MacArthur Park

 Dear Kitty,

There is a lot I can't tell you right now, but it doesn't mean there isn't a lot going on.  My mom hasn't broken out of assisted living.  My foot is still fucked up, but improving.  We'll talk later.  

Love, 

Hilary

Night of the Comet

I was checking my mom out of rehab and into assisted living by six o'clock.  I can leave work at three, and the rehab was in Duluth.  I asked to leave early from work, asked to leave when the kids got out and drove like a bat out of hell to Duluth.  Part of me fantasized about ESCAPE JANET, like I was busting her out of a place, releasing her from some sort of jail.  But then I reminded myself that she should be there, getting help, but she wouldn't. 

The assisted living really said I had to get her in there by a certain time.  And, they said they would put furniture in her apartment so that she would be comfortable until I could move the rest of her stuff over.  We made it.  That's all that I can say is that we made it.  I drove like hell, got my mom out of rehab, paid her bill and got her to her new apartment that was outfitted very nicely.

But, I guess I can tell you one part, Kitty.  My mom kept talking about one "really nice gal" that she had made friends with in rehab.  My mom laid on her ass and got this "nice gal" to bring her food, etc. She had been in rehab multiple times.  When I picked my mom up, this woman busted out, to meet me.
"I'm Hayley!"  some junky ass white meth woman said.
"So now, we are Holly, Hilary and Hayley!"  she contnued.
"Yeah, thanks." I responded and picked up my mom's bags.  How much did you give her, mom?  was all that I could think.  And, yeah, put her on the same level of your daughters that are killing themselves over you.  

I brought sheets and blankets and made my mom's bed.  I had washed everything at her house because it smelled horrible.  I brought her TV because I was terrified of her getting bored and trying to leave.  I went out and bought little things and brought them back, toilet paper, a six pack of Cokes, I put the snacks I had gotten from her house and put them in the fridge.  I saw this Valentine's Day bouquet and looked at the price.  It was almost twenty dollars.  I felt guilty about not wanting to spend it.  Then, I thought of my birthday, of Christmas, of everything  and walked away.  But, I did buy her a bag of chocolates.  

And oh, we did make it.  It was a success.  

As I walked into the parking lot, I got a hot mess phone call from work.  At seven at night.  They didn't know what to do with the county visit coming up, because our school is back on the shit list.  I stood there, in the parking lot, walking them through it.  And honestly, I hoped the whole earth would open up and take me, or them, or honestly, anyone.  

Don't You Worry Bout a Thing

I returned to work six days after getting sick when I finally got a negative COVID test.  I think it took two days after dropping my mom off before the rehab started calling and saying that she wanted to leave.  I would see their number coming up on my phone and cringe.  

"Tell her if she's checking out she's going to have to fucking Uber because I'm not picking her up."  I told the desk guy.

"And look, I'm sorry.  I'm just really pissed off at her."  

"I'll tell her.  We just can't keep her against her will.  She is refusing to leave the medical detox area to go over to the therapy side, too."  he explained.  

I walked across the blacktop with a few of my students, still administering testing.

"I really wish Donald Trump wasn't president."  David announced.

"Yeah..."  I kind of mumbled.  That makes two of us.

"My mom, she no leave the house now.  She watches me through the window when I wait for the bus."  he continued.  

That poor woman, was all I could think.  I knew that she had already been deported once before, seperated from her husband and children.  They don't deserve this.   

I started looking up assisted living places.  Most won't even tell you on their websites how much they cost.  The levels of care jargon is confusing, too.  Finally, I went to the Place for Mom website.  I have seen their commercials on my Love Boat channel.  Their representatives started calling and emailing me immediately.  I hesitated, feeling overwhelmed by everything.   

"So, there are these people going around taking all the Guatemalan people away, taking them back to Guatemala."  Mercedes said, eyes widening a little.

"I am so sorry.  I know this must be really scary for your family."  I responded.

"Yeah."  she answered, her little face serious.

"My mom, she say she might just move back to Guatemala,  you know, when I am older...."  

I knew I was going to cry.  And that it wasn't fair for me to, because Mercedes was the one with the right to cry.  

The rehab called again, saying my mom was pushing to leave.  I finally returned the calls from the Place for Mom people.  Some guy really hooked me up, brought up some valuable information that I had never considered and gave me the names of three places in metro-Atlanta that my mom could actually afford with her monthly Social Security.  I made an appointment to visit one that Friday.  Then, when the rehab called again, I moved the appointment to Thursday.  

"Wagner, there are three police SUVs out front."  the text said.  

The implication was that it could be ICE.  I walked along the side of the school and peered out front, trying to see where the SUVs were from.  Later, in the hall, another teacher mentioned the police trucks.  It turned out to be the School Safety weird school police.  I was glad that the various teachers were worried about my students and wanted to alert me.  But I also wondered if ICE ever really came would they simply call and text me or help me save my kids?   My mind started going through the logistics, again.  Forty kids, obviously couldn't fit all of them in Alec's Honda.  What would we do, run?  Run to the church down the street and hope that ICE wouldn't enter?  How would I get all of them out of the various classrooms and outside before ICE got them?  Should we just hide in the trailer and turn the lights off?  Should I just get the Asian and Latino kids because maybe ICE wouldn't realize that my Black kids were immigrants too?  

I walked around the assisted living place.  It is in Decatur, conveniently located between my work and home and close to every Emory medical facility known to man.  They would administer my mom's meds, clean her apartment, do her laundry, change her sheets, help her bathe.  Three meals a day, prepared. Coffee and soup available all day in the lobby.  Nice common areas to watch TV, a little library, a lady that comes by to cut their hair, even a little store.  Rides to the doctor, two days a week.   Clubs, classes.  And the big one, a twenty-four hour clicker if she needed assistance.  No more "I've fallen" calls and me yelling at her to call 911.  I knew that assisted living wouldn't keep her on the wagon, but at least I wouldn't be the one having to pick her up off of the floor.  No more worrying about her being in that house with weird people hanging around.  Or break-ins.  

"So, what type of rehab would she be moving in from?  Physical therapy?"  the coordinator lady asked.

"Um, no.  Alcohol."  I was afraid to tell her.  I was afraid they would say no.  

"Well, I have advice.  Take her cards and do a factory reset on her phone.  And, I can help run interference.  Technically, alcohol isn't safe for her to have with her medication so I have a good reason not to accept delivery or to remove it from her kitchen.  Take her directly from the rehab to here.  Do not let her back in that house."  

By the end of the visit, the coordinator saw that I was starting to cry and hugged me.  

I asked the rehab to have my mom call me and she finally did.  I was shocked at how normal she sounded, how much better she sounded than even a few days ago when I dropped her off. 

"Mom, I understand that you want to leave.  I want you to go into assisted living.  It is not safe the way you have been living.   The drinking, the falling, the break-ins, weird people in your house.  It's not safe mom."

"You know, I think you're right."  she responded.  

"I found a place.  It is in City of Decatur.  It's within your monthly budget.  They will clean your apartment, they'll cook all your meals, they even clean and change your sheets and help you bathe if you need it."

"You're kidding, that sounds great!"  she responded.

I was shocked.  

"But mom, you can't check yourself out of the rehab.  I am begging you.  You have to stay until Monday.  They don't allow move-ins on the weekends.  Please mom, don't check yourself out."  

I was crying again.  

"I won't."  she said.  

"I will see you on Monday."  

The Sunny Side of the Street

The day after my birthday, I pulled up to my mom's house.  She was sitting inside, acting weird.  I saw a check made out for two hundred dollars to a person I had never heard of.  I thought I had taken all of her checks away.  

"What is this?"  I asked.

"Oh it's for this guy that is fixing a door at Holly's house."  she answered.

What the fuck?  No one is fixing a door at my sister's house and my mom wouldn't be the one paying him.  More weird stories and lies.  I found myself getting irritated already and slid the check into my purse.  And the rest of the checkbook.  Oddly, she had packed a bag for rehab, though I had already packed her one.  I grabbed them both and put them in the trunk, then loaded her up.  We were snapping at each other the whole time.  As I started to drive, I looked up in rearview mirror and realized she wasn't wearing her hearing aids.

"Mom, you are going to rehab.  You are supposed to participate in therapy and you don't have your hearing aids?!!"  I asked, incredulous.  

She kind of shrugged, clearly not giving a shit.

I turned around and roared back to her house.  When I pulled up, a large white pickup truck was in the driveway.  A man sat inside the truck and a woman was on the front porch.  They had a rather meth look to them.  I walked up to the porch.

"Yes?"  I said to the woman, mentally daring her to come at me.  She might be some methed out cracker, but I was angry enough to beat anyone's ass.

"So Janet, she uh, you know, I pick her up when she can't get up.  And uh, she said she'd give me some money...."

"Well, she's right there in the backseat of my car.  Go talk to her."  I answered, then I went inside to look for her fucking hearing aids.  Work it out with your buddies, mom.  Work it out.  

After finding one hearing aid, I walked back outside.  The woman was talking to my mom through the window of the car.

"So, did you give her her money?"  I asked my mom curtly.

"Yes..." my mom said, uncertainly.

I looked at the woman.  She shook her head.

"Is that what this fucking check was for mom?  The one made out to John?"  I continued.

The meth people nodded their meth heads up and down.

I handed the woman the check, the woman that I assume was the mysterious Patty.  They jumped in the truck and pulled away immediately.  

"Jesus Christ, mom.  Jesus Christ."  I said, pulling out of the driveway.

We drove to Duluth in silence.  When we got to the rehab, a nurse came out to begin the intake process.  My mom was trying to be cute, just a charming little old lady.  I was waiting for my mom to sabotage it, waiting for them to say they couldn't take her.  The vibe between us was palpably tense.  

"How many drinks do you have a day?"  the nurse asked.

"I have two a day."  my mom said brightly.

"Quit lying, mom."  I interjected.  She was about to kick up nearly twenty thousand dollars, but still lying.  

"She goes through one of those big giant rum bottles with the handle on it every few days and even throws wine into the mix on top of it."  

"I'm a drunk."  my mom said dramatically.

I could tell that she thought that would shock them, an old lady saying she was a drunk.

"I tried pot once."  she continued, giggling.

No one else was laughing.  

"Her meds are a mess."  the intake nurse announced.  

"This stuff does not make any sense together."  

"Yeah, I've been trying to get her to a new doctor to get everything straightened out...."  I answered, getting nervous.  

I was surprised when they indicated they would take her.  They would start her on medical detox and then move her over to the therapy side in a couple of days.  It was time to pay.  I had checked her account that morning and was surprised that she had moved the money into her checking account so that I could pay for her rehab.  Something weird was going on with the payment.  I ended up calling them, telling them they had to let this payment through.  My mom kept putting her phone on speaker, some crazy bullshit was caterwauling through the reception area.  I was ready to explode.  Finally, she transferred the money to my account and I paid with my card.  

"Um, can I leave now?"  I asked the man at the desk, quietly.

"Uh, people usually wait until they take them in the back, but uh,  you can leave it you want....."  he said hesitantly.  

I waited.  Finally a man came up, grabbed my mom's bags and told her to come back.  She sort of sat there like she expected him to carry her, too.  Then, she got up and walked with her walker through the door to treatment area.

She didn't even look over her shoulder at me.   She didn't even say goodbye.