Tuesday morning

[Guest guest]

The nurse at the psych hospital, is her name, called and said that

my mom needs cigarettes and that she wants to talk to me. I asked how she

was doing, and said that she's extremely depressed, and upset

because her daughters are selling everything so they (we) can have her

money. I asked how I should handle that when I talk to , and

said that I should answer her questions honestly. When I said that it's

hard to tell how much of it is the LBD paranoia/delusional behavior and if I

could really even get through to her or if the " queer proteins " will keep

her from understanding she said it didn't matter, that I should answer he

questions honestly, as many times as she asks them, for as long as she keeps

asking.

So she put my mom on the phone, and told me that she needs cigarettes.

I told her I'd bring her some (actually my husband is driving them downstate

right now, that's one expensive habit, the gas will cost almost as much as

the carton of cigs!) and asked how she was doing. She said she's never been

in a depression like this before, how was her piano and why were we going to

sell it? I told her that I understood about her depression and that's why

she was there, to try and get her meds straightened out so the blackness

would lift. And I told her that her things needed to be sold because there

would be no place to keep them, and she needed the money. She asked why it

couldn't stay in her house and I said that the IRS was seizing it. She

started crying - sobbing - gulping sobs - and raising her voice that she

couldn't stand it, she can't stand losing everything and if she could just

get out for a couple of hours she could end it all. There's nothing left to

live for without her piano and her house...I told her that Gwen and I loved

her and needed her, that she had grandchildren to needed her in their lives,

that she was important to us...she said without her piano and her house she

had no life, and so forth.

What I heard: who cares about you, none of that matters as much as my

stuff...but get my cigarettes down here to me and then you're useless. I

can tell myself all day long that it's not really her - but it is. For

years she has turned down almost every invitation or opportunity to spend

time with her family and rejected almost every attempt to be close to her.

Maybe that was the disease too, maybe not - but it doesn't feel nice coming

from my mother...

Anyway, back to her: She doesn't want to go back to the NH as she has no

future there, nothing to look forward to, no life. Anything we offer her

comes from ourselves, from our hearts, but isn't important to her. How, at

this stage, could she ever develop into someone that actually cares about

people? That actually has interest in anything besides her own stuff? That

has interests outside of herself? None of those things have matter to her

for many years, if ever; are they actually going to matter now? Or do we

just try and prolong a life she considers not worth living, a life of

despair and misery and frustration? What can we possibly give her that

would count for anything at all, realistically? How can we provide meaning

where she has none?

Has anybody else who's dealt with this been able to make a difference and

offer anything that would provide a reason to get out of bed every morning?

His,

Sherry

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