When it all started
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I am an only child. My parents meant the world to me. In 1999 I was finally able to convince my Dad that they needed to move here so I could help him with my Mom. She was depressed, addicted to hydrocodone, and losing her mind. We found a great house, they moved here, and I thought everything was going to be great. Then, my Dad was diagnosed with a brain tumor (the worst kind--100% fatal--GBM). He would go out in the middle of the night and wind up lost. Everything went downhill. He would pee in the closet or on my Mom's bed. He would polish his shoes with toothpaste. Most people don't realize that brain tumors make you crazy. This man was the most wonderful person. He could do anything. I watched him die for 8 months. We did everything we could, but to no avail. My son took care of him, shaved him, put him in the shower, changed his diapers. Then, my senior -in- college son was busted for marijuana. He and his girlfriend were watching a movie in their pajamas and the drug task force busted the door down, confiscated my Dad's little handguns, a safe, and an ounce of pot. Terrorized the little dogs and took my son and his girlfriend to jail. Obviously they were a huge threat to society. Thousands of dollars later and a letter writing campaign on my part, he was released from the detention center. In the meantime, while he was incarcerated, I started drinking to excess and suffered a 4 cm kidney stone. I peed gravel and sand for weeks, but I still went to see him every weekend. I had to move my Mom into an assisted living facility, but the money ran out and I quit my job and brought her home with me. She broke her other hip and had to go to rehab. By then her Alzheimers had gotten so bad that she could not remember rehab. She never walked again and died in May two years ago. So, things have pretty much sucked in my life since then. On July 3, I lost my 13-year old chihuahua, Jenny, my baby, to cancer--she died in my arms; and last week, my beautiful, big, black baby--Brodie-- was hit by a car and killed instantly. He was on his daily walk with his dad and somehow got away from my husband, took off running full tilt for home and was killed by a motorist. He was only two years old. I guess I need to learn to deal with grief in some other way than drinking until I pass out. I'm hopeful and looking forward to a better life.
This is just the beginning. It depresses me to read it. Better times they are a'coming!
Kay
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I am an only child. My parents meant the world to me. In 1999 I was finally able to convince my Dad that they needed to move here so I could help him with my Mom. She was depressed, addicted to hydrocodone, and losing her mind. We found a great house, they moved here, and I thought everything was going to be great. Then, my Dad was diagnosed with a brain tumor (the worst kind--100% fatal--GBM). He would go out in the middle of the night and wind up lost. Everything went downhill. He would pee in the closet or on my Mom's bed. He would polish his shoes with toothpaste. Most people don't realize that brain tumors make you crazy. This man was the most wonderful person. He could do anything. I watched him die for 8 months. We did everything we could, but to no avail. My son took care of him, shaved him, put him in the shower, changed his diapers. Then, my senior -in- college son was busted for marijuana. He and his girlfriend were watching a movie in their pajamas and the drug task force busted the door down, confiscated my Dad's little handguns, a safe, and an ounce of pot. Terrorized the little dogs and took my son and his girlfriend to jail. Obviously they were a huge threat to society. Thousands of dollars later and a letter writing campaign on my part, he was released from the detention center. In the meantime, while he was incarcerated, I started drinking to excess and suffered a 4 cm kidney stone. I peed gravel and sand for weeks, but I still went to see him every weekend. I had to move my Mom into an assisted living facility, but the money ran out and I quit my job and brought her home with me. She broke her other hip and had to go to rehab. By then her Alzheimers had gotten so bad that she could not remember rehab. She never walked again and died in May two years ago. So, things have pretty much sucked in my life since then. On July 3, I lost my 13-year old chihuahua, Jenny, my baby, to cancer--she died in my arms; and last week, my beautiful, big, black baby--Brodie-- was hit by a car and killed instantly. He was on his daily walk with his dad and somehow got away from my husband, took off running full tilt for home and was killed by a motorist. He was only two years old. I guess I need to learn to deal with grief in some other way than drinking until I pass out. I'm hopeful and looking forward to a better life.
This is just the beginning. It depresses me to read it. Better times they are a'coming!
Kay
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