Vol 4. The Diary. May 2012

2 May 2012

Well, it’s happened. The storm has broken: Thunder and lightning. Mum threw me out! She has moved over 40 times and she doesn’t need my help.

The first thing I noticed was that she couldn’t wait for the removers to come and had dragged furniture round, moved the bed, sewing machine, etc.

I’ve had constant phone calls and conversations about cardboard packing cases.  Mum doesn’t seem to understand that she has nothing to pack. All she needs are her clothes, bedding and dad’s ashes. There is no hurry, her lease on this flat doesn’t run out for another month. All ornaments and knickknacks can be brought over at leisure. I took over 6 folding plastic crates so that I could do what packing was needed this afternoon.

Mum: Why haven’t the cardboard boxes been delivered?

Me: Because you don’t have anything to put in them.
Mum: I’ve moved over 40 times and I’ve always had cardboard boxes delivered the day before.
Me: The other 40 odd times you were moving home and taking everything with you. This time you are only taking one armchair, one small table & two chairs, sewing machine, bedside drawers and the TV. Plus clothes & bedding.
Mum: But I’ve always had cardboard boxes delivered the day before. Why aren’t they bringing them.
Me: I’ve just told you mum. You are not moving your whole home - just a few bits. We are not having a large removal company – just a man with a van.
Mum: Why didn’t you get a proper removal company that brings cardboard boxes?
Me: I phoned the man you told me to phone, because you’d had him before.
Mum: Well what’s his phone number? I’ll phone him and tell him to bring some cardboard boxes.
Me: I don’t know mum. You read it off the paper and I phoned him as you read it to me.
Mum: What’s his name?
Me: I don’t know mum. It’s the man you had before.
Mum: Why hasn’t he brought cardboard boxes?
Me: Don’t you remember mum? We’ve just had this conversation.
Mum: What’s his phone number and I’ll phone him.
Me: Mum. End of conversation.
Mum: How am I going to pack without cardboard boxes?
Me: You’re not going to pack. I am. That’s why I’ve come and I’ve brought the plastic packing crates with me.
Mum: Where did you get them from?
Me: They’re left over from when I moved 3 years ago.
Mum: I’ve always had cardboard boxes delivered the day before. Why haven’t the removers delivered them?
Me. Mum, we’ve already had this conversation. I’m not listening any more. I’m just going to get on with packing.
Mum: That’s it. You never listen to me. Call yourself a Baptist minister!

(Aha! The old Baptist Minister trick to make me feel guilty.)

Me: Actually mum, I don’t call myself a Baptist Minister. I'm retired

Mum: Get out! I’ve moved over 40 times, I don’t need your help. And you can take those crates with you.
Me: OK. The removal men are coming at 10am tomorrow.
Mum: They told me they were coming at 9am!
Me: When did you speak to them?
Mum: I phoned them yesterday.
Me: Well if you phoned them yesterday, why didn’t you ask them to bring cardboard boxes?
Mum: Get out! I don’t need you. Once I’ve moved you’ll never have to worry about me again! You should honour your father and mother!
Me: Before you quote the Bible at me, remind yourself of the verse that says, “Do not exasperate your children.”

Got into car to drive home when mum came rushing out.

Mum: Where am I going to be living? What’s the address?

Me: The same address I gave you yesterday.
Mum: I’ve lost the piece of paper.

Told her the address.

Mum: I’ll never remember that. Come and write it down for me.

Got out of the car and went back in and wrote the address down.

On the way home she left a message on my mobile phone. “It’s me, can you let me have my cheque book and bank card. Thank you. No, I don’t mean thank you.” The story of my life. Never ever any gratitude for all the stress and hard work I put in on her behalf.

3 May 2012

8:30am. Mum phoned me, full of tears and apologised. Would I go over and help her. She had put the suitcase on her bed to pack, but when she’d finished packing it. It was too heavy to lift off the bed. So she’d spent the night sitting in the comfortable reclining chair. When I arrived, she acted as though yesterday had never happened!

I finished packing using the plastic fold up crates I’d brought.

Mum: Don’t forget that Hoover.

Me: You don’t need a Hoover, mother!
Mum: Why?
Me: Because you are going to have a lady come in every week and clean your room!
Mum: Yes, But I’ll want to run the Hoover over before she comes.
Me: No Mum. That’s her job.
Mum: Well suppose I drop something?
Me: You phone room service. They have six staff on duty every day just to look after you
Mum: Well put those Brillo pads in the box.
Me: No!!!! You are not going to do any more cleaning !!!
Mum: What am I going to do with myself all day?
Me: Mum, we’ve had this conversation before. They’ll be lots of nice people for you to talk to, play scrabble with and do crosswords. (I said jokingly.)
Mum: You know I was a dunce at school. All I learnt was the catechism.

At which point she started to repeat the catechism, yet again. I continued to pack.

Eventually the removal men arrived.

Removal Man: Oh, I know your mother, I’ve moved her twice before.

Me: Did you provide cardboard packing cases?
Removal Man (looking quizzical): No.

So much for yesterday and the argument about “always having cardboard packing boxes delivered by the removal men the day before".

Anyway, came to leave the house and realised that mum had packed her coat. Fortunately it wasn’t raining. The last thing remaining in the house was dad’s ashes. I said to mum, “I’ll go and get dad”. We looked at each other and burst into tears.

Major Crisis when we arrived at her new place.

Mum: Good God!

Me: (alarmed) What’s the matter?
Mum: What are they going to think?
Me: Think about what?
Mum: I’m wearing a yellow blouse with a pink scarf!

Being a fashion icon is a real curse. I should know.

Mum had brought far too many things that she didn’t need and was immediately thwarted in her plans to arrange the room. The new bed had already been delivered by the shop.

Mum: I want the bed along that right hand wall.

Me: You can’t. The TV aerial is on that side of the room.
Mum: Well, whatever possessed them to put it there?

The House Administrator came in to welcome mum.

Mum: I was wondering where to put my bed. Where did the previous person put their bed?

Administrator: Oh, along the left-hand wall.
Mum: I want to put the bed along the right hand wall. But they’ve gone and put the TV aerial socket over there.

House Administrator is speechless.

The House Manager came in to welcome mum.

Mum: I was wondering where to put my bed. Where should I put it?

Manager: George, upstairs, has an identical room to yours and he has his bed along the left hand wall.
Mum: I want to put the bed along the right hand wall. Why did they put the aerial socket over there?

Oh dear. This is just a foretaste of what's to come with mother.

Started to fix old headboard to mum’s new bed.

Mum: What ever possessed you to get that colour headboard?

Me: I didn’t. You chose it. It’s the headboard you’ve brought with you. I'm just fixing it to your new bed.
Mum: Well I’ll have to get another one. I can’t have that colour
Me: Why? It was OK at your old place.
Mum: It doesn’t go with the curtains.
Me: What that got to do with it?
Mum: I can’t have that colour curtains with that colour head board.
Me: But it matches the carpet!

Had flash backs to when they lived in Oulton Broad when mum kept changing curtains, settee and carpets in rotation so that they matched - but only two ever matched at any time.

Me: It’s not a priority at the moment.

Mum: I wish I’d brought that other chair.
Me: The other chair was too uncomfortable
Mum: No it wasn’t. It was OK when I put some cushions on it.
Me: You’ve already sold this chair once, and then made the man bring it back because the other chair was too uncomfortable. And any way, you spent the whole of last night in this chair and it was OK.
Mum: I wish I hadn’t brought that fold down sewing machine. I want to get a portable one.
Me: You bought a portable one from that poor old man in Exmouth. He was 90 and you made him deliver it to you, and two days later you changed your mind and made him come and collect it! Keep the fold down sewing machine and use it as a table to put your tracheotomy sucking machine on and I’ll take away the table and one of the dining room chairs.
Mum: I’ll have to keep two chairs, one either side or it will look odd.
Me: Yes, but you are never going to use two chairs. And anyway, one of the chairs is blocking the bedside table.
Mum: I can’t have it look odd. Take away the bedside table.
Me: What are you going to put your bedside light on?
Mum: Take the bedside light with you.

Went out to the car and brought in dad’s ashes. As I went past the House Manager’s office, I poked my head around the door and said, “Would you like to meet my dad?” She looked surprised. And then I showed her the urn. Quick as a flash she said, “I’m sorry, but we can’t allow your mother to have your dad's ashes in her room: that’s sub-letting.”  I can see we are going to get along just fine.

Took the floor lamp, the round in-laid coffee table where dad used to hide his money, footrest and wrought iron telephone stand back to the old flat ready to dispose of. Collected a few cups, plates & some cutlery and went back to mum. I still hadn’t eaten, but mum had had a three course lunch - which she thoroughly enjoyed. She decided she didn’t want her microwave – she wasn’t going to do any more cooking.

Said goodbye, and took the microwave back to her old flat. I thought I’d just check the drawers in the bedroom and found all of mum’s underwear that’s she’d forgotten to pack. I didn’t know my mother shopped at Ann Summers. There are some things you don’t want to know about your mother.

Back to mum’s new place and handed over the items.

Popped into the Doctors’ surgery to get mum re-registered. Apparently they want photo ID. "Does she have a passport?" "She's 90,” I said, “Why would she want a passport?" Then remembered the inappropriate joke I’d made to the staff about the Care Home being renamed “The Departure Lounge”.

Then I went to the second-hand shop to arrange to sell the things that mum didn’t want.

“Oh yes”, he said. “I know your parents. I went over there last year to buy a set of drawers off them. Your dad had painted them black, but without sanding them down first. The paint wouldn’t dry on the varnish, so when we lifted them up, we got black paint all over ourselves.”

Somehow, that sounds just the sort of thing my dad would do.

So, today mum moved for the 46^th time.

4 May 2012

I arrived at mum’s to discover her in the middle of signing away the entire contents of her old flat to some lady from a charity shop. Not only had we agreed that I’d get a second-hand man to buy it, but she hadn’t entirely moved out! She still had another month to run on the lease, so we’d left behind things that weren’t urgently needed in her new place.

Rushed back to her old flat to rescue various items: photographs, books, CDs, etc. It was really strange walking around the life-less rooms and looking in drawers and cupboards. There was nothing of my dad there – no little memento to take away. What had happened to his tools? It was like he’d never existed. Mum had air-brushed him out of our lives. I felt an overwhelming sense of grief and sadness that made me cry.

Back to Mum’s. She is deliriously happy and went on and on about how everyone likes her and has made her welcome because they need someone to do clothes alterations. She’s going to face a massive sense of rejection if she doesn’t get any orders.

One of the good things about where she lives now is that they have their own odd-job man. Thank goodness I am not required to nail her pictures on the wall.

Mum had a pile of blankets, sheets & pillowcases that she didn’t need, so she gave them to me to dispose of. When I returned from loading up the car, I asked her when laundry day was. There wasn’t a set day, just when she chooses. So I asked her if she’d kept the spare bed linen handy. She looked blank; began searching the drawers under the bed, the drawers in her cupboard. No sign of any linen. She’d just given it all to me to dispose of! Back to the car to unload.

Popped my head into the residents lounge. Isn’t it strange how old people are able to imitate whales singing?  They all sat in a circle with their hearing aids whining at different pitches, but all totally oblivious and perfectly content.

6 May 2012

Mum: No one has telephoned me!
Me: Have you given people your new telephone number?
Mum: I can’t, I don’t know what my telephone number is.
Me: Where’s that piece of paper with the number on I put by your phone?
Mum: I don’t know! What piece of paper?

I think she’s had a tidy up in preparation for the cleaning lady coming.

10 May 2012

Sometimes it feels like I am in a Betty Davies scary movie: “What ever happened to Baby Jane?” She’s alive and well and reincarnated in my mother. Mum threw me out today. “Get out” she screamed for the second time in two days.

11 May 2012

Honeymoon period is definitely over.  Mum has fallen out with the lady next door. She is keeping to her room, except for meals. She is not taking medication. She is not calling doctor. She wants to die (preferably in pain).  No one ever phones. (Although my sister tell me that she phones and just gets the answer machine.)

Mum is now complaining about the food. Mainly because she hadn’t told the chef that she was a diabetic. (Even though there is a diabetic menu)

She said she is going crazy in that room on her own with nothing to do, so she wants me to buy her a carpet sweeper so she can do some housework. She’s been moaning to House Manager too about how unhappy she is.  It is strangely comforting to know that nothing ever changes.

Told the House Manager that I’m writing a book on mum. She said she’s going to write a book too.

12 May 2012

My sisters have been phoning but mum is deliberately not answering the phone (she has caller ID). She doesn't want to talk to anyone. She was disappointed that my wife & I visited. She wants to be alone. She wants to die. She is constantly saying that she is in pain but still not taking pain killers - she has the idea that they will prolong her life. She wants to die alone and in pain. (Messiah complex?) Mum has fallen out with another lady. Apparently, this lady told mum off for parking her walking frame in the wrong place in the dining room. (Martyr complex takes priority over Health & Safety and blocking escape routes.)

I have had a look at my mother’s finances. She's spent £10,000 since dad died 6 months ago! Most of it frittered away. I transferred all her savings into her current account to ensure rent is paid for. Just hope she’ll have enough money to pay for her wake. My sisters and I plan to drink whisky until we fall over.

14 May 2012

Mum's up to her old tricks. She is timing me to see how long I take to get to the car (parked under her window), to see if I make any stops on the way - i.e. House Manager's office. After I have left, she goes down to the House Manager's office to find out what I've been saying. The next time I visit she always tells me what I said to the House Manager the last time I was there. Still, she has every right to be paranoid. Of course I talk about her!!! We keep our sanity by laughing together. The House Manager and I have formed a mutual support group.

15 May 2012

I think mum is answering her phone again. I had to remind her how to turn the ring tone back on and the volume control up. She has now decided that she wants the microwave from her old flat. This is the microwave we left behind because she didn’t want it, and I had to go back to collect because she'd changed her mind, and then I had to take it back to her old flat because she changed her mind again.. She has changed her mind because she's discovered that everyone else has a microwave in their rooms.

It looks like I'll have to go back to having weak microwaved instant cappuccino when I visit instead of a stiff brandy. Hey Ho. Such is life.

28 May

Surprise, surprise - Mum wants to move. It is only the House Manager that keeps her there. Mum doesn't like ANY of the other residents. Apparently, they all think that she shouldn't be there, she's too healthy to be there, and she is definitely not poor enough to be there. (Mum is really good at mind-reading!)

At meal-times they all moan about the food (which mum loves) and they talk past her without drawing her into conversation. On her own admission, she never starts or joins in conversations. She only responds to any questions put to her. The final nail in the coffin was yesterday when a male resident knocked on her door to say that her sewing machine was interfering with all the TV sets on the house. She'd got a taxi into town and bought some dark green material to make some new curtains to match the bed headboard. She's also cut up the duvet cover (that we lent her) to make a bedspread.

Mum has diagnosed the real problem - all the other residents are jealous of her. She is special. The staff fuss over her and treat her differently from all the others. When she doesn't go to the dining room for meals - like yesterday - the staff bring them to her room. The staff love her and want her to make clothes for them.

Mother has phoned one of the Trustees to complain about people parking their car in the car park in front of her window. They are blocking her view of the car park. (Yes, we went all through this before she moved in, i.e. the downside of overlooking the car park.)

I also think that she's been getting the bleach out again. The full length mirror (not made of glass but some sort of plastic) is ruined. It doesn’t even belong to her it came with the flat.

She wants the chair from her old flat - the one that was too uncomfortable. She's forgotten how uncomfortable it was and insists she is right. Too late – the charity shop is taking it away tomorrow. (No, I am not going to phone them and ask them to deliver it back to her)

29 May 2012

Today mother hates her new home. Moving here is the worse thing she's ever done.

Her old flat is now totally cleared and awaiting the cleaner to come in. I found a few of dad's things which I threw away - razorblades, box of matches, old hair brush, etc. After I'd done it, I was overcome with a great sense of remorse and wished I hadn't. I should have kept the hairbrush. There were hairs on it. I could have had a DNA test done and finally prove that I am adopted. No natural mother could treat her children the way my mother treats hers.