"or yesterday, maybe, I don't know. I got a telegram from the home...that doesn't mean anything...."
Camus--THE STRANGER. Even 80 years ago, even in Morocco. Or Algeria. Too poor, too alone. Too brutalized.
When Freud's father died, he discovered intense feelings of sexual lust for his mother, intense feelings of rivalry for his father. He believed if this was true of him, it was true for everybody. In fact, it reminded him of a Greek tragic play. And thus a new movement began.
And what do I have--intense feelings of anger, angst, agitation. Mersault killed a man after his mother died. Freud founded a movement. And I am left holding a bag of burning anger and rage at this poor woman who, for the past 7 years, did all the wrong things, encouraged by an assisted living care facility--while the money was flowing in. Once the money dribbled, all of a sudden things went awry--an aide broke her shoulder. She developed three bedsores on diverse parts of her body (coccyx, sole, heel). She was drugged into delirium. People just wanted her to "sleep." And when that wasn't happening fast enough--morphine and fentanyl. They have no therapeutic purposes for a frail elderly woman. There was nothing wrong with her, except she was old and outlived her finances.
After 6 weeks, my mother's death is like a dislocated shoulder. It pops out periodically, causes tremendously shocking pain. Then, it's back in place and over. I wonder if she is a dybbuk--yesterday, when I was preparing dinner (broiled salmon with mustard glaze, baked potatoes, and broccoli--thanks for asking) ALL THE DINNER PLATES left their shelf in the pantry and PLUMMETTED---PLUMMETTED to the newly tiled floor below--the newly tiled floor which you can see on my blog for February--which you can see, but my mother never did--and broke into shards. Into shards. All in pieces. Put asunder. The very epitome of tikkun olam--world in pieces. Any angry dybbuk is our Sylvia. When I looked into the cupboard to discover the proximal cause, I saw the dish stand had somehow fallen onto its side. Hmmmmm
There is nothing I can do about this. I still believe my mother was killed gradually and then all at once when it became clear her money was running out. First, a "hairline" fracture of the shoulder, caused by "rough" handling. Then, by the care provided by her f/t aide. Who was emphatic that "we were there for her health." Then, when she still wasn't dying, the aide "had to take a vacation from this," "hospice" and morphine.
There is nothing I can do. I can't prove it. This is eldercare in America. When you are frail and penniless, you are out of options.
Killing the fragile poor because they are poor is nothing new. The institutions for intellectually impaired children were notorious--few survived and when they did, they lived in conditions that only a Bedlamite could envy. And poor children in England were sentenced to notorious Dotheboy's Halls--depicted for boys in NICHOLAS NICHOLBY and for girls in JANE EYRE. And look at Sara Crewe in THE LITTLE PRINCESS--Sara, the daughter of a wealthy English bureaucrat stationed in the Raj, is sent back to London for her education at Miss Minchin's elite academy. Her father sickens from brain fever and the tuition stops coming. Sara, penniless, is graciously allowed to be a scullery maid and lives in the garret. Which is better than being homeless.
In the POLDARK novels, elderly Aunt Agnes who, due to Francis' poor business skills, is now a dependent, is gradually killed by George. Of course, at least Aunt Agnes is scrappy and no innocent. But still, when George cancels her 100 b-day party because she will only turn 99--he can't countenance a lie, after all, she realizes what an impotent beggar she is. Soon, she dies.
Notice the commercials on television now--a woman openly admits she can't care for her mother anymore. So she has to hire a caregiver--the tagline implies--when you are out of choices.
Is this America now? When you are out of choices, select the prettiest, most euphemistic killing field?
And as for dybbuk Sylvia--how can I put her at ease? Exorcism seems so harsh and punitive--for a woman who has suffered enough, how can I put her through the blame and guilt of an exorcism. What do you do when your dybbuk won't join in an eternal rest? No wonder I was always fascinated by "MY MOTHER THE CAR." In Hollywood, exorcism is a simple show cancellation. But this is NYC. Jerry Van Dyck was Dutch. My mother was born of a Jewish Pole. This is my culture.