Selling Somebody Out

Below is a story that was submitted by one of my readers. I hope you enjoy reading it as much as I did.

Thank you, Emma, and please write more for me. -- Linda Jane

When I was twenty-one, my mother mentioned, almost in passing, that the woman I had identified as my great grandmother for all of my life was actually a step great grandmother. No matter, I had loved her the same. But something nagged at me—if she was my step great grandmother, who was the woman that had actually given birth to my grandfather? The answer had been buried, it seemed.

By interviewing my family, I was able to uncover very few things, a testament, I think, to the secrets we’re able to keep. My biological great grandmother wasn’t spoken of because she’d committed an early suicide—managed to acquire a number of pills, disappear into the woods, curl up in a cave, die. She didn’t leave a note. She did leave an ex-husband and three children with whom she had limited contact. She did leave a legacy that was apparently not worth mentioning.

But it would have been worth mentioning to me, more so as I watched my own mother sink into a depression that lasted several years. More so as I watched her disappear into a kind of functional alcoholism that, while kept within the confines of our family like so much else, greatly impacted her children.

And when I started college, living away from home, learning how to thrive outside the confines of family, I began to feel depressed too. At this point, prior to my mother’s revelation about my biological great grandmother, I felt like a freak.  I had no context for what I was experiencing.

It might also be worth mentioning that my father, while blaming mental health issues on my mother’s side of the family, is not without his own. A long time addict, he has dabbled in every drug imaginable—most recently (though it’s now been ten years) spending time in jail for the manufacture of methamphetamines.

All of this to say that it is no surprise that I might experience some issues of my own. In college, I walked into the office of a mental health professional and broke precedence. The experience of talking to an unbiased professional offered tremendous clarity for me—my family was comprised of codependent addicts and it wasn’t just me who thought so. And I was predisposed to these types of behavior too, more likely than many of my friends to display the traits of an addict, more likely to overindulge at that fraternity party again and again and again.

But now I was aware. And knowledge is power.

 So, instead of dwelling on the inherent darkness in my family, I chose to make something positive of it. I don’t do drugs, but I occasionally indulge in a glass of wine. It’s always in a social situation, and never when I’m upset or feeling down. I see a counselor regularly, even if everything in my life is going perfectly. I work with addicts and families affected by addiction. I practice innovative rehabilitation. And, most important to my process of acceptance and change, I write.

I write about my great grandmother and my mother. I write about my father and sisters and grandfather and friends. Joan Didon (who happens to be one of my favorite authors) says that writers are always selling somebody out—it’s true, but it’s a price I suspect most are willing to pay.

Emma Haylett grew up hauling hay and birthing lambs. Now, she completes the metaphorical equivalent in the city where she helps coordinate drug treatment programs for addicts and families of addicts. 

Gas pains...

My refusal to be extorted by the local propane companies means the past couple of days have been difficult. I say “difficult” because it has not been impossible. The thermostat in the hallway reads 49 degrees. But, I reason with myself that the hallway is small without any direct heat and I should expect it to be colder there rather than the rest of the house. The thermostat on the living heater is reading 57 degrees. Now that’s more tolerable.

Riley sits in his favorite wing-backed chair with a heated throw over his lap. He is dressed in sweat pants, T-shirt with a sweat shirt over it, thermal socks and his fuzzy lined slippers. He has on his Santa hat to keep his head and ears warm. I keep him supplied with hot coffee. He had hot oatmeal with blueberries for breakfast and he’ll have chili for lunch. Dinner will be beef stew. So he’s doing pretty well.

I’m in my office which is registering 52 degrees overall, but I have a little heater under my desk that keeps my legs and toes warm. I’m also in a sweat suit with a little sweat-type jacket. If my ears get cold I simple pull up the hood. Yesterday I was able to work in here for about six hours. I’m hoping for the same today. If I get too cold, I’ll just transfer to my bed and crawl under my electric blanket.

We do have heat. We have a really nice electric heater in the living room, Riley’s room and my bedroom. When I cook or bake the kitchen warms up. If I build a fire in my office fireplace, I can heat the whole front portion of the house. Since the electrical system still has an old fashioned fuse box, I am careful not to overload any circuits. Heat is not impossible; it just requires some planning and caution.

I saw the weather report and was disappointed to see that the next week or so will be very cold. I’m starting to rethink my war with the propane companies.

My issues are that my landlord really doesn’t want me to get one of those huge tanks. I agree with him. The last time we had propane heat, I left propane in the tank when I moved. That tank lasted for a whole winter season and I used it for cooking as well as heat. Even if we had propane now, my thermostat would probably be set for between 65 and 68 degrees with it set down to as far as 60 after we go to bed. So I don’t want/need a giant tank because they will fill it all the way up.

According to the propane companies, the size of the tank is related to the size of the house. It doesn’t matter that I have the vents closed in the laundry room, halls, and small bathroom – they get enough overflow heat from the rest of the house. It doesn’t matter that I don’t feel I NEED that much propane. They want me to have a tank that holds more than 200 pounds.

So… if I say “Come on out and I’ll sign your papers!” The nightmare doesn’t end there. There is a fee for bringing the tank, a fee for setting it up, a fee for filling it up, and a deposit in case I decide to run off with the tank. The cheapest it will cost me to do all that is $400 and then the price goes up depending on what company. There won’t be an extra $400 in our budget until March.

But that’s only the tip of the iceberg. I have to sign a contract that I will use a certain amount so that they can come and fill the tank on a regular basis. I believe they come out about every six weeks and fill it back up to the top. If I don’t use a certain amount and they can’t refill – I have to pay a fee. I don’t feel I want to be penalized for being conservative with energy sources.

My landlord is talking about putting in a heat pump because he too has had a bad experience with the propane companies. That’s why he removed the last tank from the yard. This house was vacant and had been vacant for several months when the propane company came in and filled it without his knowledge. He then received a bill. A disagreement ensued which left the propane company with the task of crediting back the money (he had a direct payment plan) and removing the tank. I didn’t know I had called that company until they told me they would not do business with anyone at this address.

We just have to get through this winter. I’ll encourage the landlord to have the heat pump installed during the summer or fall. That will free me of being held hostage by the propane companies.

According to The Weather Channel the coldest days are in January. February is just a little more than a week away. I feel like we are marathon runners who are looking at that tape across the track and just praying we actually make it across the finish line.

How many days until Spring?

Life changing choices...

Below is a video story of Cynthia Estevez saved her own life through exercise after having been in an auto accident. This is an amazing young lady. Although her experience is that of being an alcoholic, I believe caretakers and other family members can help themselves greatly by adding exercise into their daily routines. It creates a time to reflect and relieve the stresses of the day. Take a look. I found it to be inspiring.

Thank you Cynthia... I may never be able to jump from the floor to a tabletop, but I certainly can take a walk!

Riley is just fine...

I just checked my e-mail for the first time in months. I was really surprised to find so much mail in there. Since I’ve stepped back from doing so much “alcohol” related stuff, I haven’t been so diligent to check things like the e-mail. I just want to say that in the next week, I’ll be answering your mail and trying to answer some of your questions.

What seems to be asked a lot is “How is Riley doing?” Well, Riley is doing just fine physically. However, he isn’t doing so well mentally. The residual results of alcohol dementia are permanent and he will never be any better than he is right now. In fact, he is getting worse. The memory loss and the loss of logical, practical, common thinking create many other problems. Those problems may not seem to be problems for him, but I am the one left to find resolutions.

We continue our early morning talks over coffee, but I try to keep them as short as possible. If I don’t, I often forget that he is hampered in his thinking and then I try to talk to him as I would any other rational individual. I must always remember to be careful of the questions I ask and not to get upset with the statements he makes. It is difficult to remember that he looks like a regular guy, but he is really just the after effects of a lifetime of abusing his brain with alcohol. He is really just a 10 year old boy in the body of a 70 year old man.

According to Riley, I am the warden in the prison in which I have forced him to be incarcerated. I am to blame for every problem, inconvenience, issue, damage and anything else because I called the paramedics instead of letting him die. I have brought this on myself, in his opinion. I should not complain or try to get him to do anything because none of this is his fault. If I would have just let him die, I would not have to put up with him anymore.

He knows that his drinking is what caused the downward domino effect of his life. He knows the alcohol is what has damaged his brain. But, it doesn’t matter because if I had just ignored his cries for help… it would all be over.

An example of Riley’s off-kilter thinking is shown in our conversation from this morning. Last night I made a casserole from my Mom’s recipe box. I love it. When it’s baking, the aroma takes me back my childhood with memories of family dinners complete with laughter and rounds of talking. This casserole is one of my comfort foods.

I usually make a whole recipe and divide it into two casserole dishes. I bake one and freeze the other. Riley had a huge helping of casserole, baked potato and green salad. He finished and then asked for seconds of the casserole. No problem. I eat far less than Riley. I had about half the amount that he had. At the end of dinner there was less than ¾ cup of casserole left over. Before going to bed, I decided to have that one last little bit of comfort casserole.

This morning Riley complimented me on the casserole and asked if there was anything left. I told him I had finished it last night and that there was only a very small amount left. “Well! If I had known you were going to eat it, I would have eaten it last night with my dinner!” I asked him if he understood what he had just said and he responded in an indignant manner that of course he understood. He informed me that he would rather eat it even if he wasn’t hungry instead of me having the last bite.

It would do no good for me to explain that he was being selfish. I simply said that I was going to my office for a while. Inside I was seething angry. Why bother to ask him to explain himself further? I needed to not give him the opportunity to say anything more that would hurt me.

So when you ask how Riley is doing imagine this. He has excellent homemade dinners including homemade bread and desserts. He does only what he wants to do as far as cleaning is concerned. The majority of his day is spent watching TV and napping. He does not socialize. He is unable to drive so I do all the driving. I handle all the finances so he doesn’t have to worry about any of that. He ignores all house rules that he doesn’t like. For having spent most of his life soaked in alcoholic poison, I think he’s doing just fine.

I, on the other hand, am not doing so well. I’m exhausted and have caretaker burn-out. Frustration seems to be the highlight of my day. There is very little time for writing, sewing, cooking, shopping and even my laundry often has to wait for an opening on the calendar. Yes. I still do all those things, but I must always wait for an opportunity. And yet… I DO understand that the inconveniences are really my own fault for managing to keep him alive.

If I could afford it, I’d put him in an assisted living facility. But, unless I can personally live on about $400 per month – the facility is only a dream.

Tonight we are having beef fajitas. It’s not one of my favorites, but if there is just a little left over I think I might put it in a small container and hide it behind the fresh vegetables in the fridge. He’ll never find it there.