.....ED'S ....Final Rodeo THE END

…..Ed’s FINAL RODEO The End

I last left you at my mother's door. As I have alluded to several times, my mother and I did not have what you would call a loving relationship. Just a brief background about her. I have no idea why she hated me. My brother was the golden child and 3 years younger than me. My dad and my mother were polar opposites. My dad was kind, generous, funny, and he drank too much beer. He worked at GE in Erie for 40 years, standing in the same spot doing the same job the entire time. My mother was the abuser in our home. She loved to beat on my dad, and he never hit her back. I remember one time my brother asked him why he did not deck her? His answer was, “because I would probably kill her.” There was ten years difference in age between them. My mother grew up in a very abusive home. My aunt used to tell stories about how their dad would beat on my mom, and she would even refuse to shed a tear. Fortunately for her or, unfortunately, he was murdered 9/15/1935 by a Black 17-year-old boy she was 15 at the time.

Her entire life, she was racist. The whole town she lived in was white, and she left no stone unturned about how she felt. I vividly remember telling myself I never would grow up to be like her. I spent my whole life trying to prove her favorite life quote wrong. “Sandi, there is no such thing as a true friend; when push comes to shove, they will stab you in the back every time.” In case you haven’t discovered by now, we were the poster for a DYSFUNCTIONAL FAMILY. I am sure that is one fact that played a part in my need to over-perform and made myself everything for everybody. It was not until just a few years ago that I discovered the guarded secret that my parents were SWINGERS. I feel really blessed that I inherited my dad’s temperament and not my mother's.

I knew that by living under my mom's roof, I was also under her control. She like the game of I will do anything for you but remember, you owe me. I am sure she kept a running total somewhere about everything she did for me and if she had gotten my obedience in return.

I recently ran into an article regarding adult children going back home to live. Had I had this information years ago, things might have worked out differently. Resources to Recovery (rtor.org) has some great articles on this subject and much more. I was a failure at all the suggestions listed here: https://www.rtor.org/2017/04/11/failure-to-launch-part2/gclid=CjwKCAjwlID8BRAFEiwAnUoK1V5AS1ANvnwpvyDW7Dn7uQET08d_cTgi9xaN1EX3yQsrYG_z6WqPrRoCaxUQAvD_BwE.

I was a product of “Failure to Launch” in my mid-thirties.

There I was, and really neither of us liked the situation. I once again found myself out of control of my life. The truth is that we really are never totally in control of our circumstances. Sometimes life just sucks, but if you keep your eyes open wide enough, a door, no matter how small, will open for you to change course. Please don’t wait to open those eyes till you are in your fifties like I did. Please don’t listen to the lies you tell yourself, and don’t listen to people like my mother. Don’t always think that you can “just pull up those bootstraps” it does not work like that.

Got a little off course, which is not uncommon for me, back to the moment of then. It was not just about two or three weeks of walking on eggs when the story would up and take a sharp turn. The phone rang one day, and it was Ed’s doctor in Houston informing me that he was releasing Ed. ”Ya, so why are you calling me?” I thought to myself. Were they expecting me to take him in? Certainly, that was not the case. Well, as with most of my life, the situation was thrown my way. If I thought and used my common sense that most people would use to solve a problem, the answer would have differed. It seemed without hesitation; I agreed to help one more time. Keep in mind I had not ever approached the subject with my mother. What war would erupt now? It was not going to be pretty, I knew that, but I understood the reality of this phone call. Ed was reaching the end, and MD Anderson had gone as far as they could. I agreed to have him sent to my mother's house. Thinking about that now, I realize how unfair and disrespectful that was of me towards my mom.

How was I going to break the news to her? She despised him that has been clear from the very beginning, and she certainly owed him nothing. I could not explain my feelings about helping him how I would expect her to see it my way. To my surprise, she did not put up much of a fight. That would have given me a way out, a reason to tell them I couldn’t.

Ed was a family of one in a family of seven children. There were 2 older sisters than a break for several years till Ed. Then came two more sons and a set of younger twin girls. Ed grew in the middle of really two groups of family members. He was the most spoiled and catered to siblings.

You would think that maybe one of his siblings would have run to his aid because of his situation. They were actually quite a wealthy family in Titusville, Pa. Indeed, money was not an issue with them. They had an uncle that lived in Lakewood, Ohio, who had a very lucrative Funeral Home. Uncle Bill had no children of his own, so Ed’s family had been somewhat adopted by Uncle Bill. Uncle Bill had set up a Trust Fund for all the siblings in that family. They each got a check delivered every three months. I believe it was around $500.00 at that time; it was a beneficial amount. Keep this in mind as we move on in this story. Needless to say, they all had sad stories as to why they could not help me out.

The day came when MD Anderson put him on a plane and set him on his way to Erie, Pa. They failed to tell me that this was going to be his Hospice care. I made arrangements with Hospice in Erie to get him the medical care he would need at my mom's house. Sandi (how ironic was that) was his primary hospice nurse that came every day. She was terrific, and I do not know how I would have held on without her. Hospice had a program just like Big Brothers. Ed had a friend who came once a week just to talk, or every now and then would go somewhere. It took some of the pressure off just trying to keep some sanity. Several weeks went by without too much drama. Ed’s family would visit maybe every couple of weeks (well, perhaps not that much). I really resented them coming at all. To me, they were playing the “How terrible this is and how bad we feel role.” It was that phoneyness that drove me nuts. Ed was getting weaker and weaker as the days went on. MD Anderson decided to give him some rounds of steroids. OMG, Ed was still chain-smoking even after all that had happened. We had to watch him all the time because I was petrified he would fall asleep and burn my mom’s house down. Whatever steroid, he was given drove me crazy; it gave him boundless energy.

One morning he insisted that the ceilings needed painting. He would paint for hours and hours and even get up in the middle of the night to paint. I never slept anywhere but in a recliner in the living room. Watching him was a full-time job. I was exhausted, so Ed’s nurse suggested we get an overnight LPN. I thought that I would at least get some sleep but no such luck. It was not her fault; it was mine. I could not seem to let go of the thought; it was my responsibility. I had brought him here, and therefore it was my problem. After a couple of weeks, I let the LPN go, now how illogical was that! I had no logic to lay my thoughts to by then. I often wonder how a normal (meaning no mental illness involved) would have handled this whole situation.

At some point, I called Ed’s doctor and begged him to take away the steroids. Was that mean. Was I vindictive? They made him feel better, and he believed that he was getting better. He felt some hope again. He was not as belligerent and mean, and we may even have had a couple of meaningful conversations. That gave me some sense of justification in my decisions. But, the steroids had to go; my mom was starting to bitch more at me about his smoking and the things he was doing. I had no energy to keep up with either of them.

My mom had an older couple that lived next door. They were terrific neighbors that looked after my mom for many years, where she lived. They had literally adopted Krista. She had her own room, and they took her with them everywhere they went. I hope that Krista always remembers their kindness. She spent most of her time with them. Again, I avoided my duties as a mother to give all my time and energy to taking care of my long time abuser. I am forever grateful to them for fulfilling my role with Kris.

I get somewhat foggy around this time frame. I think it was maybe 6 months we went on like this. In the last couple of weeks, I do remember quite vividly. Sandy, his nurse, was coming every day at this point. This now was getting too deep emotion in my mind. I never handled death or being around The End very well. With my own health anxiety and my Impath nature, it scared me to see someone failing like Ed was. He spent most of his time in bed, and we were in the diaper phase. Ed was nothing but skin and bone. I had never witnessed anyone in my life up close and personal in that physical shape. It was a time that has shaped my thoughts in this area for the rest of my life. Sandy would have to use a spoon to help him get rid of his own feces. The morphine that he was given anally was very high doses, and constipation was a constant battle. Not that he was eating, but the body is funny, it still produces waste, or at least he did. Two of us would have to hold him up while she did what she had to do. His legs were now too weak to hold him at all. I only relay these things because it took a really severe toll on my already fragile mental state.

I would sit in the recliner at night, wondering how many morphine suppositories I would have to give him to get it over with. I was mad at myself, at the world, at Ed, and God. Why couldn’t my life be like everyone else? I guess I was that miserable person I grew up to believe I was, and God did have failures, and I was one.

The last day Sandy came in the morning, and she told me his blood pressure was shallow, and she suspected he would not make it through the day. How are you supposed to feel when you are told that? What do I do? Go change him burn some incense, turn out the lights, and shut the door? Ed wore a cross, nothing special, just a cross that he never took off. You can think of that as you wish, but never the less it meant something to him. I had hung it up behind him several weeks ago because it was irritating his collar bones. Ed had not spoken one word for probably three or four days. Not one single word, he just looked out the window beside him from the bed. Krista was gone with Jenny and Louie for the day, and my mom was at her nanny job she had done for years. Imagine that – my mom a Nanny !!! I walked into Ed’s room, and he had been for hours groping behind him like he was trying to get something behind him. He was irritated and seemed really upset. I yelled at him – “what the hell do you want, Ed?” No answer; I started to cry. I could not do this. I looked up and pleaded with God – “if you are there, please tell me what to do?. Have you ever seen the picture of Jesus that the eyes look like they are looking right through you? Well, that picture hung above Ed’s bed with his cross. I had his powerful urge to look at it – when I did, I knew immediately what Ed was reaching for.

I HANDED HIM HIS CROSS, AND HE WAS immediately AT PEACE. Within minutes he closed his eyes, and it was over. When he passed, it took with him my fear of struggling to ward off those final moments for myself. At that very moment, peace comes over him and me that should last me for the rest of my life.

The rest of the day went rather quickly. I called his nurse and one younger brother Archie. They lived about one and a half hours away, but he assured me he would come right away. Archie beat the Cornonor there and stayed with me until the funeral home claimed Ed’s body. I remember asking him, “Archie, who in the hell is going to make my life miserable now”? He looked at me and very kindly said, “Sandi, you still have your mother.” We actually laughed, but little did he know more valid words he had not spoken. Ed was moved back to Titusville, Pa. his hometown, to be buried there.

I reflected on the day as the night came, there would be no more diapers and suppositories. Not once from Ed’s diagnosis to death almost one year to the dates, did he offer or utter one word of “I’m sorry” to either the kids or me for all he had done.

This was a challenging chapter to write. I will admit I have played with it for longer than normal. I am not happy with my writing right now, but I did promise total transparency and honesty, didn't I? I ask myself - "why is this one so hard? Is it the death part, is it the years of people telling me how stupid I was for taking that final battle on? I do not know what - but I am certain of one thing - if I had to do it again, I would do the same thing.

Next time you start regretting something you did, something you said, that life-changing choice you made. Please remember you did the best that you could. You made the decision that was best for you at the time. And even though the outcome you desired -turned into something completely different; maybe you were always meant to be exactly where you are right now. Maybe somethings fall apart so something else more beautiful came together. Maybe even if it does not feel that way right now this - this small yet giant magic - yet mighty little moment was always where you were suppose to end up. So don't wistfully wish for what could have been, you did the best you could , the best way you knew how . You were meant to be here.

Next, we will go on a short visit to the funeral and on to the next chapter of me becoming justmesandi