Rambling

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Nervous and happy. Story of my life, right? I’m always worried the decisions I make will be wrong. I am looking into buying Mom’s house from my brothers. Time to negotiate then go to the attorney and draft the agreement. UGH. So much to do. It’s time for my magic wand if I had one. I could just POOF and it would all be done.

And what’s up with medical bills? J goes to the same place, has been going there for years, and now I have 3 accounts with them. When she turned old enough, they stopped billing me and started billing her but now there are two accounts under her name. SMH.

So, does anyone need any used furniture, VCRs, Blue Ray players… If there’s anything you need used, message me. I might have it and be willing to give it away, possibly free, just to declutter my house.

So, after therapy today, I’m visiting my possible future home, then going to an open house down the street to see what the house that’s just like mine looks like on the inside. Want to know what it looks like so I can price mine appropriately.

A moment please…

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Although my “having a moment” moments have decreased, they have not faded. I think they never will. Something happens and I want to tell Mom but she’s not there.

Grief is odd. It is different for everyone. It ebbs and flows, pulls you down, twists your thoughts, then reminds you that life goes on. Chin up, shoulders back, pasted smile on face and move on…

You don’t get over loss. The way loss makes you feel just changes over time.

The hunt is over…

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After much soul searching and house hunting, I’ve decided to buy my mom’s house. It is almost perfect except the driveway which is slanted. But it has central air and is handicap accessible. Laundry on main floor and two bedrooms.

I am happy but anxious.

Lots of work to clean my current house. If anyone wants to help, I’m taking all offers LOL.

Actually, my ex and his current GF are coming this weekend. We’ll see how this works out. LOL

House Hunting

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Sunday morning. Quiet in the house. Animals fed. Now coffee.

Spoke to a mortgage person. Credit EXCELLENT! He said I could afford two mortgages for a while if I couldn’t sell my house before buying another. I don’t want to do that. I guess if it were only a month or two until my house closed it would be ok. On the other hand, he has no idea the other bills I pay monthly, so I doubt the validity of his statement.

I’ve decided against the house we saw that J liked because it has no garage. I can’t see myself cleaning the car off every day during the New England winter. Maybe the rabbits in the kid’s room was a sign I shouldn’t get it. I’m allergic to rabbits.

I have a realtor coming here today to tell me what I need to do to get this house ready for sale. I know she’s going to say I have a lot of work to do. CLEANING! UGH! I hope it’ll be worth it in the end.

Well, enjoy your Sunday. Hope you remembered to change your clocks!

Tomorrow came too late

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If time travel were possible, I know to what time I’d return. At least one point in time. There are circumstances I would not like to visit again. Who wants to go through their teenage years, or the death of loved ones again? Well, that second one…

Let me tell you about Mom. Rose Marie was a beautiful soul. I didn’t realize how beautiful until I was diagnosed with AML (acute myeloid leukemia). In 1986, less than a year after college graduation, I went to visit my primary care physician who sent me for blood work. That Saturday, Mom traveled to New Haven to take part in As Schools Match Wits (or something like that, I can’t remember) with her high school students. My father took me to the doctor.

I knew something was bad. What doctor tells you to come in on a Saturday? My father and I sat in the office, side by side. He and I had not been close. As a matter of fact, I hadn’t been the greatest daughter.

Doctor Gil asked if I had medical insurance. Another reason for me to be scared.

“I think you have leukemia.”

I let that sink in.

I thought about my Mom and how much I wished she had been sitting next to me instead of my father.

I don’t remember much else from the conversation. Only that I needed to be admitted to the hospital as soon as possible.

On the drive home, I began to cry. My father said something about not wanting to cry because I hadn’t been. We called Mom. I told her not to rush home, finish what she was doing. I was being admitted Sunday morning.

Sunday night, I was at St. Francis. I had to go to the bathroom, but it was very late, and I didn’t want to bother anyone. I got up and dragged the IV pole along with me.

I remember feeling faint and trying to sit. The next thing I know, I am back in bed with medical staff surrounding me. I had a bedpan beneath me and was warned never to get up without help again.

The following morning, I called Mom. I knew she’d be coming to see me.

“It’s not as bad as it looks,” I explained. When I had fallen, my face hit the leg of the IV pole, and I had a black eye. Luckily my eye itself was not injured. I hit my knee on the floor and the bruise would remain there for months to come.

My diagnosis was confirmed on Monday, St. Patrick’s Day. Since then every St. Patrick’s Day is a celebration of my recovery.

Mom visited me every day. Sometimes in the morning, sometimes after school, sometimes both. But definitely every single day from March 16th to June 19th, when I insisted they let me go home for my birthday.

During my stay I had many caring nurses, interns, caregivers, etc. My mother became a fixture on the floor. She stopped asking the staff for things and got them for me herself. If I needed something to eat or drink, if I needed to be washed up, anything I needed, she got for me.

I know she prayed for me.

At one point, after being stuck, poked, and prodded, I looked up at my mother and said, “I can’t fight anymore.”

She didn’t break down in tears the way some would have. She held my hand tight and told me I had to fight. She was the reason I survived.

Even after my three months stay, I wasn’t done with treatment. I was in remission yet in order for the doctors to be sure the AML wouldn’t come back I had two choices. Bone marrow transplant or continued chemo.

I opted for the later.

Six more months of barfing, battling infections, losing my hair, and going through all the other side effects, took its toll on me.

I remember Mom washing my hair in the kitchen sink and clumps would come out in her hands. That was harder on her then it was on me.

Yet she never, not once that I can remember, cried in front of me. Perhaps she did once she got home and was alone.

I know my father did. My mother actually sent him out of the room when he cried. I could hear her in the hall telling him he was not allowed to cry in front of me.

House hunting

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Looked at a couple of houses last night. Interested in one. Bad points: very small, oil heat, no garage… Good points: could see myself living there alone, laundry first floor, fenced yard, quiet neighborhood, well kept, hardwood floors, clean. I could definitely afford it.

Problem is I need some advice. I need someone to talk me through this. J really wants the house. And I could see her living in it alone should I have to go into a nursing home or worse. (Yes, I have to think ahead.) Not sure the bathroom is handicap accessible should I need that later in life.

Is this all my self-doubt kicking in or are these real questions?