Quintessence of Senescence

"Like the wallpaper sticks to the wall

Like the seashore clings to the sea

Like you'll never get rid of your shadow

You'll never get rid of me."

Robbie Williams, Me And My Shadow

Yesterday, The Other Guy would have been 73 years old.  His Deadbeat Younger Sister texted me from her mother’s nursing home saying the Demented Old Bitch was “a bit ‘spacey’ today” and wondered why her son has not called her since her birthday. The Deadbeat Older Sister and DOS have decided not to tell DOB that her son died 4 days after he called her on her 96^th birthday.

Later, I had a phone call from DOS who is always sick and miserable and who, was particularly sick and miserable because it’s been snowing for about 100 years and she has cabin fever. We both said happy birthday to her dead brother/my dead husband.

DOS:  Mother fell twice last week.

WISIMH:  That explains the two voicemail messages I got to call the nursing home. The ones I deleted because I have told those people I relinquish all responsibility for DOB, her son is dead, and take my name and number out of their files.

Me:  What happened?

DOS:  She dropped something and leaned too far out of her wheelchair to pick it up and…

WISIMH:  Gravity is such a bitch. 

DOS:  And the second time she fell getting out of bed because she had to use the bathroom and she doesn’t like to bother the nurses for help. I keep telling her to call them.

Me:  And she doesn’t call them because she’s a stubborn and demented old bitch and besides, the staff ignores the call buttons, just like they ignore the bed alarm that rings when she slides out of bed onto the floor.

DOS:  Did they call you?

Me:  Didn’t they call you?

DOS:  No. And they didn’t call DYS either (who is living nearby while awaiting the next in an interminable series of divorce proceedings).

WISIMH:  How irresponsible of them not to intuit that when the first person on their apparently un-revisable contact list doesn't call back, that they might want to call the second person on the list. That's you. I know this because I filled the paper out in indelible ink.

Me:  Why don’t you call them and tell them to list you both as primary contacts? They’re supposed to call each time she falls.

DOS:  (Not so much ignoring the question as using this family’s genetic superpower to not hear anything that involves them lifting a fucking finger to do something responsible for a change.) Does the nursing home have mother’s cremation information?

WISIMH:  Unless they retrieved it from my garbage can where I ceremoniously dropped it in December - with her will - without even bothering to shred it, it’s doubtful they have it.

Me:  I suppose TOG might have assured they had all that information in their files. That would have been the responsible thing for him to do. You could check with them, I suppose.

WISIMH:  I crack myself up sometimes because I’m so hilarious. Because TOG was totally the most responsible member of this sorry family, not counting me who was the ONLY responsible person in the family. But you could check that when you call them to update her contact information. Wait! Why don’t I take care of that for you? I’ll get to it as soon as I re-wire the electrical lines in my house so they’re up to code, thereby assuring that my final conscious thought is not bemusement about where the smell of burning wiring is coming from this time.

DOS:  Well, she’ll outlive us all anyway.

Me:  You could mention to DYS that DOB has a pre-paid cremation contract with the Neptune Society and DYS could pick it up and deliver paperwork to the nursing home. The Neptune Society is literally within walking distance of DYS’ trailer. 

WISIMH:  Sometimes, I ponder whether there is a clinical distinction between being stupid, lazy, or senile. Perhaps you guys represent the hat trick: the quintessence of senescence.

DOS:  I have to upgrade the electrical wiring in my house to bring it up to code first, then I’ll get right on it.

WISIMH:  There is a pretty good chance that I just made that up. Maybe it’s time for me to begin a blog called What I HEARD in my head. Because I often think I hear DOS hinting I should invite her out to my place until winter is over in Pennsylvania. I have orchids blooming in my backyard right now.

DOS:  Well, the snow is really coming down. I can’t see as far as the street.

Me:  Happy Valentine’s Day. Hope you feel better. Bye.