Living and Dying

When I go visit my dad, I see the ending of a life. And here I am strangely trying to create a new life. Dad has had Alzheimer's for over 10 years now. Part of the process was strangely rewarding. But now I'm ready. The man he once was, with all his personality, is gone. There is absolutely nothing left of him now. It used to be that I'd go visit and we'd all get excited just to see him smile, just like you do with a baby. But those days are long gone. The cycle is almost complete. It's just a matter of time (how long, no one knows--could be years still) before he passes on. To me, the sooner the better. I've said my goodbyes and have dealt with the loss. To me, he's already gone. This is no longer my father. And every time I go visit makes it worse. Mom has told me that I don't have to go see him and if I'm true to myself, I don't want to ever again. But what if that one time I didn't go, there was a glimpse? Every once in a while he has a day where he's awake and chatty. We can't tell what the heck he's saying of course, but it's something more than nothing. It's tough going there and not even having him be able to look at me in the eye. If he was dead, I would have a final mourning and then I could move on. But instead it drags on and on. I've been mourning the loss for years already.

On the other end of the life cycle, I'm still trying to get pregnant. I've gone through a torrid of emotions dealing with this as well. I never was someone who had to have a kid. But something changed inside. Maybe it's dealing with the loss of dad, like I'm trying to fill the void with something positive. It's bizarre how obsessive the whole thing has become. I had laparoscopy to clean out the endometriosis in my system, and two months later, ta-da: pregnant! The excitement was short-lived though. The miscarriage was both physically and emotionally painful. And in 5 days I have my 37th birthday, which makes me feel as though time is running out. I usually love my birthday. I'm waiting to take my next pregnancy test in 5 days. Either it will be good news, or it'll be time for a few beers--but a celebration nonetheless.

Bank of Evil

This is a plea to everyone to pull your money out of the big banks. Credit unions or local banks are the way to go. Especially since the bank bailouts, banks will do anything to get your money from you. Check out this video from MoveYourMoney: http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=Icqrx0OimSs

So here' s my story:

My husband had two bank accounts at Bank of America. One of them was a normal checking and savings, and the other a business account. He never had a credit card and we were trying to get approved for a mortgage, so he got one at his bank. He paid the $200 to get a card (they hold the money until you prove you can pay it off) and that was that. A couple years later, we started getting a bank statement for an unknown B of A account. We figured it was an old account he opened years back and forgot about, so he went to the bank to get it worked out.

Needless to say, no one at the bank could tell him what it was, but instead referred him to a 1-800 number. Now this is an account that didn't have much money in it, but with each statement we received, the account was being billed a $15 fee each month. We tried the 800 number provided, but to no avail. The fees continued and we wondered if there would be any money left by the time we got it all figured out. Eventually, we received a statement that the account was now in the negative (due to the monthly fee) and that he would be sent to collections. He went back to the bank to raise hell and find out exactly what the deal was with this mystery account. After getting the run around a couple more times, he finally found someone who was able to tell him that the account was out of Arizona.

Now, did my husband ever live in Arizona? No. This is what happened.... After the time limit passed with his credit card, where he proved he could pay it off after buying something, Bank of America created a brand new account out of Arizona to put his $200. You would think they'd put the money into one of his B of A accounts. Why would they create a new one? Not only that, but why would they create a brand new account in an entirely different state where even fellow Bank of America employees in Washington couldn't find it? And thirdly, why was this account created with a fee system taking $15 a month out of a brand new account in another state?!?! The only answer I have is that the bank is evil. And we cannot be the only people to have this happen to us.

After telling friends about our story, I've come across many more horror stories of B of A. One of my co-workers was telling me how he continues to receive bank statements for his father-in-law after his wife has officially closed his account years back. Because he's DEAD. And now the statements show his account is in the negative because of all the fees accumulated since they closed the account.

Banks are out to make money for their stockholders. Credit unions are nonprofits. Move your money! Or get ready for more and more fees...

Come on Back Now Ya Hear?

I've been trying to remember what my dad was like before he got Alzheimer's. Anymore I just think of him the way he is now. Even though he's still alive, he's just a shell of the man he once was. It's like an invasion of the body snatchers. He looks like my dad, but it's not him anymore. His personality, his soul died a long time ago.

I was at my mom's house the other day and we came across dad's old retirement video from almost 20 years ago. That's when I really realized that I had forgotten the person he used to be. His one liners, his smile, his silliness. It's not until you're an adult that you really see your parents as people. You start seeing the ways you're alike. And in watching the video, I could see the similarities. Growing up, you are nothing like your parents. That would be the kiss of death. I mourn not being able to know him as an adult child knows their parent. I wonder if he would like me?? Or if I'd like him? I have such an amazing relationship with my mom, I can only imagine how great it would be with my father. And it makes me very, very sad to miss out on that relationship.

Content vs. Dissent

I've always pictured myself growing up to be a hippie chick. I don't mean the clothes or the dirt, but the vibe. The mellow "everything's cool," take everything as it comes attitude. But in reality I'm much more of the high strung, stressed out, neurotic control freak type. I'm not one to be content with life. If I have a good job, then I am looking for the next one that could truly be fulfilling and make a difference. I'm sure there are positives in always seeing that things could be improved. If I was content with life, then I wouldn't notice all the changes that need to be made with the world. Maybe it's part of being an idealist. But it's frustrating because it leaves me feeling as if I'm constantly striving for something more, instead of living in the moment and being happy with right now.

No Rest for the Wicked

I had all of maybe 2 hours of sleep last night. Lying in bed all night waiting for sleep to come has to be akin to some sort of psychosis. Insomnia will make you crazy. The longer you lay there, the more obsessed you become with sleeping. Welcome to the lovely world of anti-depressant side effects. So I could either be crying all day long, or else a sleep-deprived zombie. To me, it's a toss up. But in the working world, it's much more acceptable to be sleep-deprived than a crybaby. Hold on, as I pop another Prozac and some Tylenol PM.

The First Time is the Best Time?

So here it is, the beginning. And as with most things in life, the first time is both exciting and nerve-wracking. Of course looking back on it I'll see how young and impressionable I was and how I could have said and done things differently. But for today, I guess anything goes......

So maybe for some, being a thirty-something is not the emotional rollercoaster that defines their 20s, but I am not your average Jill. I'm still struggling with who I am and what I want to do with my life, trying to find my passion while being content and accepting of what life throws at me. But then again, I'm not really a "content" type of person.

Right now the biggest thing in my life is my dad's illness. He has had Alzheimer's for 10 years and is now in the "final stages." Although I don't have a clinical description of what the "final stages" are, to me it looks like an overgrown baby, biting and pinching and spitting food across the room, except with a few choice cuss words thrown in. I admit, it hasn't been all bad. During the time when his short term memory was getting worse, it was great to have him tell me over and over and over how great I was, each time like it was the first time he'd ever said it. All of his previous inhibitions were gone, and he said exactly what was on his mind. Sometimes it was funny, like when he'd blurt out within earshot how some woman had a huge rack.

People are always saying to me, 'gosh, it must be tough him not knowing who you are.' Actually, that's the furthest thing from my mind. I'm not exactly positive why that's peoples' biggest fear. The toughest part for me was when he couldn't remember what a phone was called. Or when mom handed him his razor and he looked at it with wonder like it was a rather small UFO.

Of course that was years ago. Now when I visit he stares blankly through me. For years I thought I accepted the whole thing. Joked around about it, was sad here and there, and that's that. But about 5 months ago, he went into the hospital for some bleeding. My sister, mom and I sat there for a few days writing up his obituary and deciding on what to write on his tombstone. (I know it sounds morbid, but it was actually quite healing and very funny.) I thought that was the end and was happy for it all to be over. We had all been through enough, especially mom. But he recovered. It wasn't over.

About two weeks ago I started crying on a daily basis. I'd be chatting with someone and try to say "dad" and it would catch in my throat. I'd end up bawling for so long that people at work began to wonder what the heck's wrong with me. I don't know what changed, but I'm avoiding going to visit him now. I long for his death. I want to stop mourning his decline and start mourning his death. Because HE is no longer there. There's no single piece of him that reminds me of my father except his body. He looks like dad, but it's like someone else took over the wheel.

So after being on the wagon for four months, I've started taking my anti-depressants again. I've been off and on a medley of meds since I was 16, and for some reason thought I could deal with life without them. I'm 36 now, I don't have all that teenage angst anymore. I'm married and have a job and life is pretty stable. But it's still too much. I HATE anti-depressants. Each and every one has some horrible side effect/s that sucks. I've gone full circle back to the one and only, the original, PROZAC. It's only been two days, but already I've had a night of insomnia, which makes for a very difficult day at work and at home. So instead of being inconsolably sad, I'm ready to snap peoples' heads off. Neither all that great for a pleasant workplace or a promotion.

I'm crossing my fingers the drugs work and the side effects don't make life even more difficult. I haven't cried in two days, so I guess they're doing something. But it's in my nature to feel, to emote. I wear my feelings all over my face. But it's not acceptable to show all feelings at all times. Unless, of course, your feelings are always good. And then you're just annoying.

So that's it. The first post. It wasn't the best, but just hold on, hopefully it'll get better.