Irreverence

All right kids, I now know what it feels like to lose a Faux Ma.  I have to admit I feel bad for Boyfriend.  After all, no one likes to have a dead mom. 

I really, morbidly so, wanted to be in the room when Faux Ma passed to the other side.  I've never seen a person die before.  Unfortunately I was in the kitchen when it happens.  Figures.  No, I wasn't stuffing my face.  In fact it was even kind of hard to sip on my Diet Dr. Pepper while in the sick house.  I was with Boyfriend and the nurse ladies talking about how soon it would be before she dies.  Five minutes into the conversation Faux Pa came running toddling out of the bedroom and uttered his usual words, "you better come."  That's when one of the nurse ladies said, "she's gone." 

Yeah, I was a little disappointed to miss the moment of truth.  I hoped to see a glimmer of "the light" in her face.  That's assuming she was going toward "the light" and not the firey pits of hell.  One never knows for sure, except in my case where I just assume I'll visit the firey pits of hell for all the nasties I pull on this blog.

I guess someone up there figured it was enough for me to see all I did while Faux Ma was dying.  The caregivers did a hell of a job keeping her nice and dignified while cancer ate away her body.  It bothered me when she wanted her feet "untied."  That meant she wanted her feet outside the blanket and sheet.  Faux Ma had the biggest feet I've ever seen on a woman, really long and narrow.  And her big toes curled up, like cartoon hillbilly toes. 

It was disgusting.  And there they were, hanging out for all of us to see.  Of course it didn't bother anyone as much as it did me, hater of all things feet. 

Little did I know cartoon hillbilly feet would be preferable to what came one day when Faux Ma was just a tad agitated.  The caregiver was straightening out the sheets and taking the pillow out from between her thin little legs.  And then I saw it.  The cooter.  AAAGGGHHH!  Yep, I got a free shot of Faux Pa's wife's cooter.  And he saw me see it.  He was all embarrassed and hated that I saw the precious jewel of his pleasure.  So I was torn between feeling utter horror for seeing Faux Ma's naughty bits and gut-busting hysterics over Faux Pa's fidgeting over my glimpse.

It's ironic how life bites you in the ass.  This was just one more point in favor of my theory that everything that brings you shame in life will reveal itself fully in your death and dying.  Faux Ma was reserved and would never even think of telling a sex joke.  She was all about appearances.  She cared way too much what people thought of her and her family.  If she realized her little veejayjay was out for all to see her mortification would have taken her life well before the cancer did.

It will be a long time before the mental image of that from which Boyfriend passed at birth leaves me.  And longer still the annoyed look Faux Pa shot me, as if I had violated his wife's modesty on purpose.  Perhaps on Mother's Day I'll get a little remembrance for Faux Pa...

Au Naturale Lips by artbywinona

The Movie Of Faux Ma's Demise

Being the uncompassionate person I am I was complaining about how Faux Ma is handling her dire health situation.  While I am definitely not directly involved with the situation due to the fact that having a disease like cancer is a private family matter not to include the likes of me, a mere fixture in her son's life for fourteen years, it drives me nuts how she is living the last months of her life.  I know, just because someone isn't doing it the way I see fit doesn't mean they're doing it wrong.  Except she is.  Way wrong.  More wrong than wrong.  So wrong that she will be questioned at the Pearly Gates by St. Peter.  "So, Faux Ma, how did you make a difference to the world in your last days?"  Her only response will be "I drove Faux DIL nuts."  Not only is it a stupid legacy, being able to drive me nuts isn't really that big of an accomplishment.  It's pretty easy to do.

So as I'm ranting to Penelope about how mental I am over Faux Ma's wasted days she gave me a good piece of advice.  "Sit back and watch the movie."  I've gotten that advice before, from a mental health professional at that, and seriously, it works.  One can be engrossed in a movie without becoming emotionally involved.  Great advice. 

As so often happens when Penelope and I speak we go off on tangents to entertain ourselves.  In this case I asked her, "so, who would you cast in The Movie Of Faux Ma's Demise?"  I must say, Penelope missed her calling as a Hollywood casting director.  She was spot on.  So from now on when I refer to people in my blog, you can picture them like this:

Faux Ma, the life-long passive-aggressive, long-suffering, anal-retentive star of The Movie Of Faux Ma's Demise:

Faux Pa, husband of Faux Ma, possessing a fear of too many buttons on electronics, incapable of operating a microwave, and all around useless housemate:

Boyfriend, son of Faux Ma and Faux Pa, and all around good egg:

Meredith, love of Boyfriend's life, bane of Faux Ma's:

Meredith's Parents, also known as "Mom" and "Dad," trying to make Meredith act toward her Fauxs as lovingly as they act toward the entire universe:

Penelope, her husband, and their children, the family Faux Ma would like at her deathbed instead of her own:

Diggy, Meredith's dead brother and reality-check card played when Faux Ma asks, "why me?"

So there you have it.  If ever I rant about how weird or uncomfortable or stupid things are in the way of a poor dying woman, you'll know the cast members involved and I'll try remember to step back and simply watch the movie.  (Most of us are quite attractive, don't you think?)

Addendum: About thirty minutes after I finished writing this post Boyfriend called the Fauxs and found out Faux Ma's cancer is growing by leaps and bounds.  She'll discontinue chemo and commence hospice.  Boy do I feel dumb now.

It Is Later Than You Think

I had big fantasies about spending the Thanksgiving weekend writing blog posts galore.  In fact, in my planner I wrote, "Blog Posts Galore!"  It didn't happen.  I got too depressed.

My dinner was a fabulous success, at least in my opinion.  The turkey was moist and golden brown.  The gravy was rich and delicious.  The stuffing was flavorful and moist.  The potatoes were moist.  All right, I know, I'm using the word moist too much, but it is an adjective I haven't been able to use to describe a Thanksgiving meal in many years.  Grandma's buns turned out well, as did Other Grandma's pumpkin pie.  And the lemon tart was to die for. 

But I don't want to talk about dying, because poor Faux Ma is doing just that.  Not to make light of the situation, I'm just trying to make sense of my feelings about it all.  You know the saying, If you can't be a good example, be a horrible warning?  Faux Ma is turning out to be the latter for me.  I have compassion for her and all, but really, is being terminal any reason to ruin a perfectly good holiday?

The entire day, all three hours of it, was centered around watching Faux Ma writhe in pain.  A shoulder/neck pain.  Bursitis, I think, nothing related to her cancer.  Anyway, she brought along her heating pad for comfort, but it obviously gave her none.  Boyfriend and Faux Pa would just watch her moan, sigh, and shift positions.  No one spoke.  I grew so terribly uncomfortable with the situation I asked her if she'd like to take one of my Vicodin, it would work a miracle.  She said she had already taken one.  Then I said, well then, maybe you'd like a glass of wine with that.  The humor was not appreciated. 

Faux Ma has an expiration date now.  I'm sure that circumstance is a difficult one to deal with.  The trouble I'm having relates to figuring out where I fit in.  On one hand I want to do everything I can to help make this stage of her life comfortable.  On the other hand I want her to quit her whining and resistance.  I want her to be gracious.  I want her to see the fucking light already.  Not that one people see when they're stepping over to the other side, but, you know, "the light."  I want to just tell her get a clue, tick-tock, your life is nearly over and you're still choosing to be the bitter passive-aggressive you've always been?  Doesn't really matter either way as this is a private family matter and I'm basically shut out. 

I guess being on the brink of death doesn't have the same effect on Faux Ma as it had on Scrooge.  Maybe Faux Ma doesn't care that she has indeed become a burden to deal with rather than a dying parent to nurture and soothe. 

Boyfriend has similar feelings to mine, although his feelings don't freak him out as much as mine freak me out.  I'm not used to this sort of thing.  I've seen people close to me die with dignity and grace.  I've seen people with terminal illnesses live their lives with vigor and determination and hope until the very end.  To watch this woman resist help yet complain about not being able to do the things she normally does is annoying to me.  To see she still holds grudges against other family members is perplexing to me.  To know the little voice inside her head is just begging people to pamper her and fall all over her in their grief over her imminent demise pisses me off because the voice I hear coming from her mouth tells me not to bother.

I want to do something even though I'm not truly welcome to.  I want to stay away because, well, frankly being around her is just a downer.  She's that terrible warning, an example of what I don't want to be when I'm dying.  I guess, even in her pitiful physical state and twisted emotional state, Faux Ma is an inspiration to me.  A reminder that just because I'm dying doesn't guarantee love and affection.  A sign that truly as we sow, so shall we reap.

Boyfriend took his parents home after our delicious meal.  When he came back he found me in my comfy chair with a glass of wine beside me as I watched The Brady Bunch reruns on TV.  I spent a good part of the weekend in a state of shock and awe over what happened this Thanksgiving.  I realize I'm thankful for the good people in my life, the ones who support me and love me no matter how big an asshat I can be.  I'm also thankful for those who don't love me so much, for they are the ones who inspire me to be a better person to myself and all those who matter to me.