Its been a year

What a year.

But not.

In a life full of far-reaching events, being in the house for a year really isn’t the worst. I’m very lucky in that I’ve got food, shelter, warmth and more books then I’ll ever be able to read.

I’ve been in this strange limbo where time moves along outside the house but things seem much more static inside, but not.

Lock-down and unemployment has given me the most time off I’ve ever had. I’ve been working since 13 or so except for this past year. Vacations have been far and few in-between and even when I’m sick and stuck at home, I’m usually dragging myself to the desk in an attempt to get in some billable hours.

It’s very strange to wake up in the morning and there’s nothing that HAS to be done. Laundry can be put off a day. Meals can be scrounged from what’s already been prepared. Leaky faucets can be turned off instead of immediately replaced and those boxes in the corner aren’t going anywhere so why do they need to be dealt with today?

It’s not like anyone is going to die if I spend the day reading, watching Star Trek in its many iterations on an endless loop and puttering about.

Is this really living or a strange version of not-death?

So many people dead, of the plague and other maladies. It’s one of the few things we all have in common. We all eventually die.

Dad 3 died in March 2019. What started out as gallstones ended up killing him after about a month in the hospital. I missed his last moments of consciousness. I missed hearing his voice one last time. I’m still feeling his loss, dealing with his absence and most likely will be for quite some time. He was the youngest of my 4 parents (3 living at that point) and the one who was most like a parent, even with all his imperfections. He was sober after so many years of not being so and he was a part of our lives again.

He wasn’t supposed to die of gallstones, strapped unconscious to a hospital bed.

I think his body was just worn out and so very, very done.

May 2020 I was woken up at 3 am by a phone call from the nursing home where Dad 2 lives. That’s never a good thing. He had COVID and they needed me to convince him to go to the hospital. He pulled through after a couple of weeks but I didn’t know that then. I thought I had just said goodbye as I cajoled him into going for treatment.

I woke up the youngling because I forgot to cry more quietly.

I’m usually better about such things.

My mother died in June 2020. She drank herself to death over Dad 3 whom she had walked away from and divorced almost 20 years before. My thought is that he was just a convenient excuse. A “good” reason not to pull herself together, deal with her issues and move on with her life.

Suicide by cheap vodka and liver failure.

The last time I talked to her was Mother’s Day. An aunt called to say she was sick and I needed to convince her to go to a doctor. So I called and tried to talk to her. Asked what she wanted done when the inevitable happened since the conversation led that way.

She hung up on me.

That was the last time we talked.

Up until that point I had been trying to see my layoff as a chance to spend my days as I wished, an opportunity to get my house and life in order and to take advantage of a gift of time that was unique in my life.

Instead I’ve spent the last 10 months cleaning up the mess my mother left behind.

Fucking typical.

First there was a 1300 mile journey down the Eastern Seaboard during a pandemic to her hoarders house to salvage whatever was valuable, distribute what was usable and get it ready to sell. Tidying up her finances was a nightmare. Just finding and accessing her money took months and countless hours digging through boxes of paperwork and on the phone convincing bank officials that I was who I said I was. Twelve accounts across four financial institutions will do that. She also hadn’t been paying the medical bills she was racking up for the last couple of months of her life. I’m still not convinced they’ve all been paid but I’ve signed the legal paperwork that says they are.

The house is almost ready for the market. It’s down to the new carpet and deep cleaning stage and my only duty is to coordinate and pay for it. I hate making phone calls and talking to strangers but the money to come once things are all settled is a powerful motivator.

I’ve spent my life trying to not be greedy or take more than my fair share but I’m viewing her money as reparations for a lifetime of having to deal with her. It won’t erase the past but maybe it can make moving forward a little easier.

I’ve been poor for most of my life so watching people online (the only way I interact with most people these days) talk about their upcoming anniversaries of going into lock-down has been somewhat jarring. While in quarantine, the playing field was more level. No one could go out to eat, or to a movie or show, or shopping, or on vacation. These were all things that I rarely did beforehand so losing the ability/option to do them this past year was meaningless. If anything I liked not having to explain to people why I hadn’t done all these things .

No, I don’t have cable to watch some show or commercial. Haven’t in decades.

No, I don’t go on vacation. Don’t get paid if I don’t go to work.

No, we don’t take day trips to X. If I did, there would be no grocery money for the month.

I’m just treading water here, trying not to drown.

So, one year later, down to the last parent and heading back to work, into the fray of trying to keep body and soul together.

It’s been a year.