NOT GUILTY
ONE
By now Charles has realized that it wasn’t necessary anymore to find a secured hide-a-way, a secret garden, or even a room with a closed door that will protect him from antagonists and their adverse life-forces. That will protect him from the accusatory ambiance surrounding him, that flows around him every day. It is all about ownership and understanding of who you are and where you are going, that ultimately will shield him. He understands now that he can sit at one end of a rectangular, communal coffee house table, and find seclusion was possible; isolation, privacy from strangers sharing the immediate elbow space to those occupying the other end of the table. Ownership of your space is possible even in a co-existence; your space is your private cosmos, whether measured in the length of a table or in your own private matrix. Charles was also sure that you cannot own anything without knowing the true value of your space, the air that surrounds you, while having the confidence of possessing your own existence, and end up having independence. To exist independently is to accept your own reality. Hiding from your truth only gives you reason to dream and to live with unfulfilled wish lists.
Throughout his life, it was easier for Charles to close his eyes and emotionally run away from pretty much anything that threaten him with conflict and anger. He became good at escaping from his reality; finding solace in borrowing, pirating with what was enjoyed by everyone else around him, blanketing himself in their comfort; making believe the source of his pain wasn’t part of his world. But it was. His childhood nightmares kept reappearing, his personal daily agony haunted him a night, and the horror of the world around him, scared the living shit out him as a child. Over the years, it eventually put him, as an adult, into complete compliance with everyone else for their sole pleasure, and their approval of his existence. He believed that his reality was never his to control, because he thought he couldn’t be responsible for his own existence. That day, when he agreed to take responsibility of his parent’s crumbling world and wretched future, that day, he finally understood the difference between what he owned, and those events that were out to his control which he compulsorily inherited. He saw that his life was being guided as a train is limited on its tracks. If he owned what was his to possess, and discard what was not, he would be free to choose what course he wanted to take. No longer will it be true; ‘it is what it is’.
Charles’s mom was wheeled to the surgical wing of the hospital: She was completely drawn of all energy, physically exhausted from the anesthesia, emotionally shattered from the operation, tangibly drained from crying. She laid on the transport gurney as she was brought to her new residence; the surgical ward of the county hospital. The wheeled stretcher clearly announced its origin, a Recovery Room patient. What a miserable oxymoron. His mom hasn’t recovered. She is one step deeper into despair than she was last night when she slip, fell and broke her hip.
TWO
Charles finally arrived home. It was obvious that his mother was traumatized by the events that had occurred over the past couple of days, now laying on her hospital bed waiting for death. Charles was emotionally exhausted by the time he got back to his basement apartment. With his mother alone in a strange hospital room, and his father alone in a strangely quiet home that was once filled with family noise, Charles tried to package his guilt, find a place to store it, for leaving them there. He needed to sleep badly; he knew he wasn’t ever going to regain those lost hours. He knew he needed to do one more thing before he went to bed.
“Hi Steve. How are you? It’s Charles. It’s been a long time since we last spoke. Hope everything is going well for you.” It was a strain for Charles to open the conversation sounding like he cared about Steve’s health. He hoped his voice didn’t show any disdain for forcing himself to make this call to his brother. He was tired. Feeling obligated to let his bother know what happened to their mom, he was certain he was on a vindicated and offendable path while giving this update; where was his brother while all of this was happening. Why wasn’t he the son his father had the operator call? He tried to gather his strength to continue a dialogue with his estranged brother. Would he really care? Charles was positive that Steve would care less if their father was the one with the broken hip and in the hospital.
Steve: “Wow. That’s not good news. What will be the outcome of this? When she finally goes home?” Steve seemed to be wavering between honestly being curious and not giving a complete damn about the situation. Charles never knew, nor understood how badly Steve hated his parents, or probably why. It wasn’t necessarily an important concern. His only memories were the fights, trenches dug, and the history of his family’s horrible interrelationships that existed throughout his entire haunted youth. Charles was deeply cognizant that throughout his childhood and early adult life, he was more troubled that his parents were being misunderstood by a troubled child, than why was one child in this family became so troubled. Charles never reached out to Steve in their adult lives; and now he is calling on his brother to assist him in the future caregiving of their parents, trying to gather enough strength to ask for help. Reaching out now, with no bridge built? Risky? A waste of time? Was it just damn insulting to his brother? Was it too late to ask for help now? After an emotional void was allowed to exist for decades? Selfish? Desperate? Justifiable? To his credit, his brother didn’t hang up; Steve seemed interested, questioned the events; he even showed a little compassion. Hopeful?
Fights, yelling, tempers. His brother Steve. For a lost child, his childhood by impatient parents, mental illness never recognized, parents consumed with guilt while also bewildered with this award-winning wunderkind. The perfect result of a lost generation of valuable good child rearing gone awry. A product of cadging habits developed during the Great Depression, painfully looking for peace during two World Wars, and a surgency of lost family ties, family enclaves with the birth of suburbia, and raising children badly because somehow this technique was lost in the confusion of the transformation. Add, the self-inflicted competition that existed between two sisters-in-law; Steve’s mother’s obsession with an equally as bright cousin. All this seasoned with letters to ‘Dear Abbey’; guilt, shame, submission, and finally tears of submission. Leaving no safety net for the prodigy by which to be comforted.
Is it too late, after 50 years, for a brother to ask for help from a brother who was forced, guided into exile by his own family?
Charles also thought he understood his role as the second child had much to do with these issues; the text-book syndrome associated with that familial position that psychologists love to write about; “the second child”. If Charles was correct, would accepting the responsibility of Steve’s isolation was even partially caused by this presence into that favorite child status? Would this help him justify asking his brother for help. What benefit would be realized if Charles swallowed some pride, begged, and admitted wrong-doing regarding his brother’s upbringing. Should he say he is sorry? Then bluntly ask if his brother could help with the care of their parents. As a psychologist, Charles knew he sucked. But he was distressed, desperate. He needed help. He can’t take care of his mother and his father by himself. Charles panicked.
Silence. That’s all that was waiting for him on the other end of the telephone line. Logic was used for the intellectual reasoning, sentiments was used for the benevolent emotions, love of family was used for someone who has no family to love; all these emotions are on the table now. Charles realized how easy it was to let go of his inhibitions in order to make one simple request from his brother; ‘please help me care for mom and dad.’
“I can’t do this by myself. I tried last night, and it took every bit of emotion out of me. I don’t know how much more I can continue to do by myself. Please help me. Even if it’s only on the weekends; I know you work, too. I know it’s a long drive from New Jersey. Please help.” Survival instinct in full blown mode. Which birthday did Charles last help Steve celebrate? Was this the first phone call to his brother in decades? Who won this decades long standoff, impasse of emotions and lack of familial respect? It was obvious that Steve didn’t need Charles. If Charles wasn’t already emotionally drained from ordering this operation that left his mom less than half the person she was before the surgery, he was completely exhausted from his supplications to someone with whom he had always been annoyed with because of his outward disdain of his mother and father. But in the end, who was the loser in this generational battle of wits? Steve who will just continue to live his reclusive life that existed long before his mother fell, or will it be Charles who is finding life strangely vindictive as he wanders through the maze of an impending divorce, and now the loss of his parents cognitively existence.
“We’ll see how this weekend goes. I’ll let you know.” Steve was short with his answer. Charles hated himself for groveling, hated himself for asking, hated his life. In his only emotional defense, he confirmed that Steve must become his second divorce.
THREE
A few days after his mother was brought up from surgery, and given a bed in the surgical ward, his brother appeared at the door. Charles recognized his brother immediately. Absolutely hated himself for using the adage ‘you haven’t aged a day’, as Steve stood by the ward’s doorway waiting to be invited inside. Charles had asked his brother to visit their mother days ago, but never believed that he would show up. Wanting to imagine that this was that expected turn of his fate, that good things will happen from now on, that his brother has come to help him, Charles quickly stood up and went to extend a hand. With his other hand he firmly took hold of his brother’s arm, as if to add assurance of a heartfelt welcome. ‘Don’t overdo it. Remember he’s somewhat reclusive. He’ll run away. Just be who you are and do what you do,’ Charles thought. Charles had only arrived, himself, about 15 minutes before Steve; he was taking advantage of a double free period from teaching. Ran a red light, most definitely destroyed the speed limit, he had a calculated allotted time to visit his mother, and then race back to finish his scheduled classes. He had to find a way to politely ease himself out of the hospital and leave his brother alone with their mother. Will he stay without him there? Edythe recognized her oldest son immediately, released a surprised but happy wail as her greeting, and offered her oldest son a smile. Charles knew he was orchestrating the process way too much, regardless, he decided to chose where his brother was to sit; insisting Steve sit alongside the bed, inches from their mother’s drooling smile. For Steve, who hasn’t seen his mother in well over 10 years, this sight must have been overwhelming. For Charles, this unexpected reward resulting from his call to Steve a couple of nights ago, had given his future a little more do ability.
“Sit Steve. Please sit here.” Then silently Charles thought ‘Take breath, hold back the elation, approach with caution.’ Charles knew that the next step were to be taken cautiously, but he had to do it now; he was running out of free time. Charles tried to organize his thoughts before he spoke. “I’m here on a lunch break, Steve . If I knew you were coming, I would have called in sick today. But I am on the clock, at work, and I need to leave now for my last class of the day. I promise, it’ll only be an hour, including driving time. I promise. I’ll be right back. But this is good. No? You’ll have time to catch up, time to be with each other without me around. I need to leave now. I’ll be back before you miss me.” ‘STOP!!!! talking Charles!!!!’ Yelled at himself. ‘He just got here, and regardless whether you have to get back or not is legitimate isn’t important; you’re leaving him alone with his mother, now a complete stranger. His worst antagonist. This is going to either work or not. It’s not up to you. It never was about you.’ Edythe stared at her son while he sat there by her side, and the oldest son just stared at me. Steve sat in that bedside chair, obviously way too close to his mother, fingers of both hands tightly intertwined and held in place with his knees’ vice grip. As Charles left the room, he could hear small talk, and the mother was the one to start the conversation. “How are you, Steve? You look wonderful.”
As promised, just an hour had passed, and Charles was walking back into the room. Steve wasn’t there. The bedside chair was left skewed as if to give the visitor a perfect view of the patient. But the chair was empty. Steve saw his mother for less than an hour. Then left. He would return to his mother’s side until after she died; he attended her funeral.
FOUR
Steve wasn’t really the classic recluse: He goes out, shops, drives, walks the parks, even had a girlfriend. But calling him weird would be going in the right direction. Brilliantly weird. Never diagnosed, to Charles’s knowledge, he always considered his brother was leaning in the direction of being diagnosed with Asperger Disease. Steve was clearly bright. He graduated from New York University Graduate School of Math and Science, Summa Cum Laude; majoring in Nuclear Physics and minoring in Russian. Throughout Charles’s developmental years in public school, Charles was lucky enough to avoid having the same teachers as Steve. Arthur Levitt built his community on Long Island, Levittown, with no thought of constructing a public school system. Levitt just wanted to build a lot of homes in the post war era that had no Blacks, Jews, and apparently no schools. He only succeeded with no schools. So, it was left up to Nassau County to build a lot of new schools in order to catch up with the population explosion. Levitt’s homes infiltrated the communities of Westbury, East Meadow, and with those Levitt homes that didn’t fall into those two existing sections of the county, they would become a new neighborhood called Levittown. With the rapid building of homes and subsequent schools, Steve and Charles were almost always in different schools. The few times, when their educational paths crossed, and Charles was unlucky enough to get one of his brother’s former teachers, Charles fiercely avoided discussion about his brother, so as to successfully remove any association of his infamous family surname. If it came to pass, at a parent teacher meeting, that Charles’s mother recognized a teacher, she also understood the importance of just never bringing up Steve in conversation at those meetings. Charles made his fear very clear to his mother; he was never to be compared to his brother academically. Charles and his mother had made a pact to keep any relationship between him and Steve non-existent.
This arrangement worked until Charles’s 7th grade math class. This was where he lost his anonymity, his personal, highly valued private persona; he lost control of his academic independence.
Lunch: Charles loved to eat the lunches that his mom prepared for him; they were magnificent. The highlight of his school day arrived when it was time to open his locker; the smell, that perfect aroma, emanating from the paper bag sitting on the top shelf. It was better than the bouquet of alcohol coming off freshly printed pages from the school’s mimeograph machine. He would get that same mental rush from a whiff of his mother’s catered wizardry . Each day, literally every day, his mom prepared a different course; the brown paper lunch bag stuffed to the bag’s maximum tensile strength of its fibers. The fragrance leaching, oozing, from its paper compartment into the locker’s ambient air, into his nasal passage; ambrosia, the nectar hummingbirds would wildly bustle to suck. It was time for lunch.
On this one day, in math class, all of his planning evaporated uncontrollably before his eyes. It suddenly dawned on him, like a flash of light from a bolt of lightning. “Oh shit. I forgot my lunch.” Charles mumbled to himself in math class. Of course, that realization only came to the forefront of his mind because after math was lunch. Lunch!! He suddenly remembered he didn’t place his prized, treasured bag in his locker this morning. ‘How could you be so stupid,’ Charles yelled at himself. He left the lunch bag sitting on the kitchen counter as he ran to meet John so they could ride their bikes to school together that morning. He was late catching up with John, and with that fear of tardiness, he just didn’t remember the bag. Now in math, he could still see the bag sitting there; trying to magically teleport it to school. Numbed and brooding. Suddenly, he got very hungry.
His math teacher was about the toughest human being he ever met; using the descriptive “human being” only because he was taught to be polite when he described someone that he didn’t like. In the eyes of a 12-year-old, who hated her, she was also ugly. But the school system believed in Miss Florey, who was a dedicated math teacher who would accept nothing less than excellence from all her students, or, at the very least, make an obvious and painful attempt to do so. Charles sat in the front desk, but not by his choice; for some reason this teacher wanted him up front. ‘Still, she is just a ‘Miss’, yeah, still Miss Florey?’ He thought, smiling just enough for him to feel vindicated. ‘Makes sense, to me.’ He struggled with his conscience for thinking this way, and admitted that he was going to be punished soon for having those thoughts. He slithered down in his desk, so as to hide from the inevitable and dooming karma of pay-back. Quickly returning back to this feeling of being really, really hungry, and not having a clue how to satisfy this emotion without his mom’s gourmet lunch.
Mrs. Flory was finishing the class period with the homework assignment, and Charles was trying to understand what she wanted him to do tonight. He already figured the assignment wasn’t going to be completed anyway; he admitted that he had no idea what she was saying. ‘Okay, that’ll be my punishment,’ he thought. He was happy with the 75 average he had pulled last quarter; how he accomplished that was still a huge mystery to him, but regardless, it was satisfying to be satisfactory in 7th grade math. And a missed assignment shouldn’t be too hard to compensate for later.
While she continued describing tonight’s homework assignment, Miss Florey multi-tasked and started handing back the graded papers of the math quiz that was given yesterday. When she arrived at Charles’s desk, “Charles, you got 71 on yesterday’s quiz. What can I do that will make you get a higher grade? Maybe you should come after school for some extra help. No?” His cerebral cortex cringed painfully at that idea. “Sure thing, Miss Florey. I’ll definitely will make that happen.” Charles replied. ‘Karma is so going to kick your butt’, Charles finished his answer to himself.
“Charles”. “Charles”. He definitely heard his name; it was a whisper, but he heard it. Charles couldn’t figure where it was coming from? Charles looked at his friends, nothing. He heard his name being called again. Where? He was too preoccupied writing down the last of the problems being rattled off by Mrs. Flory. The kid behind him tapped him on his shoulder. Charles turned around, the kid pointed to the hallway…and there was Charles’s worst nightmare standing in the open doorway; his mother. She was leaning to one side of the opening, trying not to be too obvious; holding a big brown paper bag, bulging with aroma. Immediate elation, lunch, quickly followed by an escalating nauseating gut wrenching feeling that his disguise as an average math student was just about to end. “Steve’s Mom!!!!” Mrs. Florey, looked at the woman in the doorway of her classroom, stood up behind her desk with a warm smile, and with eyes filled with surprise. She got distracted by the same damn whispering that was coming from the same damn direction from where his damn lunch bag, that he forgot at home, was dangling. “What on earth are you doing here?” Miss Florey asked. “Oh, hi Mrs. Florey. How are you? I am so sorry to bother you. The office secretary said it was the end of the period, that it would be okay for me to come up to your classroom. The secretary told me that my son would be in your math class. I need to give him his lunch he forgot to take with him to school.” “Your son?” Pondering harder than if it were some complicated square root calculation, Miss Florey stared with those Batman cartoon question marks springing from her head. Her eyes starting computing who was in her class that had this woman as a mother; reacting to the thought process like someone watching the spinning pictures on a slot machine getting ready to mechanically ring ‘JACKPOT!!!’. You could almost hear the bells and other celebratory sounds when she realized, “Charles!!!! Charles is your son?? Oh my, I just never made that connection with his last name. Charles, you never told me you are Steve’s brother!!” It wasn’t enough that every kid in the class heard this proclamation, there was now the realization of his sudden rise to fame and fortune in this 7th grade math class; and yes, there was more to come. As soon as Charles retrieved his lunch, showed his mother his angst about being recognized, saw his mother believing she did the right thing to bring his lunch to school, all that was really accomplished was introducing her second child to her first son’s favorite math teacher. He realized he was now royally screwed. He knew what was about to happen to him. After a hearty handshake with the math teacher, his mom left. Charles returned to his desk with his beloved lunch clutched in his hand, and then with yesterday’s math quiz being returned to Charles by Miss Flory. Supported by her calculating smile, his math teacher made a promise that “Tomorrow, Charles, you will do much better on that math quiz”. Charles confirmed, ‘worthy of his brother’s legacy’.
Karma.
It was from this day forward, Miss Florey, and every other teacher his brother had in this damn middle school, became convinced Charles could do better. Charles’s average C life will no longer be allowed. Charles was miserable. This continued until the district won the votes that allowed them to build a new high school on the other side of town. Charles’s home was zoned for this new school. However, Steve was already attending the old high school. So, it was decided each brother would finally have their day of separation, and Charles was finally given his academic emancipation; starting with 8th Grade.
FIVE
A future not planned by a little English girl playing with her mother’s loved parrot: It was decided by the hospital doctors that his mother has Dementia and not Alzheimer’s disease. They added that the difference between these two medical terms was still very vague, that they weren’t able to assess much more about her condition at this time. Maybe rehabilitation would help; they were willing to offer her access to the hospital’s rehabilitation facilities and assigned his mother a physical therapist while she was in the hospital. Further determination as to what level of care, outside of the hospital, will be made for his mother after two weeks of physical therapy. That was the allotted time given to Charles; two weeks to decide what will become of his mother. His mother wasn’t going to help him with this decision, and sadly nor was his father. His father, indeed, became his other issue of concern.
His parents don’t have a Primary physician; all of the decisions were being made by this hospital, and the doctors they employed. Charles is beginning to realize that there were many things he and his parents could have done better that would have prevented either of them from becoming a burden on the other. Charles did remember one doctor’s visit that might have given him a peak into his mother’s future. A fall, some dizziness, and occasionally confusion had encouraged his mother to see a doctor. Charles was their transportation, and when arriving for her appointment was asked to become a neophyte guardian for his mother; attend the doctor’s follow up analysis of tests recently taken. She sat on a chair in the doctor’s office, Charles in another chair next to her and on the other side was his mother’s silent partner. Uncomfortably, Charles sat while the doctor directed much of his evaluation to him. Although the doctor admitted that there was much to still learn about Dementia, he wanted to look more closely at his mother’s brain for more evidence of this condition. He ordered an MRI. She vehemently resisted, rejected, she simply said no to the MRI. Now Charles is beginning to realize that decision to allowed his mother to make about her own welfare was a huge mistake; with which he is now being made to deal. He could have been better prepared for this day, if he had insisted that they allowed the MRI to be performed. Is fate that perceivable? How much of her present condition would have been preventable? Would she and her husband have even entertained the possibility of living in an assisted living facility back then; would it have been decided before she fell and broke her hip? How much guilt can be consumed by one son who never had to assume any guilt before?
Edythe had a personality glitch. Charles realizes this now, as her caregiver. Caring for his mother was to become a living hell. Crying during her rehabilitation sessions, crying over food, crying when he was there trying to convince her to work harder so she can walk again, and go home. Crying when she was told that if she doesn’t try harder, the hospital will assess her as a candidate for a nursing home. Or was this just a negative reaction to being asked to rehabilitate, a dormant anomaly of her personality? ‘Don’t tell me what to do.’ Or was she reacting as anyone would who was trapped, held hostage, in an unusable and deteriorating mind: frightened and fearful of her new life. She was convinced she didn’t want to be there; convinced this plan of rehabilitation, like the MRI, was unacceptable. She has decided she wasn’t going to try to walk again. She reminded Charles that her original plan, made in the ER, was to die. She couldn’t walk on her own, and yet she saw no reason why she couldn’t go home and have Lester take care of her. She was just a very unhappy person. Exhausted. Confused. Frightened. Resolved with her fate? That feral cat looking for that secluded place to die?
Charles was also left to deal with his father; as of yet, that still undefined entity in this saga. Claiming steadfastly of his independence, but still soulfully dependent on his wife. Charles would get up 2 hours early every day in order to drive 35 miles to his father’s home. On the way, he would stop at his father’s favorite diner, pick up scrambled eggs, buttered toast, fries, and deliver it still warm. Lester was capable of making coffee. Share breakfast, and stay a short while. Drive to work. Lunch at the hospital with his mother, while his dad occupied his time with cross word puzzles, and planned lunches made by Charles that morning. Back to work after lunch with mom. After work to pick up his father to visit his wife. Return all humans to their assigned nests by evening. And then finally, home for some take out supper; to be eaten on his Ikea couch in his basement home. This was his life; for the next year and a half. Charles kept wishing he was once again enjoying the simple life in Miss Florey’s math classroom, his mother’s amazing lunches and childhood.
Charles decided that if he were to survive this ordeal, he needed to reassess the entire history of his family; reexamine his role as a child in this family, reevaluate who exactly was his mother, his father; understand the endless arguments, the intense hatred, the uncontrolled anger, and the painful tension that enveloped his family, his entire childhood, into a whirlwind of emotional surges and depressions. It never bothered him that he had become a textbook version of a ‘latch-key kid’ growing up; being alone in the home was ideal time to welcome his friends over while his house was quiet and empty. His reclusion became his peace.
Charles had decided that the help he really needed now wasn’t from his family, but from outside in the form of legal assistance. It would cost money, money he really didn’t have to spend on frivolous things. He was certain his parents weren’t frivolous things. He gave up on finding a shoulder to cry on. An elder care lawyer, and loopholes; those gaps in the law, those ambiguities that would give him the opportunity to be on the right side of fairness. He had two weeks to keep the hospital from releasing his mother, the state of New York, from sending her to a nursing home up to 80 miles from her spouse, and also preventing New York State from taking seriously needed funds, Medicare and Social Security, from his father to help pay for nursing home assistance, rather than give his father his equal share of help and support.
“I don’t know where to go, how to help them. A good place, a safe place, a comfortable place for my mother to reside and be cared for; something I cannot give her right now. All of this and leave my father to afford his home and afford him some stability in this volatile time in his life. Is there something we can do for them?” That started the conversation over the telephone, his first of many conversations with Emily, a lawyer for the elderly, the geriatric, old, and infirmed individuals that seem to have no real function in our society anymore. “Yes, Charles, I’m sure I can help them. Give me a few days to come up with a plan that I can offer you. In the meantime, let’s discuss my fees, the retainer, and what they will cover.” A little bit of hand around the shoulder, and a firm grip on certainty and its cost. Reality check time. Which actually helped stabilize Charles. A foundation from which to work and build a plan; a plan he never had before.
Loopholes, legal jargon, complete and uncompromised trust in a stranger with whom it will be determined how his parent’s remaining days will be planned. Emily Esq., specializing in Geriatric care, will be charged with the creation of a case, a formation of a court ordered injunction to force the Nassau County Hospital to keep Charles’s mother safe and in place, and a plan to keep both parents comfortable, until a nursing facility closer to where Lester still lives was found.
Included was a legal decree that arrange for Lester to divorce Edythe. Fifty-eight-year marriage will end. That will allow him to keep his money, and make Edythe, this proud and self-sustained Brit, a ward of the State. Charles decided he won’t tell her.
“Dad this is Emily; she will be mom’s lawyer, and in a sense help you as well. I hired her to help arrange a plan to get mom into a nursing home close to you. While allowing you to live as you have so far in your home; with your funds intact, and untouched. Your Social Security payments and your pension will allow you to continue to live comfortably at home.” Charles drove his father to Emily’s office in Garden City. Lester had questions about Emily which mostly concerned the issue of how expensive will she be with an address in this part of Long Island. “Can we afford a lawyer that has an office in Garden City?” Lester, a product of the Great Depression where waste could have possible value, and planning requires frugality. Prudence, for Lester, was defined as buying an after-market car radio that would have cost less money than one installed by the dealer. Garden City meant Sax’s 5th Ave, Bloomingdale, 5-bedroom tutor homes lining the boulevard; money he didn’t have in order to be frivolous and buy into a plan coming from a total stranger with a 5-star address.
SIX
He was asked to sit in this soft leathered chair facing Emily’s desk; dwarfed not just by the chair, but by what must have been an overwhelming sense of helplessness. Completely vulnerable and defenseless, he tried to organize his thoughts after reviewing the events that have occurred over the past week; events that involved police, EMT, and fire department surrounding his wife lying on the floor of their tiny TV room after midnight, to a hectic ER, to a wife that barely recognizes him anymore.
“Lester, I am very sorry that Edythe is in the hospital. And, just as important, I hope you are doing well yourself. Now that your wife is not at home, I can only imagine how lonely it must be for you.” Emily was you too young for her to truly understand what it’s like to be a lonely old man that lost his wife to Dementia? What can a young girl know about old people anyway? Lester was relentless in his skepticism; but he kept them to himself. Emily demeanor remained steady and her voice commanded attention. Lester listened. Emily continued, “Charles has hired me to find a better way of caring for you and your wife. In a couple of weeks, the state will reassign her to a new home, other than the hospital that no longer wants her there. They will pick a nursing home of their choosing, anywhere within 80 miles of where you live, and partially pay for this new home for Edythe with some of the money you get monthly from the government to help pay for remainder of her residence. You see, Lester, since you are still healthy, the government considers you capable of helping them pay for your wife’s care and wellbeing. If they do this, it will mean you might not be able to afford to continue to live at your present home.” Lester listened. Hunched over, brows too tired to follow the curve of the eyes; his fingers were intertwined and rubbing together. “I understand.” Was his response. He forgot how old Emily was, because the news of his possible homeless was far more important. He didn’t once look at Charles. Why couldn’t Charles take me in to live with him? He remembered, Arlene and Charles are separating. He was embarrassed to have a stranger announce that he was no longer the bread winner of the family; a role he has played for 58 years. “There is a plan that I would like to offer you for consideration. I haven’t discussed this with Charles yet, so please don’t be annoyed with him if this plan is too harsh for you to accept, and he didn’t prepare you in advance to hear about it. He’s hearing it for the first time as you are. At this moment, I am asking you to hire me as your lawyer as well as your wife’s lawyer. Therefore, I will owe you and your wife my legal due diligence and legal services. Not Charles.” Lester picked up his head and stared at Emily for the first time since he was introduced to her. “Yes. What do you suggest?” Charles shifted in his seat, ‘What else is coming to a head now?’ Charles thought to himself. His father looked at Emily with respect for the first time he entered into her office.
“Lester, I need you to divorce Edythe. End your marriage, and therefore, end your legal responsibility to perform for her as her husband and provider of financially support. By divorcing your wife, Edythe will become a legal ward of the state of New York. It will prevent them from taking any money from you to support your wife, since she is no longer married to you. I will also partition the state to allow you to find a nursing home closer to you. As a ward of the state, it will now be required to pay the entire bill for her the residence you find for her. A loophole large enough to easily take care of your wife and in turn leave you alone in the process.” Emily Esq. continued, in her soft voice that offered Lester confidence as well as direction, “We need to do this now. Once I expose the ambiguity in the law, they will close it. Lester, this divorce is very simple. A number of pages for you to sign, for Edythe to do the same, and it will be over. I am not ever going to suggest that these pages will end your love or affection for your wife. It will never end your devotion. You will continue to visit her, but now you can forever rest assured that she will be cared for correctly and paid for completely.”
Lester sat there. He stared at Emily, watching her, carefully studying her; determining her strength to move forward with this plan and to see it to its completion. Lester became alert, and suddenly overtly aware of where he was and what was being asked of him to do. “Okay. I will do this.” That was all that Lester said. Not another word through the next half an hour of forms being read, explained, signatures being directed and performed. No argument made, no disappointment shown, no misunderstanding taken. Survival. A loophole. A resolution. Through it all, and over the next year, Lester and Edythe’s love continued to be resilient. This decree was immediately followed by an injunction that prevented Nassau County Hospital from forcing Edythe to be released; guaranteeing Charles an additional two weeks to find a nursing home closer to Lester, a nursing home that would be at a level of performance that Charles would be comfortable in which to place his mother.
SEVEN
Charles found that special nursing home. In a beautiful, rather upscale neighborhood on Long Island. Coincidently, it was also the residence of Edythe’s long-time friend. Charles’s hopes for some peace for his mother swelled, immediate companionship. Charles visited this friend to develop an early commitment of alliance and company for his mother. This was where he wanted his mother to go. Unfortunately, there were no beds available. But Charles was informed that nursing homes regularly offer open beds for the incoming residents. Facts and statistics that Charles just never thought important in previous years, was now worthy of renewed hope that there will be a guaranteed bed for his mother before the injunction ends. However, Charles wasn’t the only family looking for that empty bed in this nursing home; it was a very popular destination. You have to be present to “grab” an open bed; claim it like an Oklahoma homestead. But there was no ‘will-call’ service. First come, first served. So, Charles decided to camp out in the lobby of the nursing home; waiting for someone to die. He didn’t have any strength left to feel guilty; like a vulture flying overhead waiting for the bed to become empty. ‘Someone has to die tonight. This lobby couch is horribly uncomfortable.’ Charles whispered to himself.
As fortune and good luck and statistics would prescribe to only, it was around 2 am, he was awoken by the night shift’s head nurse. She asked him to sign the form that would offer his mother a place to live the rest of her life. His back and neck ached miserably, but his heart was alight with joy that this nightmare was just about over. And he won.
After work the next day, he went to visit his mother to inform her of this wonderful place where she would live. Admittedly, he realized that he was really the only one excited about this news. He told his father later that morning, when he delivered breakfast. The reception was a bit distanced. Charles objected to his father’s response. Didn’t his father hear him retell how he slept on a couch in the lobby of the nursing home, just so mom would have a nice place to live. Where were the accolades rewarding his amazing accomplishments; rewarding him for being the best son ever for caring for his parents? Instead, he got a grunt as acknowledgement. Remorseful, Charles sat at the kitchen table watching his father moving the scrambled eggs around, and realized there is no joy in what has transpired over the past month. The bed that waits for his estranged wife to occupy is not putting his wife next to him, in his home. The accomplishments over the past month assured that he is now legally without a wife, who is now ordered that she will be comfortable in an environment befitting her; an old woman with no hope of recovery from her dark tunnel of despair. None of what has occurred will ever give his soul mate back to him, nor return his life to what he remembered and cherished. “Sounds good. Please don’t forget to pick me up and drive me to this facility when she arrives. So, I can be with her on her first day there.” His dad said. Head down. Resigned to news that wasn’t really that bad. He added after a moment, “Yes, she’s going to a nice nursing home, I understand. But she’s not coming home to me.” Lester sighed. Charles was silent.
EIGHT
January 1995: Good news for whom? He knew this news will have less of an effect on his mother than it did his father earlier that morning. ‘Ha’ he started his thought. ‘She probably wouldn’t even understand him. What was about to happen. Where she was going. What he had to do to get this bed for her. Probably whine in confusion.’ But what if Edythe understood everything that has happened to her. Afterall, she had to initial and sign the legal forms that Emily brought to the hospital for her sign. Emily was legally bound to perform some verbal tests to make sure Edythe were of sound mind and body. Emily said she was. What if Edythe really was of sound mind? What if, behind the whining, crying she understood everything, saw everything, and was disapproving it all by whining and crying. Then it was Charles who wasn’t listening.
It seemed no one was giving Charles any validation for anything he has accomplished over the past month. He was losing his ability to endure any more of this caregiver shit. Get her into this home, and hopefully all his heartaches will end. Charles had a lot to learn about life. It seems that Charles would never be validated. He will always be destined to live in doubt.
Long Island in January, the days still seem to end early even though it’s past the Winter Solstice, nights still seem to be in full control before you had supper. Winter on Long Island wasn’t always freezing, but it is almost guaranteed to be damp, with a chill that metaphorically traveled through your bones and make you shiver deep from within, to help regain some warmth. The cold damp air didn’t relinquish its hold on Charles even though he entered the warm hospital ambient air. Wearing a lined rain coat, straight from work, shivering, Charles entered the elevator and exited on the 4 floor, Rehabilitation Ward. She was a resident of this ward without a purpose or a plan of action. The court order might have forced the hospital to keep his mother there as a resident, but they long stopped any rehabilitation services; her physical therapist was assigned to new patients and his mom was left to rest. His mom was fed, cleaned and boarded there; but for the most part ignored. Charles approached her room; it housed 6 beds, but his mother was the only occupant in that large room. As he stood under the room’s threshold, he just could feel the anguish his mom was under. No moans from other humans, no beeps from machines monitoring life from those empty beds, no bed lights, overhead, casting shadows behind drawn privacy curtains that weren’t drawn, no transient traffic from on duty nurses busily performing their hourly bed checks and other chores. The room was empty other than its sole occupant. How boring it must be for her to live in isolation; her son was to blame for this. Her son insisted that the state was not move her to a state-owned nursing home while he looked for a home closer that was a nicer place for her to live. But for his mom it meant that she was alone for most of the day. Charles had long begun disliking hospitals; now he is sure he hated them. Nurses did come into her room, albeit in a regimented fashion, when they determined that she needed her diaper changed; her son was to blame for this. The kitchen staff visited no more than 3 times each day; not to converse with his mom, but take out the tray from the previous feeding and deliver a tray for this new feeding. Her son was to blame for this. Nothing on the tray was anything close to want she wanted or care for; her son was to blame for this. Although nurses would do their rounds, there was no extraordinary medical care needed, his mother was technically ready to be released, but the courts ordered her to stay until her son found her a better place to live. Her son was most definitely the blame for this. So, living with this minimal human contact was her son’s fault; he was to blame for this.
Tonight, he was excited to tell his mother the good news; finally, someone died in this really nice nursing home in Woodbury. Woodbury is a well-to-do community that was known for the types of high-end stores that were located there. Ivy covered clock towers and statues were the entrances’ center pieces to the many parking lots, and newer more expensive cars parked in those assigned slots in front of these stores. The nursing home was no exception. With its carefully manicured lawns and shrubs, this facility fit in to the ambiance befitting this community. Considering the unenthusiastic response he got from his father, he most definitely wasn’t expecting any rave reactions from his mother either. But he was pleased with himself; he told himself this a lot lately. He would be the only one that does. In the year and a half that his mother resided at this nursing home, only his son and a cousin visited her. Edythe and Lester finished their lives basically alone to comfort each other; wondering what went wrong.
He stood there in the room’s threshold; the light from the hallway shined from behind him, rays from this light beamed just about halfway into the room. With this hallway light as the only light for the room, the ambient light it produced created a shadowy glow onto the beds circling around the ward’s perimeter; he was able to see five empty beds plus the one bed on the left side with sheets on it. That bed was his mother’s. Edythe sat in her wheelchair, slightly hunched over the left arm of the chair and with both her arms under her body trying to brace her for balance; maybe comfort, too. She was obviously placed there by someone who wanted her to face into the hallway light, and watch the hospital traffic pass by. Edythe was on stage as a guest performer. Charles wondered if anyone said hello to her. Behind his mother, on the back wall were all the windows; their blinds pulled all the way up, but no light came from those windows, it was now dark outside. From inside the room, the night sky looked cold and damp. In a corner, where the bank of windows and the side wall met, there was a door to a small room. This door was slightly opened, and coming from this space was a strong beam of white light that filled only the back end of the room. Between the farthest point in the room where the hallway light reached, and the light from this interior room reached, there was total blackness. Two spotlights from two ends of his mother’s world, each trying to stretch to touch the other; neither did. There was someone inside this small interior room; there was a sound coming from this chamber that Charles couldn’t immediately identify, other than it was definitely produced by something metallic.
It didn’t take long for Edythe to recognize her son standing in the doorway. Charles still couldn’t interpret the whines she produced; was she crying, talking, or just trying to grab his attention with sounds that meant nothing special to even her? She lifted her right hand towards him, with the other hand holding onto the arm of the wheelchair for support. The support arm shook from the strain. He moved forward and held her right hand; crooked fingers ravished from years of arthritis, and a lack of squeezing the small rubber ball she was required to use as exercise in order strengthen those fingers. Her unidentifiable whine now became a very understandable cry; she was upset. Very upset. Charles started to apologize for being late coming to the hospital to see her. “I’m so sorry mom. The weather is miserable, rain and cold. I had to visit dad first, and give him his dinner and wash the dishes before I came here. I was planning on bringing dad here to say hello, but I was afraid to bring him out so late, and with it being so chilly tonight. I thought it best to keep him home.” She continued to cry. “What’s wrong mom. Why are you so sad?” ‘What a stupid question to ask’, Charles thought.
“Why aren’t you angry at him?” His mom finally got the words out. Charles guessed that anger can make you accomplish things that would have normally been impossible to do. She was very clear with her point. Who should he be angry at? Who was she talking about? She was obviously very annoyed at someone. Now Charles was also becoming the subject of that annoyance for apparently ignoring someone he couldn’t see. She asked the question again. “He shouldn’t be allowed to do that. Aren’t you going to make sure he doesn’t do that again?” Charles pulled a chair next to her wheelchair, sat as close as he could. He leaned into her. He felt the hallway light illuminating his face. He looked into her face which was also being touched by the same light. He felt an intimacy with his mother that he hadn’t felt since he was a child. She stared into his eyes as only a mother can do; that stare responsible for creating a bond between them, since he was a child sitting on her lap, was stronger than any on earth. He was suddenly confused; was he the child or was he supposed to be the adult in this union right now.
That small ray of bright white light that shined into the back section of his mother’s room suddenly got larger; it almost reached half way into the room, it almost touched the light coming from the hallway. From behind his mother, Charles saw a door was being opened. The light coming from the back of her room grew stronger, wider, reached further into the room; it came from the same place that the metallic sound came from a few seconds before. And then the sound of a toilet was being flushed. A cough, too deep to be anything other than a male. A voice then spoke to his mother. “I’ll right with you Edythe. Just finishing up here. Just a second longer, and I’ll put you in your bed.” It was a male. A figure then left that small room. This body was now showered by the same light that filled the back half of the room. He was dressed in nurse scrubs. He exited what, to Charles, was obviously the ward’s bathroom; a conclusion that only putting all those sights and sounds together could have created. His mother wanted to know if he was upset with what he did to her. And now he placed the last piece of the puzzle. Oh my. His sad, lonely, frightened mother, hunchbacked in her wheelchair; he is her nurse. He must have just changed her diaper. Cleaned her and most definitely touched her where a strange male should never touch a woman. Especially a woman who only days ago was forced to suddenly deal with her diminished role as an independent woman. Charles stared at his mother, and understood for the first time. He now saw what was now in conflict with his mother’s life at this moment. Challenges to her independence that she had earned in her lifetime, in spite of the century in which she lived; a period of time that had no societal rules in place for her to use as guidelines, they were now being tested. Challenging his mother’s endurance to survive and create. Challenging her dreams which became her strategies; her plans. Now at the bottom of her life cycle, now at the end of her strength, her independence, and her dreams, she found everything was being rudely and unforgivably ripped from her grasp involuntarily. She was very clear that first night when she was brought into the ER. She wanted to die. She knew than all this was going to happen to her. There wasn’t any doubt in her mind then, that tonight she was to be washed by a male nurse because she no longer had the ability to go to the bathroom herself. The indignity of it all. The shame of her present status. The injustice that there is no one, nothing that can help now. She felt alone. She believed she has been abandoned. There was nothing that her son, her husband could do for her that would make any of this go away, make it better.
Charles sat there for as long as he felt his silence would be tolerated by his mother. He was resolute that all his planning, and concern for each of his parents were sincere, and was given by him to them with an unselfish heart. He knew this was the beginning of learning about who he is, who is family was, is. He wanted to know more about them; to re-evaluate the roles his parents played, were they good parents, did they give him a solid grasp of life, was he and his brother emotionally abused? He needed to be honest. That last question also opened up a huge range of issues never considered about his upbringing. He was willing to learn about himself.
But right now, there was his mother’s welfare to consider. This human being who was also a product of her own upbringing, with no one left to hold her hand except for Charles. And Charles was beginning to doubt that very bond was as strong as it needed to be. In the end, however, he worked really hard to make life as comfortable as possible for both his parents. He will deal with those troubled and unanswered relationships. But right now, he needed to complete what he was forced to begin. See this process of recreating a new life for his parents to its successful completion, as best that he can. His mother will be transported to a beautiful nursing home, get the care needed from a facility this is located in an up-scaled community, and warranted by its clientele. His father has daily visits from a home care service; he takes walks every afternoon with this hired aide, feed three times a day, and then taken by his dutiful son to visit his estranged wife every Saturday and Sunday.
But for right now, Charles sat there next to his mother, staring into her eyes, without her hearing him, said something to himself that will stay with him for the remainder of his parent’s lives. ‘Mom, Dad I love you both so very much. I will care for you, create a safe world for you in which to live, complete your wishes and requests to the best of my ability, shop for you, and clean you when you no longer can care for yourself. But please understand, that nothing that has happened to you is my fault. Your life has ended apart, and not where you thought it would end. But this is not my fault. You slipped and broke your hip. You got confused and relied on me to make those tough decisions for you. None of what has transpired, nothing that has not yet happened can be, will be my fault. I will care for your husband, my father, as I would believe you would have done yourself. I will make sure your friends and family will be kept updated. I will remember your special days; your birthdays, your anniversaries, your holidays. I will participate in your present lives in your present homes, volunteer my time so that you will be considered special by each home you both live in. But in the end, I need to remind myself that nothing that happened to you was predictable nor really preventable. It’ not my fault. I’m Not Guilt.
