Imagine if I Looked Like Me?

Imagine if I Looked Like Me?

2018

He stood in the doorway, flabbergasted. After 20 years it was mind boggling this behavior was still escalating. If he engaged her, he was wrong. If he simply walked away, he was wrong. She got away with everything. She was the mother, the matriarch. Nobody ever talked back to Betty, not ever. Especially not now.

She rolled her eyes at her youngest son, Mike, as he reached for the door. She begged for a fight, but he never engaged. He stepped outside, quietly pulled the door closed and returned the handle back until it clicked. Mike did everything the right way. He wasn’t rude, he wasn’t sloppy, he wasn’t negligent. That’s why it hurt so much. What did he ever do to deserve any of this? After a 14-hour workday, he could barely fight gravity as he pushed his legs up the small hill to his truck. Every visit, just so deflating.

"That wife of his! She’s a troublemaker!" the old lady sneered to herself as she watched Mike through the curtain. She picked up the phone and began to dial.

The drive home brought back memories of a time when things were easier. When the family could get together for steaks and beers and everyone was at least reasonable. Papa. Things got much worse after Papa died. He never particularly cared for Mike’s wife, Alice, either. He could take her or leave her.

Alice had more issues than a newspaper publisher and he and Betty didn’t have the patience for it. Sure, Alice had a hot meal for their son every night and she volunteered at the women’s club. She didn’t drink or do drugs and she wasn’t disrespectful, until she snapped. The bottom line, she didn’t have a career or a degree and didn’t know a thing about investing. Chronic pain and CPTSD from childhood abuse, kept Alice from pursuing her dreams. She would have loved a career, a degree and money to invest.

As far as her in laws were concerned, Alice did nothing but spend all of Mike’s money on doctors and supplements. She was the one to step up to the plate for every family trauma. Still, some physically threatened her, and she was referred to as ‘lazy’ with ‘pipe dreams’ and called ‘white trash’ by others.

In the family’s 100-year-old farmhouse, Papa lived with just a wood stove for heat. When he was diagnosed, it was Alice the family called. “He doesn’t want to go to a nursing home,” Betty pled. He wants you to take care of him. Please move into the farm.” Alice was shocked but knew the honor of doing end of life work. Alice worked in elder care and special needs for 20 years by then. The opportunity to live out love and forgiveness at the most vulnerable time of Papa’s life, was a gift. So, into the farm they all went. Alice fed, bathed, and loved Papa with all her strength.

One summer day, Alice sat on the floor by Papa’s wheelchair. She laid her head in his lap and cried “I feel like I’m losing my new best friend!” He laughed heartily through his oxygen tube and petted her head “you’re just tired.” Alice ignored the sting of the lack of acknowledgement but laughed easily at her own theatrics. When Papa died, she and Betty shared that sacred moment alone. Betty often retold how Papa told her not to let anyone in the family talk bad about Alice again.

“Alice is trouble!” Betty reminded herself vigorously. “Hello?” Maggie was the wife of Dave, Mike’s brother. She had a love hate relationship with her mother-in-law but, like so many, they made it work.

"Mike just left." Betty spit out between bites of a tomato sandwich. Her aggressive chewing and deep inhaling and exhaling drove Alice nuts. "I told him he's out of the will if he doesn't divorce her!" "You did NOT!” Maggie shrieked. She took great delight in every tidbit of family pain. “You bet your sweet biffy, I did! I've been watching that woman control him for 25 years. Alice is not getting a penny of papa’s money!" "Well, Betty," Maggie gently reminded her, again, "the trust would be a lot of aggravation to change now. Try to rest and take your mind off it. Call me if you need me to come spend the night.”

"Hi honey, how was your day?" The voice came from the kitchen. "Well,” Mike paused, “my day was fine, but I just saw my mother." "Oh boy, how did that go?" Alice asked. "The usual,” he answered. “I can't stop in to see my mother without a fight.”

"I'm sorry. You’re always so exhausted.” Alice offered. The marriage and family had weathered many storms. At the end of the day, Mike and Alice were committed. He grabbed a handful of green beans, “How was your day?” He asked, stuffing them all into his mouth. Mike was a good provider, a support for Alice’s dark days and an amazing dad. Alice felt useless as a wife and mother, but she did try.

“I had a great day!” she returned. “Exhausting but great! Jan and I got the bedding and groceries for the conference. Oh, and uhm, ‘some people’ took themselves off the weekend schedule. We have Betty again. We need to cancel our trip.” Mike walked to the bathroom, turned the shower water to hot and allowed himself to simmer in solitude.

2019

Mike, Alice, and Dave stood around the bedside. There were no beeps, no footsteps. The only interruption of Alice’s thoughts, the gentle ‘pouf’ of oxygen feeding Betty her last shallow breaths. What is the purpose of this pain? What can possibly come of 20 years of misery? In 2015 when Betty broke her hip, it was Alice who was asked to stay with her for five weeks. “Please don’t make me go to a nursing home.” Betty pleaded.

Alice jumped at the chance! She only lived a mile away, still at the family farm they moved into 15 years before. The kids were young teens and could help around the house. Alice would make dinners for the family to come visit every night. To be honest, she loved an adventure and any opportunity to feel worth. For 3 weeks, she ran the 2 households. Every morning after bathroom duties, Alice and Betty enjoyed lavender tea with honey and toast. Between nurses, they laughed at memories from the 90’s. They shared beautiful memories of bingo with the ladies at the senior center and dancing the boot scootin’ boogie at the ‘club.’ They even discussed Alice’s 2014 week in rehab during her suicidal years. Nobody in the family had texted, sent a card, or made a dinner for Mike and the kids. In the quiet of the evening, snuggled in pajamas, Alice and Betty drudged up a lot of dirt and healed wounds. Still, that one family member who triggered Alice’s PTSD so hard, left Alice shaking for hours. It was just a few weeks before her immune system could not handle the emotional or physical demands of Betty’s care. The family stepped up, Betty’s hip healed, and her thought process reset. For fifteen more years, the family was entrenched in drama, lies and gossip. It wasn’t just her relationships w Alice and Mike that continued to downward spiral. Almost every family member who checked in or dropped off a meal, was met w a viper. Mike could cope with the loss of his father. However, the premature loss of his mother and the loss of hope of reconciliation would be a permanent, gaping wound.

Then there was the shoebox.

Years after Papa died, Mike found an old shoebox under a chair at the farm. Inside was a mysterious, little, black book. Mike flipped it open, careful not to tear the worn binding. It contained the names of Papa’s loyal customers who bought cord wood from him, year after year. Mike was brought to tears. Papa refused to see a doctor for 2 years. He used his chainsaw as a crutch as he continued to split wood. Eventually, a body scan would reveal multiple lung tumors and holes throughout his pelvis. Papa was ONE, TOUGH MOTHER.

Under the notebook, were papers. The trust. Mike knew there was a trust, it wouldn’t be disbursed until his mother died and each brother would get an equal share. “I know there’s at least enough for each of our kids to get $15,000 towards their education,” he once told Alice. Mike had great work ethic, a good job and a stable home life. What he was about to learn, would tear his soul.

Mike’s siblings were all much older than he. As a little boy, most summer days, Mikey would sit in a bar with his dad for hours and hours. Mike got a pickled egg and a coke, and Papa drank.

During homework and study, Papa would pound the table until Mike could figure out the equation. Papa also taught his son hard work, how to prune trees and how to be a good provider. At home they’d snuggle up and watch their favorite shows. Mike left Papa’s funeral feeling loved. He felt what we all desire. To grieve a loss in the confidence that we made our loved one proud, confident in our identity, shaped at least in part, by said loved one.

Until he opened the trust.

Mike’s 4 siblings would get their full share. Mike’s portion would be split between his children. Papa didn’t trust him, didn’t respect him. How could he love me? What lie have I lived for 45 years? The loss of identity, almost too much to bear. A slap in the face, the trickery of reality. Papa didn’t trust Mike to financially care for his kids.

2019

As Betty gasped her last tiny breath, brother Dave fell into his mother and sobbed. Mike didn’t move. The hate his mother fed him the last 25 years; one would wonder why he was in the room at all. No need to rush the empty body and pretend. Let Dave, the favorite, the executor to the trust, have his time. Let him say goodbye, Mike would be fine.

The last months with Betty were bittersweet. She was too out of her mind to be angry, too confused to know who to be mad at. The intimate moments shared by the family were almost completely drowned out in the typical, caregiver stress and arguments. The rare laugh shared with Betty was shrouded with frustration and angst brought on by the disease called Dementia. A disease which afflicted her for almost 20 years.

No wishing, no crying, no bitterness, nothing, can bring back the relationship, much less hope of reconciliation.

2020

The funeral and execution of the trust passed, and Mike moved his family out of the farm, away from the noise. Alice tore off labels and stepped out of the box she felt locked in by so many for so long. She looked like herself, she was alive again. Today, you can hear Alice in podcast interviews, teaching how to heal trauma.

Alice entered her first writing contest and released her first children’s book on loss which Centering and Grief Digest call, “Truly Spectacular!” Betty made the cover and will help kids learn about dementia, home care and coping skills for grief.

2021

Alice tore open the envelope. This was beyond unexpected. “HOW?” she choked out! “How did I win my first writing contest?” Worldwide, people love to listen as she tells her story. But her amateur writing? Everything has a purpose. She chose joy over bitterness, forgiveness over self-defeat, and the rewards were greater than a $20,000 check. The money, just another opportunity to continue to give back.

With humility and vulnerability, let us all walk this path of grief and boldly reach out to one another.