jobs that provided us with a living and satisfaction. My parents had “done well” with us, anyway.

Fast forward to 2010. My mom spent more and more of her days in bed and the year went on. By summer she’d lost 40 pounds, took none of her medication, and never left her bed. My basement-dwelling brother was the root of most of her depression. No matter how much we begged her, she wouldn’t get out of bed. Two sessions with a therapist in July gave us all some hope, but then she deemed herself fine and quit going.

The fall occurred while my brother was “helping” my mom into the car to go to a doctor appointment. She lost her balance because of the weakened state she was in, and cracked the back of her head on the pavement so hard that her brain pressed forward into the front of her skull and bled. Between September 1 and December 1 she was in and out of the hospital. She fell more at home, her brain bled more. The blood on her brain caused seizures, and she went into a coma-like state with stroke-like symptoms.

December 1 she went into skilled nursing care. She never opened her eyes, she was in a wheelchair, she couldn’t feed herself. We were beside ourselves with grief over the way she had become, and fearful if she would ever be back.

December 1 to April 20 for my mom proved to be months of dramatic improvement. She progressed through therapy, ate more, was alert more, and earned herself the right to move to assisted care rather than skilled care.

The part that warrants a “you can’t make this shit up” has more to do with my dad. After a Christmas Day blow up he announced he was taking my mom home. Wheelchair, catheter and all. To a house full of stairs and alcoholics. My sister and I were horrified. There was no way he could care for my mom in the state she was in; he’d proven through 2010 that he wasn’t capable in the caregiver role period. With the support of all of my parents’ friends and our family, we were forced to seek legal guardianship of my mom.

The judge deemed our case an emergency, and an immediate order was placed that my mom would not be moved. Over the course of the next several months, my sister and I spent thousands of dollars and countless hours with our attorney to ensure that my mom could receive the care she needed to get better. Not only that, but to ensure her survival.

In the end, it proved too much for us. While we had no doubt we would win in court, we could no longer live through the pain and stress it was causing – not just stress on us, but on our own families. We backed out, and signed my mom’s guardianship over to West Michigan Guardianship.

Through the winter and spring my dad’s reliance on alcohol proved heavy, resulting in significant legal issues for him as well as hospital stays. We thought our mom had been our main concern, but my dad quickly took over as having the biggest issues. This I had never seen coming.

And now, a year later, my “growing up” family has been through hell, but I certainly can’t say hell and back. My mom is mostly better, but her 30-year home is not safe for her and she won’t consider anything else. My dad is through with court dates, but won’t give up the booze.

Through all my sister and I did last year – cleaning their house, bringing over food, living at the hospital and nursing home for days on end, spending thousands of dollars we certainly couldn’t afford, our schedule to make sure one of us was with my mom each and every day – my parents have at this point shoved us out of their lives. My letters to them go unanswered.

So of all the events of the past year which earn the comment of not being able to make it up, having my parents close the door on me – and their grandchildren – is the one I never would have seen coming. And the one I’ll never be able to get over.