We Could Be Heroes

Temple is not fond of other dogs.  She might be okay with it in the right situation, but the right situation hasn't presented itself.
"Hey, papi.  I'm coming home.  We have Hunter, too.  Lock Temple in the bedroom and prepare Lola's old crate."  I texted.  

We hearded Hunter through our house and into the front room.  And then, we just sort of sat there.  Alec sat in the back half of the house with Temple.  Coming home wasn't even really coming home.  

I thought about some of the things that led to the blow up.  My sister found a box of old pictures in one of the boxes at my mom's house.  I saw a Christmas ornament with my elementary school picture cut-out face on it, lying on the floor.  It was on a figure of an angel and the glitter was falling off.  A picture of my brother, bleaching in the sun through the window.  While we were watching T.V. one night, my mom acted innocuous when someone made a reference to a Caesarean section.  She was there when we saw my sister give birth to my niece, via c-section.  She didn't remember it.  

Hunter started whimpering when we tried to go to bed, even though he had a plush bed in the open crate.  Alec rolled out our futon and slept next to him on the floor so that he wouldn't cry.  He walked him in and out of the front door of our house.  I stayed in the back with Temple.  

I checked my mom's accounts during my first morning home.  She ordered booze the minute we left.  The hearing aid place called and confirmed an appointment for Wednesday, even though they had said Thursday.  I didn't correct them.  My sister and I drove over and got her.  We instructed her not to speak and dropped her off at the door.  We waited as she walked in on her own, using her walker.  I felt horrible.  

I sat on the couch with Alec.  
"You are going to feel like shit if you wash your hands of your mom or if you take care of her.  You just have to figure out which will make you feel less shitty."  he told me.
"Do you want to go for the evaluation in the morning?"  I texted my mom.
"Yes."  she responded.  

"We'll be there at 7:00."

"So, I didn't want to tell you last week while you had so much going on but...."  Alec began.  
Alec had a major illness.  I am trying to respect his privacy here but it is serious.  And I was unavailable, taking care of everything that wasn't mine.  And it scares the shit out of me.  I can't live without him.  I can't live without Temple.  I can't neglect everything that makes my life worth living.  

Alec slept on the futon with Hunter for a second night.  Hunter still wandered, huffing and puffing at my bedroom door while Temple looked at me with complete curiosity.  We were up and in the car before seven am to pick my mom up for the state run rehab evaluation.  We got there and I rolled up on my knee scooter with my mom next to me on her walker.  We waited.  After a while, we figured out that we were at the wrong door and went inside.  It was nice.  They had a little Christmas tree and it was clean.  A young guy sat with his friends, his bags packed.  I heard the word fentanyl and shuddered.  They gave him a group hug and left.  A young woman came in with her grandfather.  They had heavy accents and I assumed they had driven for miles to get to Atlanta.  Grandpa had a Confederate insignia on his hat and a car tag that indicated that he was a vet.  But you know what, as much as I hate that Confederate shit I was glad that he took his granddaughter to Atlanta to get her straightened out.  Every time they called my mom back, she stared at me as if she didn't belong there.  That place was exactly where she belonged.

Finally, the admins asked me to come into the back for a private conversation.  
"So, we need to see her meds."

"Okay, I can be back and forth with her meds in probably forty-five minutes.  Are you taking her?" 
"We are concerned about her mobility.  There is a hill that she would have to walk up, a few times a day."
"Well, where is this hill?  Can we see it?"
We went outside.  My mom pushed herself up a small incline and asked if she was done.
"That wasn't the hill." the admin replied.
We went in the back again.  
"We don't think we can accommodate her."  the admin told me.
"She is a fall down drunk.  I don't know what to do.  I understand I UNDERSTAND but why won't she STOP DRINKING."  I responded.
"She's an addict.  Let me give you some resources."  they responded.
"Thank you.  I know it's not you, it's us."  I responded and we rolled back out to the car.  

"I was praying the whole time we sat there...."  my mom said.

"Praying that they wouldn't take you?"  I asked.

"Yes."  she responded. 

When we brought back my mom back to her house, there was a half gone bottle of coconut rum on the counter.

"Just pour it out!"  my mom demanded.

"Pour it out yourself, I'm not your maid."  I responded.  

I handed her the pages of resources the place had provided.  

"You are ruining my life."  I told her.

"Ruining my relationships, ruining everything."

Alec and I brought Hunter back to my mom's.  It was heartbreaking.  I kept his medication so that I could bring it back to my mom's house every morning.  Both to keep an eye on him, and on her.  But, I haven't been able to walk or drive.  So my sister has had to come and get me every morning so that I could bring him his pill.  

My niece and my sister came over.  They helped me buy a Christmas tree and we decorated it.  While we worked on it, the rehab three hours south of Atlanta called and asked why we hadn't brought my mom in.  I put my phone face down.  Any clear communication with those people would have been helpful.  Any clear communication at all.  

On Christmas Eve, I cleaned up my house and wrapped presents.  I set up food.  I bathed.  I finally sat on the couch and felt relieved that I had Christmas in hand.  Everyone came over and as the night went on, I just felt exhausted and sad.  I worked really hard, but couldn't get into it.  

I didn't want to keep asking my sister to drive to my mom's.  It's not good for anyone.  On the last day, I climbed on my hands and knees up to the car.  I got inside and drove to my mom's and texted her to come outside.  I handed her Hunter's meds.  

I text her every morning when he needs them.  

One Thousand Pound Sisters

I sat on my mom's couch the Sunday after we found her bottle.  We brought her dog back from the vet with us.  The day wore on.  I watched my sister start puffing up the air mattress and realized I was in a really bad mood.  My sister emptied Hunter's drain throughout the day and walked him outside on a leash so that he could pee.  We put a soccer jersey on him, the same one Lola wore when she had stitches, so that he wouldn't scratch at himself.  When we tried to eat, Hunter tried to bite my sister.  More than once.  

The following Monday was Temple's birthday, the birthday Alec and I chose for her.  My sister took me to the dog bakery to pick up her cake.  I went by my house and got a few things.  And then, we went back to my mom's.  We worried about leaving her alone for any period of time, even in the morning.  Alec facetimed me that night while he gave Temple her steak dinner and a piece of cake.  I watched her get her presents.  My mom asked a couple of times what was going on.  
"It's Temple's birthday!"  my sister and I shouted.
She didn't really seem to care.  

I spent the days trying to get into my mom's accounts.  It was nightmarish.  She had a hodgepodge of methods for accessing her stuff, mainly from her phone.  She didn't know any passwords or usernames.  When I would try to take care of things on her phone, the face recognition thing would lock me out.  It was infuriating.  My mom was giving money away left and right and I was trying to get it to stop.  She had monthly and sometimes weekly subscriptions that were costing hundreds of dollars at a pop.  I downloaded a financial power of attorney.  I paid off her car with some money I had gotten her to transfer into her checking account.  I wanted to be able to sell it and put that money toward other bills.  

My sister puffed up the air mattress again.  I laid there in the living room, in front of the front door.  It felt like the Twilight Zone.  My sister laid next to me.  Some nights we would laugh and make jokes, I guess gallows' humor.  Other times we laid there in silence.  Hunter would rumble around, his cone bumping everything.  One night he shit on the floor and my sister stepped in it.  She was rightfully screaming and I just sat there, trying not to cry.  

I emailed an alcohol rehab.  They called and did a phone evaluation.  My mom told them that she only had two drinks a day.  My sister and I started screaming.  I talked back and forth repeatedly with these people.  Some representative recommended a place three hours south of Atlanta.  They said that would be the best place for my mom.  They said they would call back after they tried to get the request approved by Medicare.  They said they would know within two hours.  They called back a few days later.

"Medicare isn't going to cover her if she says she only drinks two drinks a day."  they informed me.

We put my mom on speaker.

"She is going through a gallon of rum every couple of days.   TELL THEM MOM."  we yelled.

They said Medicare would cover it.  

My mom needed new hearing aids and apparently had some benefit through Medicare that would cover two-thirds of the cost.  I went to the website they told me to go to and did the online hearing evaluation.  I kept getting error codes when trying to order the actual hearing aids.  I called the number and one of the smarter representatives said that the evaluation had to be done on an iPhone.

"Look, that seems a little odd.  I am using a MacBook.  How would these old people get hearing aids if they didn't have an iPhone?"  I asked.

The representative got short with me and before I knew it, I was screaming at her.

My mom started laughing, making fun of me for losing my temper.  I was ready to shove my foot up her ass, too.  

I called back and got a different person who said that my mom had to go to a certain clinic and get the evaluation there and that they would order the hearing aids.

"That's funny."  I responded.

"Are you sure it isn't because you have to use an iPhone?"  I asked sarcastically.

I called all the numbers and got my mom an appointment the following week.  We decided to put off the rehab until she had her hearing aids.  The guy said they could have them on her the following Monday and we decided we'd bring her to the rehab that Tuesday.  We didn't think therapy would work if she couldn't hear anything.  I called the rehab to tell them and they told me to call back the weekend before she was arriving so that they could arrange a bed.  

After multiple attempts, I got some Bangladeshi guy on the phone that helped me get my mom's Medicare open enrollment done.  I was praying it was being done correctly, and just kept saying yes I'll wait, thank you, yes I appreciate your time.  

The days wore on.  I missed my house.  My dog.  Alec.  Clean clothes.  My mood was already bad because of my foot surgery lack of mobility and it was only getting lower and lower.  At my house, I was rarely able to go outside.  No exercise, either.  This was even worse.  I kept contesting charges, cancelling subscriptions, trying to break into my mom's online accounts.  Then, I would put on Good Times in the late afternoon.  And Love Boat.  When five thirty hit each day and it finally got dark I was sort of relieved.  At my mom's suggestion, my sister and I started watching "1000 -lb Sisters" on one of her TV apps.  I am usually in bed by 10:30, but as the days grew I started staying up until two in the morning, unable to sleep.  I'd lay there next to my sister on the air mattress in the Bermuda Triangle, watching these horribly fat people act horrible.  

My mom would go between being clueless, to snippy to occasionally being her former self.  One late afternoon, she randomly threw up on herself and turned yellow.  She shuddered from drafts we couldn't feel.  

Almost a week after Hunter's December 6th surgery, my sister and I took him back to Blue Pearl to get his drain removed.  That felt like a big step, but we were afraid to leave my mom alone for even an hour or so, even early in the morning.   I wanted to get Hunter boarded while we figured out how to get my mom to rehab but it was very difficult with his drain, stitches, medication and Christmas coming.  People were basically like, hell no.  We noticed that he turned evil pretty fast and would bite when the urge struck him.  My sister and I joked about how his eyes would narrow and go dark and he became a different dog.  A dog that bites.  I sat out front at the specialist and saw a door swing open.  Hunter stood in the back, his green soccer jersey tied tightly on him and his cone protruding out.  He was glaring right at me.  

I tried to find a mobile notary for the power of attorney.  Some guy I found on Yelp wanted a hundred dollars to come to us so we decided to drive to him.  In Rex, Georgia.  The three of us going anywhere was a circus.  My mom on a walker, me on a knee scooter and my sister opening doors and lifting our equipment into the car.  Fuck, even the dog had stitches and a cone.  We sat in my mom's car in Rex, Georgia in front of the notary's house, signing like crazy.   He was wearing paint covered sweat pants because he was remodeling.  I sat in the same clothes I had been wearing for days.  

My sister took my mom to get her initial evaluation for hearing aids at the clinic.  We were running so late that I sat in the car because it takes me about two hours to move an inch.  We went to the bank to get my name put on my mother's accounts.  We tried to do it online, but they said we had to make an appointment with a branch.  When I made the appointment, they asked if we wanted to do it on the phone.  When they called for the phone appointment, they said we had to come in to the branch.  The Monday the hearing aids arrived, we had been told that they could be fitted the same day.  When I called, an incredibly pleasant woman said that they could not be fitted until Thursday.  Getting my mom to that rehab kept getting farther and farther away.  When I called to schedule her intake, the guy on the phone wanted to start the whole process all over again.  

"We've been through this."  I told him.

"They even got approval from Medicare."

"Okay, I'll call you back in ten minutes."  he stated.

No one called for days.  That was probably the fourth time I had heard call you in ten minutes or in two hours, only to hear nothing.  

My sister and threw away all the food in my mom's fridge.  It was rotten.  My sister took her bathroom trash out.  We had to space it out over two weekly trash days so that we wouldn't overflow the herbie.  The house was starting to smell a little better, or maybe I was simply dying inside there.  I had little fantasies.  While my mom was in rehab, I would get her house cleaned and unbox all of the shit that had been sitting in boxes for seven years.  All the stuff she never unpacked when she moved in.  We'd get rid of the filthy chair she sat in all of the time and buy a new one.  I'd get the door replaced that was damaged from the break-in, put some blinds up.  Maybe get bars on the window that someone had climbed through.  That notary had volunteered his home repair services.  Maybe she would be better if her house was better.   I started a to-do list for while she was away.

My sister and I took Hunter to get his stitches out.  He was given a steroid prescription that would last weeks and required daily hot compresses to help him get rid of some excess fluid near the surgery site.  I spoke to the rehab again and they started expressing reservations about my mom coming.  
"Is she a fall risk?"  
"Well yeah, when she's shit faced."  I responded.
"Because, you know we don't know..." they continued and asked me why I was referred to them in the first place.  I thought my head might explode. 

"If she's been sober for a week, we aren't sure if she needs us....."

"My sister and I have been sleeping on her living room floor this whole time.  We aren't working, we aren't doing anything.  This was not some act of will on her part, we have literally barred the door so that alcohol can't get in."  

"Okay, we'll call you back...."  they responded.  

"I'm incontinent."  my mom whispered, a dramatic look on her face.

I looked back at her.

"Are you going to sabotage this?"  I asked.  

She tried to look innocent.

"Are you telling me that you can't throw your diaper in the trash and put a new one on?"

I was furious.  I realized that she was really in no rush to go there.  And that rehabs aren't really dying to take on an eighty year-old.  She had kind of found a sweet spot where no one wanted to treat her.  And, she really just wanted me and my sister to leave.  No acknowledgement of how awful all of this was for us.  No acknowledgement that she had a real problem.  I called the original hospital and asked about their services.  They offered a five day medical detox.  We needed residential treatment, for a minimum of thirty days, I was guessing.  But who the fuck knows?  This whole thing hasn't exactly been my skill-set.  I texted back and forth with a private rehab that said they could keep her for thirty days for $15,000-$18,000 for the month.   I asked if they knew of anything else and they gave me the phone number for a crisis hotline.  I called it.  They lady emailed a list of five state-run rehabilitation centers.  One was in Atlanta.  I called. 

"We do evaluations every morning, but our last morning for evaluations is Monday because of....."  she trailed off.

"Because of Christmas."  I finished for her.

"I understand."

I understand that people get Christmas.  

Shortly after, my sister and my mom got in a huge argument.  My mom was being really rude, dismissive, snarling at my sister in her mean alcoholic voice.  I snapped.

"ALL YOU CARE ABOUT IS YOURSELF!!!"  I screamed.  

Her face filled with fake shock.

"OH YES!  OH POOR YOU!  DISMAY!"  I screamed.

"I HATE YOU!  DIE DIE DIE!"

I grabbed my stuff and starting throwing it in my bag.  

"We're taking the dog too!"  my sister yelled.

We sat on the front porch with our stuff in piles.  Hunter was out there, too.  My sister's husband pulled up in their van and we piled in.  The air mattress.  Her dog.  Our piles of clothes.  On what would have been the tenth night at my mom's house, we went home.  

I looked out of the window at the Christmas lights in people's yards.  I thought of something my sister said a few days earlier, when we sat on my mom's front porch.  

"People can smell the white trash on us.  You know that we will never get away from it."  

All the Lonely People

I didn't return to work on December 2nd.  

The third was a hellish day.  Alec and I were up and on the road by 5:30am.  We had to drive south to the dog boarder's house and pick Hunter up by six.  Then, we had to drive him to the Blue Pearl by Georgia Tech for drop off between seven and eight.  We stared straight ahead, bleary eyed, driving down unfamiliar roads.  A couple of hours after drop off, the vet called and said the CT scan machine was broken.  Could we bring him back Wednesday or Thursday morning?
"Look."  I answered.
"The dog is being boarded a half an hour south of the city.  I have a broken foot.  I know, I know that YOU didn't break the scanner, but it is really difficult to reschedule this.  Are there any options?"

The vet said a repair guy was coming in the afternoon, that if they could fix it, Hunter could probably stay overnight and get his scan Wednesday morning.

"Okay.  Please call me after the repairman comes.  I would like to delay decision making until that point."

Grady started calling.  They decided to release my mother.  I argued with a doctor and a social worker when they said physical therapy had said that she didn't need to return to the physical therapy rehab.

"Look, she is constantly on the floor.  I know I need to find some alternative for her because of the way she's been living.  I was counting on this, I guess, counting on the P.T. rehab to buy some time...."

"I know this isn't what you wanted to hear."  the doctor responded.

"But she doesn't need physical therapy."

The same morning, Tuesday, Alec drove me to my follow-up appointment with the foot surgeon.  He said it was healing well and offered me more documentation for my FMLA requests.  He looked shocked when I randomly started crying.  I turned my face toward the wall.

"I'm glad it's doing well and thanks for the documentation.  There is just a lot going on right now...."  I said, staring at the wall.

The vet called.  The machine was fixed and Hunter would be getting his CT scan that day.  He would be available for pick up around four, right in time for rush hour traffic.

I submitted more FMLA paperwork, though work had gone radio silent in regard to my documentation.  I started getting worried.  Was I going to get paid?  Was I going to have a job?

The dog boarder called.  She wanted Hunter dropped back off by 4:30 in Riverdale because she had other appointments that afternoon.  I knew it would be impossible if he couldn't even leave the vet until four o'clock.  Alec and I picked him up and started driving to Riverdale.  We arrived nearly two and a half hours later.  

My mom was released.  My sister and her husband went by her house and intercepted a bottle of booze being delivered.  My sister begged her not to drink, to text us is she had urges, that we would support her.  

I laid on my bed that Tuesday night, texting my mom and sister on a text chain.   We really wanted my mom to stay sober.  The dog boarder started texting, saying Hunter was acting weird.  She wasn't sure if she was equipped to keep boarding him after he got his surgery.  I asked if she could at least keep him until Friday morning, the day of his surgery.  She agreed. 

My sister and I spent Wednesday and Thursday at my mom's, sitting there all day, talking to her about sobriety.  I started looking at her mail and realized there were a lot of things overdue.  The county put a lien on her house because of overdue property taxes.  Medicare open enrollment was about to end and she had to pick a new provider for her part D.  Some of her utilities were overdue.  She let me look into her bank accounts and she was paying hundreds of dollars a month into weird subscriptions she didn't use, as well as an exorbitant amount for a car note and insurance though she didn't drive.  I convinced her to transfer money into her checking account so that I could pay off some of this stuff on her behalf.  She agreed.  

Friday morning, my sister and I left for Riverdale around 5:30am.  We picked Hunter up and dropped him off at the vet by 7am for his surgery.  We spent another day at my mom's sorting through her things.  I figured out how to sign-in to her county account online and paid her property taxes.  I started calling people, trying to figure out how to do Medicare open enrollment.  My mom couldn't remember her sign-in on the .gov account and I got locked out.  I couldn't use her laptop to do any of this because she couldn't remember the password to that, either.  The vet called when Hunter was out of surgery.  He had lost a lot of blood.  They wanted to keep him overnight until his blood counts improved.  I sat on my mom's couch, filthy because bathing was so difficult, rubbing my face and trying not to cry.  

My sister and I came back Saturday morning to my mom's house.  Everytime I move, I have to use a knee scooter.  My sister walks to my house and helps me crawl up the stairs into my backyard and drags the knee scooter up there.  I hop on one foot into Alec's car and she loads the knee scooter into the back seat.  And then, she drives us.  And does it again and again, day after day.

We sat at my mom's house, trying to figure out her shit and talking to her about the benefits of not drinking.  We threw stuff away, her house was filthy and smelled horrible.

"Janet Key."  my sister said suddenly, late in the day.  She had a half empty bottle of rum in her hand.  It was hidden in a cupboard in the kitchen.  It was like a horror movie.  I hoped that there was dust on it, that maybe it was a forgotten bottle.  But no.  My mom had been drinking the whole time.  She had been drinking every night, after we left.  For days.  She had ordered two, the night she got out of Grady.  My sister intercepted one and missed the second.  I was shocked.  She sat there, talking to us for four solid days, knowing full and well that she was drinking the whole time.  She was lying to our faces.  We got up and left, me rolling on the scooter and my sister lifting it into the car and driving us back to our houses. 

Sunday morning, we picked up my mom's dog from the vet.  He had a drain releasing fluid from the area where the mass had been cut off.  It had to be emptied multiple a day.  He also had numerous stitches.  He couldn't go outside without being on a leash, to stop him from running or climbing stairs.  

We drove Hunter back to my mom's house.  My sister's husband brought an air mattress over.  I didn't have clothes or a toothbrush.  My sister and I sat on the couch trying to organize my mom's accounts and cared for her dog.  In the night, we set up the air mattress and slept on the floor in her living room so that we would know if she ordered booze.  I'd roll around, kicking my sister with my air cast.  

This went on for almost two weeks.  

*Title, Neil Young, depressing Pulblix commerical  

 

Peg Leg

I sat on the couch.  My doctor texted me a few hours after my surgery to make sure I had gotten the opiods filled.  I hadn't.
"Hilary, please get them filled.  It is going to really start hurting tonight.  You have to get ahead of it."  he texted.
Alec went back to the pharmacy and got them filled. 

Moving around was incredibly difficult, even with crutches and a knee scooter.   I watched Martha Raddatz stroll by on the news.  

"Look at you!"  I thought.

"So spry, really moving along on TWO legs!"  

It already seemed novel and kind of athletic.  

Two days after the surgery my mom's dog had an appointment for his shots.  I had really overestimated what I was going to be able to do post-surgery and Alec ended up picking him up from the boarder's house and taking him to the vet by himself.  Hunter, my mom's dog, got scared at the vet and bit Alec.  The vet recommended that I take Hunter to a specialist the following week to discuss having a mass removed from his neck.  She said it could be malignant.  That it might spread.  I felt terrible for him. I also hate the specialist-vet.  The last time I was there they told me there was no hope for Lola.  

My mom started texting that she was being released from the physical therapy rehab.  I was shocked.  They were supposed to keep her two weeks but it had only been maybe a week.  She had spent two weeks in Grady before that.  I layed on my bed, filing a Medicare appeal.  Around the 25th, she announced that she was home.  I wanted to keep her dog at the boarder because my mom had been so unstable, but she had another dog coming for Thanksgiving week.  

My sister and I picked Hunter up a week to the day after my surgery, on the 26th.  The boarder had bathed him and washed his bed.  It made me really happy.  We took him to the specialist about the mass on his neck.  The specialist recommended a CT scan the following Tuesday and surgery that Friday.  Later that day, my sister and I returned to my mom's house with her dog.  My sister texted me from inside the house.  

"She bought booze.  She's on the floor again."

I heard yelling inside the house.

I clawed my way out of the car and hopped around on one leg, dragging the knee scooter out of the backseat while clinging to the side of the car.  When I walked in, my mom was laying on the floor again,  half dressed and drunk.  She couldn't stand.  She had literally ordered booze to be delivered while coming home from the hospital on the 25th.  I called 911.  I stood on the porch, one leg on the knee scooter, waiting for the paramedics.

I noticed them looking at my cast propped up on the scooter when they pulled up.

"It's not for me, she's inside!"  I called.

"We were the ones that picked her up last time...."  one of them mentioned.

The last time, on November 2nd.

They got my mom packed up and took her away.  

Later that night, she texted.

"Pick me up."  she demanded.

Grady was releasing her.

"Mom, I can't.  I just had surgery, I can't walk, I can't drive."  I responded.

A nurse texted me from my mom's phone, again demanding that I pick her up.

My mom told me to call her an Uber.  I did.  She didn't go out to meet it and he drove away.

Finally, Alec and I went to go get her.

We drove through the tunnel by Grady where the homeless people sleep.  It was freezing.  Any one of them could have been my mom at this point.

Alec went inside and found my mom while I waited in the car because I can't walk.  We left the knee scooter in our backyard so that there would be room for my mom in the backseat.  As the nurse loaded my mom into the car, my mom snarled at her in a sharp, mean tone because the nurse told her to put her seatbelt on.

"DON'T TELL ME WHAT TO DO."  she hissed.

"MOM."  I warned, staring forward.  

We drove to her house.  I didn't want to send Alec in there to get her inside, but I couldn't do it myself.  

"Don't let her boss you around."  I texted.

Alec finally came out of the house.

"She made me lock Hunter in her room.  He was whimpering."

I texted my mom over and over again while Alec drove us home, begging her to let Hunter out of the room.  She wouldn't answer my texts.  She could blow up my phone when she needed a ride, but couldn't be bothered otherwise.  

By my second follow up with the surgeon, I knew there was no way I could return to work less than two weeks after my surgery.  I was not allowed to carry ANY weight on my left foot.  My knee scooter was a rickety mess and even an uneven surface would send me flying to the floor.  I got some doctor's notes and began the process of asking for more time off.  

Alec flew to Connecticut on the 27th.  I binge-watched Yellowjackets, creeping myself out and worrying about Hunter and my mom.  My mom's phone had been going dead during this whole ordeal and I couldn't track where she was.  I sent four chargers to her house.  Thanksgiving morning, my sister broke down and went over there.  She found my mom lying naked on the floor, sloshing around in Creme de Menthe, the only booze left in her house.  They had a horrible fight.  My mom kept instructing my sister to call Grady again.  My sister told her to do it herself and left.

We wanted to have a decent Thanksgiving, but everyone was sad and stressed.  I made three dishes and it completely exhausted me.  My sister was cold and shaking.  My mom started texting late afternoon, saying she was back at Grady.  I just wanted her to leave us alone.  Hadn't she ruined enough?  My niece slept over and the two of us stayed up half the night, watching Yellowjackets in the dark of my living room.  

The following Friday, my sister and her husband visited Hunter multiple times.  By Saturday morning, I had a new dog boarder and my sister and I drove to Riverdale, an area about thirty minutes south from where we live to bring Hunter to her home.  

My mom remained at Grady for an undetermined period of time.  

November 19

I didn't know when I left that I wasn't returning.

I woke up on the operating room table with my good foot halfway on the floor, trying to jump off while I tried to adjust my glasses that weren't there.  I heard people yelling and I threw the sheet back over my crotch that I feared was exposed.  And then, I tried again.

Suddenly, my doctor put his face in front of mine.  
"I'm sorry."  I said.
"I was disoriented.  I didn't know where I was."

"You are making record recovery time!"  a nurse in the recovery room commented.

"Yes.  Yes, I am fine."  I responded, staring off into space.

They let me leave.  I hopped from the wheel chair to the car.

"I really didn't know..."  Alec said.

"I really didn't know how serious this surgery was.  I was shocked when they took me back there and all those people were around you and all those tubes...."

"It's okay."  I responded.

"I didn't know how to explain it."

Alec drove us home and I kept wanting to cry.  The nurse that rigged me up for surgery kind of gave me a heads up.  

"Wow, they are really moving you through this."  she told me.

"Yeah, my insurance wasn't going to cover it so I refused to come back here until I knew what the bills would be."  I responded.

She ran an IV in my arm.

"It's better this way."  she said.

"They would have just made you sit back here for hours instead of out there where it's better."

"Yeah."  I said.  Yeah. 

"How do you respond to anesthesia?"  she asked.

"I don't know.  I've only been under twice in my life.  No one told me.  I could have gone crazy town.  I don't know."  

She laughed.

"Yeah.  Some people really tear it up.  Others, they cry."

We made it to our house and into the backyard where we parked the car.  I tried to get out on the stupid one hundred dollar knee scooter I bought and nearly fell.  Alec was trying to help me.  It had rained.  By the end, we were both lying in the driveway, soaking wet from the rain, rolling around, trying to get down the stairs and into our house.  

Oh Kitty.  You have no idea the rest.  It only gets worse.  

Strange Days

"Ms. Wagner, since the coverage from your insurance for your surgery is 'pending', we can go ahead and take you back and start getting you ready for surgery."  the desk lady at the hospital informed me.
"I decline to begin any procedures until coverage is confirmed by my insurance."  I answered, as politely as possible.  I kind of pushed my ass a little harder down in my chair in the surgical waiting area.  
The lady let out a little sigh.
"Don't blame you."  she replied. 

It all started on Thursday afternoon, the Thursday before my Tuesday surgery appointment.  The appointment that was booked in July.  The one I made a special request at work for during the first week of school, so that I could get days off ahead of the Thanksgiving vacation - "critical days" - the ones you don't get paid for if you don't come, no matter how many sick days you've banked.  The appointment I already got blood work done for, unfortunately out of network, for over four hundred dollars.  And took time off of work for.  The appointment I had already paid a "surgical fee" of almost eight hundred dollars for.  And bought a bunch of knee scooters and bullshit for another hundred dollars so that I could get around for two months, post-op, on one foot.  And had left work early, gone to my pre-op appointment at the hospital and spent days washing and soaking myself with some awful antiseptic wash they made me use for days.  For that appointment, the appointment I had prepared for, my Tuesday, November 19th surgery appointment.  

"As you are aware - your surgery was denied. I'm not sure why. This hasn't happened to me in 15 years. So I have a peer to peer on Monday morning."  the surgeon's message stated.

"Aware of what? It's canceled?  Who was supposed to tell me this?"  I responded, while watching some kid that spoke Arabic try to do science.  

"I thought the message was from you,"  he responded.

"But it's from Piedmont.  Your insurance is denying coverage."

"I think it's a technicality." he explained.

"Please let me know on Monday what is going on."  I responded.

I looked at the water cycle assignment.  How the fuck was this happening?

I spent the rest of the day pretending everything was going to be fine.  Preparing sub plans.  Talking to my mom's doctors about her transfer to a rehabilitation facility.  Doing things at home that I might not be able to do on one foot.  I had appointments for my mom's dog the day after my surgery, he needed his shots and someone to look at this growth on his neck.  I had a lot of things to think about.  

Monday was my last day at work for nearly two weeks.  I watched my messages like a hawk, waiting for the doctor to tell me how it went.  Late in the day, I got a message from his office that "everything was fine".  I smiled and drove to the Farmer's Market.  I was going to need food for the next week or so.  By the time I parked the car, I asked myself if I had lost my mind and called the doctor's office to get them to clarify.
"Hi yeah, you've paid us!"  the receptionist responded when I asked for clarification on their message.
"Yeah....I know that you guys got paid but I need to know the results of the peer to peer."  I answered.  

"Oh.  Okay.  I'm going to put you through to Piedmont billing." she said, a little edge to her voice.

"No.  No, I'm good.  Ask the doctor to send me a message on the results of the peer to peer."  I said and hung up.

I called my insurance company.  I was on hold for almost an hour.  I sat in the car, watching people coming and going with their groceries.

"Blue Cross Blue Shield!"  someone finally said.

I explained that my doctor's office said that "everything was good" and asked some questions about how they would apply the money in my spending account to all these bills, why my estimate of benefits was saying I was going to pay more than $26,000 in the morning, my special price because I have insurance but they won't pay....why I hadn't received an updated EOB.....

"Hey," the lady said.

"This thing is still coming up as pending....."

I saw my doctor calling on the other line.  I hung up and answered him.

"So, the peer to peer went through.  They had old x-rays.  But now, now there is a problem with the code...."

"WHAT?"  I answered, watching the sun go down on the Farmer's Market parking lot.

"I think it can be fixed, but....is there any way we can reschedule?"  he asked, his voice super hesitant.

"No."  I whispered.

"We can't.  This is bad."

"Okay."  he answered.

"You were going to be first in in the morning.  I'll move you to second and try to get the code through in the morning."

"Okay.  Thank you."  I responded, feeling sick to my stomach.

"So I come at eight instead of five thirty?"

"Yes."

I hung up the phone and tried to start the car.  There was no way I could grocery shop at this point.  The battery was dead, it wouldn't turn over.  I had left the lights on.

I got out and walked inside and bought vegetables.  

And olives.  

I was limping a little.  Because my foot hurt.  The foot they were supposed to fix.  

Only in the Darkness Can You See the Stars

I watched the kindergartner rolling around on the floor of my classroom.  He tore down the Positive Intervention Behavior and Supports signage with his feet.  I kept trying to have a class.

The kids were talking about the election.  I didn't stop them.  I was surprised that more than a few said they wanted Trump.  Refugee children, though Trump put the refugee cap near zero when he was previously in office.  Latino children.  I know they are parroting what they hear from their parents, but that didn't really make me feel any better.  I guess after one gets in, they slam the door shut behind them.  

"I bet Kamala ran home crying."  Albinus snickered, a mean look in his eyes.  

I read that some Latino men were uncomfortable voting for a woman.  I thought of the multitude of Latino men I encountered while volunteering for No More Deaths.  They seemed pretty comfortable taking water from a woman while they were dying in the desert, but to each his own.  I never felt like they owed me anything, you'd have to be some kind of animal to not offer aid to people in those situations.  But I admit, part of me feels betrayed.  You might have noticed.  Not because many prefer conservative politics, that's their right, but that they don't think a woman is capable of much.  Plenty of us dodged rattlesnakes, the law and militia groups to help them survive their treacherous journey to the United States, even though we have those lady vaginas.    

My mother has been hospitalized for two weeks.  She went to the emergency room and ended up staying.  Yesterday she was transferred to another facility.  My sister and I have been caring for her dog and her house.  I came by one day to find a side door heavily damaged by what was probably a crowbar.  The door held but all of the locks were exposed.  A break-in attempt.  I took my mother's dog and her jewelry box.  I was lucky to find a really kind couple that are caring for her dog in their home and are willing to keep him for weeks.  I replayed over and over in my head how afraid that dog must have been, alone in the house listening to someone trying to rip the door down.  

I am having surgery myself next Tuesday and will have limited mobility for two months.  Alec's mother has been very ill.  He will be spending Thanksgiving with his family in Connecticut.  I admit to feeling sad at first, the idea of being alone and on crutches over a major holiday was depressing.  But then I felt like I needed to stop being a little bitch and see the big picture and I encouraged him to go.  He needs to be there and her situation is a lot worse than mine.  

I stared at the new little boy.  He basically just screams and chants all day.  He runs in circles through our classrooms, screaming.  He runs all over the cafeteria and back to the food line, snatching food.  The first two days that I tried to get him for ESOL he hit me repeatedly and ended up getting suspended.  He is an absolute menace everyday, from 7:00 until 2:15.  His father wags his finger in my face and advises me to "be patient".  He never says, "I'm sorry my son hit you.".  And, we've noticed, his son only listens to men.  

I stared at him intently, his little pants with dinosaur fins poking out of the sides, chanting along with Al-Aqsa, swatting me away whenever I touched his computer.  

 

*Title, Martin Luther King Jr.

La Bamba

Last year, my school made me organize an assembly for Hispanic Heritage Month.  I love my kids, love Latino culture, but I hate organizing assemblies.  It's incredibly stressful and time consuming.  And, I guess I found it odd.  My school isn't always very respectful of diversity and I felt like my kids were being used for a dog and pony show.  This year, I hoped they would forget about the assembly.  Especially considering how crazy this year has already been.   I have been completely overwhelmed by reclassification meetings for kids exiting ESOL, screening A LOT of new students for services, my actual student roster increasing dramatically, three classroom changes, a multitude of schedule changes, no planning period for weeks on end, I could keep going but I think I've made my point.  I kind of know that the school doesn't care how busy I am, but I thought the assembly might at least be off the table because the room it would take place in has been off limits most of the school year because of the building construction.

I was wrong.

Less than three weeks before the assembly was to take place, I was informed that I better get on it.  My eyes widened in horror.  Why was this my responsibility?
"Don't worry!!  I'll get you a team!"  I was told.

I knew I wasn't getting a team.  I told the kids it was on and they were in my trailer the next morning, figuring out what we were going to do.  The Chorus teacher told me they could perform the same Spanish-language song as last year, which was a huge relief.  I put up the bulletin board.  Provided a list of "fun facts" about Latinos for the morning announcements.  I bought a ton of full size flags for our parade of flags.  We finalized what the kids wanted to say, in Spanish and in English.  We practiced every morning.  I made a little 'ol Power Point of pictures that flashed behind the kids while they presented.  I made a Spanish-English flyer to be sent out on the school's message system and individually invited all of my Spanish-speaking parents, many of whom had children presenting in the assembly.  I made a Spanish-English program to be handed out.  I bought and spray painted large wings for some of the kids to wear while they talked about the Quetzal's importance in Guatemala.  And, I did my day job at the same time.  

About a week and a half before the assembly, two teachers mentioned off-hand that they were going to help me with the assembly.

"I think we have everything pretty ready, we're just practicing now."  I responded.

They seemed put off.  I was put off, too.  Now you want to help?

Two days before the assembly, I received a text message.  

"I want a forty-five minute assembly and a parent fashion show!"  it read.

That's when I lost it.  

"You said you didn't need us!"  one of the "helper" teachers mentioned when she saw me and the Chorus teacher trying to practice.

"I thought we were ready."  I responded.

"I didn't expect to hear that what I was doing wasn't good enough and to start getting forced additions two days before the assembly.  The kids need time to practice and I definitely don't want to corral a bunch of parents."  

I felt angry and ridiculous.  It looked like I had rejected help.  I busted my ass, my kids practiced like crazy and now somehow, we had failed.  

"We are going to add some music and put pins in the map on your bulletin board to show where the kids are from."  she responded.

"We'll do it.  You don't have to do anything."

"Okay."  I responded, trying not to cry.  

They got another teacher to add music from various countries to my Power Point.  It looked pretty good. The day before the assembly, after school, the "team" that was supposed to do all the international-type assembly stuff met for the first time.  

"So!  Hispanic Heritage Month! I want to eat tacos!"  one mentioned.

"When does it start?"

"It's over in a couple of days."  I responded, placing my forehead on the table in front of me.

Then, the day of the assembly, the person that was supposed to present the music wasn't at work.  People started looking at me to present.  I refused.  I thought I "didn't have to do anything".  And, I hate public speaking and this would be the worst kind, a dancing, heat up the crowd kind of public speaking.  They figured it out.  

The morning of the assembly, I ran around the school gathering about twenty-five kids from all grade levels to practice one more time.  One of the teachers started giving me a hard time.  I answered as cordially as I could, then she barked at me.  I turned, grabbed the kid's hand and walked away.  Suddenly, the principal was there.  She grabbed me and hugged me.  

"You handled that perfectly."  she said.

"Thank you for saying that.  I don't know what I'm doing right now."  I answered. 

The assembly was actually really great.  The parent were thrilled.   As soon as their kids started speaking, I saw a bazillion phones shoot up, filming.  The parade of flags was great.  I was happy that they were happy.  I made a mental decision.  My students and their families love that fucking assembly.  Next year, I'll start early, it will be forty-five minutes long and I will embrace the damn thing.  

"Is that your deodorant?"  I asked pointing a random tube of deodorant laying on the sidewalk while I walked Mercedes, Eduardo's sister, to her mother.  

She giggled.

"Eduardo wears deodorant now!  It's blue!"

"Really?  Is he getting all stinky?"  I responded.

She laughed more.

"Did you try it?"  I continued.

I saw her little side-eye and knew that she had definitely investigated that deodorant.  

"He put it on me and Sabrina too!"  

I burst out laughing.  A full, hard, massive throaty laugh.  The biggest, longest laugh I have had in a really long time.  

Paper Moon

I walked behind the school to my trailer last Monday.  It was a bright, sunny day but a strange wet mist hung in the air, accompanied by a strong chlorine, swimming pool smell.   

"Hey Wagner, they sayin' there's some kind of big dog up there, like a German Shepherd-type dog." one of my co-workers called as I walked the kids up the hill at the end of the school day.  I paused for a minute, then slowly started walking again.  The kids froze.
"Ya'll follow her!  She's the dog whisperer.  Just stay behind her!"
I smiled and kept walking.  The kids followed.  

One of my "interesting" kindergarteners shot out of his classroom while I picked up the rest of the kids.
"Hey, Pah."  I greeted.
"Hey."  he responded. 

"I pooped my pants."

"Uhhh, poop?"  I whispered.

"Not uh, you know, pee?"

"Yeah.  Poop."

I inadvertently sniffed the air.  There was a poop smell.

"So um, did you change clothes?"

"Nah."

"Are your parents coming, you know, to bring you some?"

"No."

"Okay Pah, you wanna, um, like go to the bathroom or something and clean yourself up?"

"Sure."  he responded, with a shrug.  

Yup, just walking around super casual, pants full of poop.  

October 5th marked a year since Temple came to our house.  We adopted her on October 9th.  In ways I can't believe that a year has passed, in other ways it seems like longer.  I spent the day yesterday at a work conference.  I didn't want to go, but was actually kind of inspired after I finished it.  I picked up Temple's anniversary cake from the dog bakery and headed home.  I spent some time creating and spray painting Quetzal-wings for our Hispanic Heritage assembly next week.  

I think everything is okay.  

  

Ta blu

I stood in the cafeteria during Curriculum Night, feeling pretty rough.  I had been up since three in the morning and was still at work after nearly eleven hours.  A strange man approached the building.  Soon, he was in front of the group of parents with the microphone.  He was a politician.  He started giving his speal to the captive parents that awaited Curriculum Night information.  I watched one of his volunteers specifically target the Latino parents, pestering them while they waited.   As soon as the politician was done with his campaign speech, he sidled over to me and another teacher, two of the only white people in the room.

"So, I'm the one who brought the ice cream truck for the kids."  he informed us, waiting for our approval.  We stared back at him blankly.  

Parents started approaching me, asking me questions.  The interpreter I requested was there, but a lot of the Spanish-speaking parents were approaching me anyway.  The interpreter stood next to me while we both answered questions.  I heard a parent of one of my new parents call out  "NO, ELLA, ¡ella habla espanol!.  I turned and saw that she was referring to me.  The campaign volunteer who had been targeting the Latino parents was literally standing in between me and the parent, physically blocking her path.  I started trying to answer her questions and the campaign volunteer repeatedly interrupted both me and the parent.  Abruptly, the volunteer stood directly in front of me, way too close, and again, blocked the parent.

"Look."  he said, leaning in and clasping his hands like he was praying.
"You think you speak Spanish, but you don't."  he had a a strange look on his face, a mixture of aggression and condescension.  I was shocked.  
"She wants to know if she can leave."  he continued.
"That's not what she asked me."
"Can she leave?"  he repeated, his face still twisted in the nasty smirk.
I laughed.
"Of course."  I said and turned and walked away.  

I drove home crying.  Angry, frustrated, sad.  

"Alec, we need to drive to my mom's house.  She isn't answering my calls and I haven't heard from her in days.  I'm afraid she's dead."

When we arrived, my mom answered her door serenely, as if I hadn't called a million times.

"Well, I spent the night in the ER on Tuesday, Eitan took me...."

"Mom, what the fuck?  Eitan?  How much more money are you going to let him steal from you?"  I answered.  

"Well...he's the only one that will answer my calls....."

I got up and left.  

You all are such terrible daughters to your poor elderly mother that I have to keep calling the man that ripped off one of you years ago and who I randomly gave twenty thousand dollars.....and probably more and more and more....

I sat on the floor of an apartment in Clarkston on a Sunday afternoon, eating Kaw Naw.  Ku's older sister had invited me over to help her with college scholarship applications and made me lunch as a thank you.  It wasn't exactly the way I wanted to spend one of my weekend days, but I knew I would be glad once I was there.  

And I was.  

Welcome Back Kotter

"So....you remember when I stopped being a walker?" a student asked me.  She was referring to something that happened last spring, as if it had just happened.  

"Yup." I responded.  

"So, I didn't know we were moving.  I had to take the bus and while it was pulling away, I saw you, I saw all of you walking away without me."

I had no idea that would make her sad.  When she said moving, she was talking about going to the women and children homeless shelter in Atlanta.  There aren't a lot of them, so I actually know where she was.  This eternally optimistic child told me last spring that even though the bus ride was long, she thought the city lights of Atlanta were beautiful.  

"Look at this."  she instructed, showing me a blingy necklace that said "TAURUS".

"It's my zodiac sign.  I got to go to the mall last weekend."

I smiled.

"Taurus are good people."

The internet has been restored to my trailer.  After seven weeks and three classroom moves, my classroom trailer is almost fully functioning.  I still can't hear the school announcements or the fire alarm, or enter the building without running all the way around to the front because the key card thing doesn't work, but my mood soared when I finally got internet.  The phone works, too, but I was good with it never working again.  I am not sure what you call this syndrome, the one where you get treated like such crap that you appreciate a dry piece of bread instead of the full dinner that they owe you.  

I actually think the lessons I design are pretty good.  Not having the internet impacted my activities.  After using up all my hotspot data, my students and I took to roaming around the school, trying to get inside because the key card doesn't work in the back of the school and to search for a wifi signal.  We joked that our next step would be just to pile in my car and sit in the McDonald's parking lot, using their wifi.  

I started hiding out in random places in the building, trying to get my planning and paperwork done with the internet access I needed.  It sucked because my files and reference materials were in the trailer and no matter where I went, I was constantly interrupted.  By my students.  By teachers.  By this awful chair by the copier that pinched my fingers really hard whenever I tried to skootch up.  My only productive day was sitting with one of the custodians in my pinchy chair while he ate some kind of Lean Cuisine and watched Netflix on his phone and I got some plans done.  

"Hey.  I've been wanting to talk to you.  You come in my classroom a lot, and get kids."

I looked at the little boy while I tried to get some work done in the library.

"My mom's Puerto Rican.  My dad's Black.  I live with my grandmother.  I don't see too much of my parents, haven't seen my dad in eight years.  This school, I don't know, I'm not sure if I like it.  A lot of yelling."

"I'm sorry to hear that.  But it is really nice to meet you.  Hopefully I'll see you again soon."

I turned back to my computer.  

Around a third of my students this year are brand new.  They have brought an array of, I don't know, issues.  Three of them have never been to school before, though they should be in first and second grade.  One has been periodically removed from school by her parents, missing both second and fifth grade.  Another clearly has a cognitive issue and steals compulsively.  She has physically attacked one of her teachers, twice.  One of my kindergartners rolls on the floor under the table the rest of us are sitting at, scratching my ankles.  Another kindergartner just randomly screams.  A third appears to not be school age, but he keeps coming anyway.  Everyone keeps complaining about my new third grader that spits at everyone in the cafeteria.  I saw one of the "never been to school before" kids pick up a Capri Sun off the floor and try to drink it.  My "never been to school" first grader crashes into walls with snot all over his face.  

"Hi...."  a little girl said while sidling up to me in the library while I tried to work.
"I think I have ADHD.  I wanted to talk to you.  I just have a lot of anxiety....."  she continued.  
"Well, if this is something that really concerns you, ask your parents to take you to the pediatrician.  They can figure it out!"  I said, patting her hand.
"So... what do you do here?"  she asked.
"I teach English to kids that speak other languages."
She looked at me blankly.  I guess she thought I did something else.  

I have about ten more students on my overall roster than I did last year. I also have a new boss.  I am not even sure how to tactfully describe this.  I'll just say, I got a bit of a dressing down for my "communication".  For not telling my new boss that I needed a schedule.  Which of the students are in the ESOL program.  For not scheduling our new part-time ESOL teacher their instructional hours.  Things that are really basic components of said person's job and honestly, things that I neither want to do or am authorized to do.  My students are also usually clustered in one classroom, by grade level.  Now, they are sprinkled throughout the school in around thirteen different classrooms.  I haven't had a planning period in weeks.  

"How was I to know that you did not have a schedule?  I have seen you with children." she informed me, leaning in to my face.

"Well, I wasn't going to just sit here for six weeks, doing nothing."  I responded. 

My bad.  Really, my bad.  It's hard to explain the problems I am having on the job but the bottom line is, I am not training an administrator.  Their job is basically the same at whatever crap-ass school they go to in the district.  I am upset that I am stretched so thin that I don't feel like I am serving my students in the best way that they need.  And they need.  They need a lot.  

Summer Days

"They just wheeled her back.  They said it would be two and a half or three hours."
I thought of my sister, alone among doctors, being wheeled into surgery.  I knew she was terrified.  I stood in my trailer and gripped my face really hard.  I thought if I could somehow smash it it would compress everything, everything inside me.   

We were staying in a house on the Long Island Sound for a few days this summer.  I liked the cottage a lot, and the atmosphere there.  It was very beautiful.  But, the reason for our visit was difficult and Alec was away for days at a time.  On the day Biden left the race I sat watching the Tour de France on the screened in front porch.  It was overcast and atmospheric.   Temple and I went inside because I wanted a little air conditioning.  I heard a clunk in the formal-sh living room and darted out there.  Temple was galloping toward me, but lifting her front paw, limping.  I sat down and hugged her.  Hard. I looked at her paw.  She licked my neck and pushed in.  I was glad that she let me hug her.  I saw an ottoman by the windows skewed to the side.  It had fur on it. We sat like that for a long time. 

I have a lot to say, but have been feeling uncomfortable about putting my life online.  I guess after all of these years it's dawning on me that an online diary is overexposure for me.  I'm not sure what I'm going to do.  

The Day the Music Died

The little boy was screaming his brother's name, tears gushing down his face.  Words in Swahili were coming out, too.  I had my arms around his waist, holding him back from running into various classrooms, searching for his brother.  He howled and howled as we wrestled in the middle of the hallway.  Teachers with concerned looks on their faces poked their heads out and quickly closed their doors.  I looked at his distraught, swollen face.  I rested my forehead on the top of his head while continuing to hold him back and began crying too.   

My summer ended with an extension of my family blow out.  It makes me very sad.  I returned to work.  Our school is an open construction zone.  All of my things are boxed up in my trailer.  Unfortunately, someone added boxes and boxes of some sort of storage to the trailer, blocking me from getting to the majority of my things.  There is even a piano in there.  I dug out a few necessary items and put them in a milk crate that I took from the cafeteria.  I have a student desk in the corner of the C-50 room.  I put my milk crate next to it and placed my coffee cup on an overturned chair.  C-50 is all the broken furniture and dirty rugs and basically every other gross thing that teachers want to get rid of until the county brings a truck and hauls everything away.  

We have new administrators, too.  My go to person, the one that everything I do goes through was promoted to another school.  Now, I have someone new.  The school is really in chaos.  I am in chaos.  All of my beginning of the year paperwork and testing is backing up, piling up, while I wait for my new go to to acclimate.  My schedule is a mess and I'm getting new students, daily.  Our tree was cut down last week.  I have a developer that wants to buy the lot next to my house harassing me to the point that I peek out of the blinds before going on the front porch.  Temple has developed a cough since we drove back from Connecticut.  I made a vet appointment and realized I've got major anxiety about going to the vet.  I relive them telling me that Lola was going to die. I've tried to keep my head up, keep it together but by the time Friday arrived I had huge circles under my eyes, broken out skin and a container filled with only lettuce that I brought for lunch.  

My baby died a year ago today.  It has been on my mind, building, making me cry.  Scream cry.  A year ago this minute she was still alive.  A year ago today I woke up with her for the last time.  It is just never going to be okay.  It never will.  

The Giving Tree

Summer.  Hot, hot summer.  Spring lasted ten seconds, then it went up to five hundred degrees.  Then, the water went out in Atlanta.  For, like a few funky days.  I spent the first week I had off going to concerts.  The Magnetic Fields, Pixies with Modest Mouse and Catpower, even the Rolling Stones.  Then, I went to the beach.  

I have been renting a Tybee Island beach house for a few years now.  I get a big one, right at the beginning of June and invite my mom, sister, niece and whoever they want to bring.  I got the idea from Alec's brother.  I thought it was a nice way to try to keep my family together.  This year, it turned into a family brawl.  It has bordered on it a few times before, but this time was too much.  I'm upset, we're upset, it's bad.  

I came back to Atlanta and tried to wrap my head around everything.  I painted the front room of our house.  I exercised a lot.  I watched the Tour de France with my little six dollar Peacock app.  I thought about Lola.  She and I watched it together while I painted a different room last year, when I didn't know she was dying.  

We found out that our beautiful Oak tree has to come down.  It's as old as the house, probably one hundred and twenty years old.  We get it maintenanced annually.  Every year, they say great tree.  No worries.  This year, the first guy said it was on the verge of death.  We called three more opinions.  They all agreed.  Then, we had to wait.  For a permit.  The tree really looks bad now and I was getting scared every day that went by without the permit.  

My first reaction when we found out that the tree was dying was to think of Lola.  My baby died eleven months ago, today.  It's like everything in our lives, in our house is dying.  I used to lay under the Oak trees with Lola.  I'd look at the beautiful leaves, the way they swayed.  And I would hold her.  

All I can say is Hilary loves Tree.  And she will miss her, terribly.  

*  Title, drawing, Shel Silverstein