Wednesday, 03/09/2008

What fresh hell will tomorrow bring?
My sister Lea and B. in-law Nir have been a tower of strength for my parents. They tirelessly organised everything for them, ever since my dad took ill for the first time. Lea is now the effective administrator of all their financial affairs. Dad appointed her as legal executive of just about everything since I live abroad (and a bit thick to boot) and big brother Benny is a loud, useless bit of oh.. you get my drift, surely.
Our old house, not a mile away from the sheltered housing where they now live (and to reiterate, a five star facility they scrimped and saved for all their frugal lives), has been put up for sale. Too expensive to put right for the purpose of letting (which normally would have been the most prudent thing to do), it has been on the market for over 3 months. The whole affair was in the hands of Lea and Nir, and today, at both my parents consent, they called the estate agent to offer the prospective buyers a lower price in the hope it would move things along. It was below what they hoped to get, but seemed realistic, and now it is up to the buyers to make the next move. Lea, efficient as ever has brought some paperwork from the Land Registry, namely an owner consent to sell, which requires the signature of both owners, i.e. mum and dad. Now mum has been getting progressively worse on the mental health front. She has been using controlled drugs designed to treat depression, perscribed to dad, for years now (to no effect that I could tell). Lately she has started to resent Lea being in control (a position she has never abused, never even wanted) and despite all of Lea's work on their behalf she has started to voice some unpleasant opinions like "you're in control, you could do as you please, how am I to know what's going on with my money?" or "I know what's going on, you're trying to make a fool out of me" and so on. Lea was on the verge of chucking the whole thing in when she found from staff at the support clinic that my mum has started to tell them of her suspicions that Lea was "taking money from me". I calmed her down by telling her she should simply ignore whatever mum says, even hurtful accusations, and deal directly with dad, whether mum is present or not. Easier said than done. The four of them sit at dad's room, I go up to prepare our dinner. I finish everything, the table is set, and I call dad's room to summon mum up as pre-arranged. Lea picks up: "mum says she's not coming up". I sense another storm brewing. I go straight down to dad's room. Everybody is talking at once, what the hell's going on here? "Mum refuses to sign the owner consent to sell". "Why not? You've just agreed you were selling the house". My mum shrugs. "Well?" Nothing. Lea and Nir are exasperated and dad looks ashen! Mum just babbles as usual, the paranoid rap of how we must have brain-washed dad, we must have given him some drugs to make him seem so lively in recent days. Why, the doctors all agreed he was so ill, how come he is suddenly so srtong and confident?" She goes on from one conspiracy to the next, making no sense and worst of all, freely admitting she doesn't know why she is refusing to sign. Just refusing. "I know what's going on", she keeps repeating. "It's all in your hands" she tells Lea, "it's nothing to do with me". Voices rise and fall, but nothing works: she just sits there pouting like a little girl. Lea has had enough. "You've crossed the line mum". She hands her back dad's credit card (mum doesn't know how it works, remember), all the paperwork she has brought along. Nir, surely the most patient and tolerant person I know has also lost his patience. He tears up the estate agents calling card and places the pieces on the little table by my mum. "I wash my hands off the whole affair". I feel sorry and desparately anxious for my dad's well-being. I can look after him for a while, but what then? I can't stay here indefinitely. Even if (or when) he gets a live-in carer, my mum is going to torpedo it. I've seen her chasing away various domestic (and garden) help by just well, being herself. Lea, Nir and I leave the room to have a damage assessment talk, but we're too upset to actually think of anything. They go home, and I say "let's talk tomorrow". I return to the room. My mum starts saying something. I lose my temper with her like never before. "You shut up. I don't want to hear a word from you. You have just ruined the work of a lifetime for you and for dad." She starts to answer. "Not a word" I lunge at her. "You have said all there is to say". Each time she tries to talk I shout her out. I tell her to leave the room. "You can get your ass out of here. Go to the apartment, you've done enough damage here for one day". She is quiet, but won't leave. "Let her be" pleads dad, looking devastated. "I simply don't know what to do anymore", he says. My rage sort of under control for his sake, I do as he says. Later she tries to pipe out some banal stuff like "it's late for you, you should go to bed". I yell at her: "oh, you're really concerned about your husband are you?" After a while I say to him: "I am leaving the room for the two of you to talk. You have exactly 10 minutes. Then I want her out of here and I will put you to bed". I go and sit on the patio, my mind swirling with half-thoughts and confusion. A stray cat that has made the area its home comes sauntering and demands attention. I start teasing him, he walks up and down, rubbing his head against my hand, then gets more confident and jumps onto my lap. I just let him be, and he curls up, the reedy, wild looking animal, and purrs loudly as he stretches his claws and catches my t-shirt like he owns it, and I am his furniture. I savour the odd distraction.
But the 10 minutes are up. I get up and the tabby leaps off me reluctantly. I return to the room. My dad speaks: "Take all the paperwork, the credit card, give it back to Lea tomorrow and enough with all this nonsense. Your mother signed the form". My mum says: "Look, my hands are shaking". I do not even acknowledge her". She tries to tell me to do this or that for my dad. I snap: "I do not take directions from you". My dad begs me to take her up, to see that she has some dinner, and no "scenes". "I promise, dad". I send an SMS to Nir with 2 words: "She signed". Unsurprisingly there is no response. On the way back to the flat my mum makes her small talk: "That door leads to the lobby" and such statements of the obvious, perhaps to placate, or maybe she is really oblivious to what she had done this evening?
Back in the flat dinner is already on the table. Only cold plates so no problem there. There is my salad, a sardine dip, some store-bought humous, cheese, she asks for some smoked salmon and I go to the fridge, open a pack for her and bring her a slice. It's nearly 10 pm, at her age she has dinner very early, never later than 8 pm, so she is quite hungry. She eats well, we both do, but almost silently. She insists on washing up. I drink my beer.