My dad called me this morning to tell me that my mother's death is, more than likely, imminent. She slipped back last night. I don't know the details, whether it was another stroke or something else, and can't get hold of her doctor. The only number the hospital was able to give me was a pager that does not have a voicemail system....I didn't want to leave a Massachusetts telephone number with no message because he would have no idea who placed the call.

And so I had to go to the grocery store this morning. I hate the grocery store--always have. As I looked for a can of sweet potatoes, my knees started to buckle, and life with my mother seemed to flash before my eyes....all those trips to the grocery store as a child, all those arguments as a teen-ager, the time I did not speak to her for a year because I was lead to believe (thru faulty psychotherapy) that she was the cause of all my sexual dysfunction....and all I could think was "I'm sorry mom...I'm sorry so many people hurt you....I'm sorry I hurt you....I'm sorry we could never fully communicate....I'm sorry your life was so full of pain and there are times when I caused you more...I hope there were times when I gave you joy, too...I hope it wasn't all for nothing..."

I started to have an anxiety attack...breathing hard and palms sweating...and I wanted to dive under a table that held discounted Easter items and scream. Kelly Clarkson was warbling her treacle-y "For a Moment Like This" and I wanted to shoot the musak system. All I could do was mutter under my breath "shut the fuck up, Clarkson"...so nobody could hear me and think I'd lost my mind.

I had things lined up on the checkout conveyor belt exactly how I wanted them packed, and the old gentleman who was doing the packing couldn't figure this out. He started to shift the items around and seemed perplexed. I couldn't stand being in the store any more with pop music screaming at me and old people trying to run me over with their carts, and I told the guy I'd do it. I packed in less time and with less breaths than he could have and ran from the store for fear I'd either lash out at someone or throw up.

I can't get to NJ from here right now. I have to go to the mall and make a crappy $10 an hour hawking lingerie to people who don't give a shit and treat me as if I am a convenience with no core or self--simply there to serve their needs, no matter how trivial or mean those needs might be.

My sister sent me an email last night and told me that they would be meeting with the dr. on friday to remove her feeding tube. Then, it would probably be only a matter of hours before she died. If she did not die before that. But in the email, she horribly berated my father. While I agreed that he is acting cowardly at the moment, when I thought about things later on, I understood why. Here is what I told my sister:

I spoke with dad this morning.

I heard the panic in his voice. please keep in mind right now he is losing the *only* person in his life that he was ever close to.

Dad is not a perfect man. In fact, probably more imperfect than some others. But, he did not have such a great start to life--and that often makes it difficult for a person to recognize love and compassion in his own life.

he tried...and, many times, failed. He did not know how to live properly because he himself was treated like an animal when he was a child. that is a fate no one should ever suffer.

that he cannot sit long with her is no surprise. How can one reconcile the death of the only person you have ever had a deep connection to with your own profound lonliness?

I know you can say he was a creep....in many ways this is true. Yet we, the children, will never fully understand what their relationship was about and was like, no matter what our egos might tell us. There are things that transpire between couples that only the two of them will ever know about.

When mom finally goes, he will be far more alone than you or I will ever be.

I know you belive that "men suck"...but I don't see it that way. Men are who they are. Their brains and minds and lives are very different from women's and to try to comprehend how and why they do the things they do can be like trying to imagine the texture of the surface of the moon.

Dad is, in many respects on the dark side of that moon right now and might never come back. Be patient with him.

T.

I cannot imagine the rest of this day. It is beautiful outside, but I don't care. I'd like to crawl into a hole or at least go down to NJ.

And if I don't make it in time, I hope my mom will understand.