Let's start with the least problematic change. My niece Risa came to visit us September 13-15, and helped me do some cleaning, sorting, and furniture moving. The biggest thing we did was get rid of our old couch, which had been in Rocket Boy's family for at least 40 years, probably more, and whose springs were gone, and whose upholstery was disintegrating. I had been trying to get RB to get rid of it since we got married back in 2002. He had recently agreed to let it go, but we hadn't managed to do anything about it on his last visit and I knew it would be emotionally hard for him to take it to the dump. So Risa and I (with a little help from the twins) carried it outside and left it at the bottom of the driveway, where it stayed until Friday the 20th, when the garbage truck came and took it away (I had scheduled the pick-up). I figured the fact that no one lifted it for the five days that it sat out there is proof that no one would have wanted it if we'd posted it on craigslist, etc. I saw a few people stop, get out of their vehicle, and look at it, but they always drove away quickly. And with good reason -- it was junk. But still, hard to let go. Now we just have a bunch of cat-protected chairs where the couch was. The next time Rocket Boy visits, maybe we'll go couch-hunting or maybe we won't. No worries.
We won't die: the kids and I are transitioning over to Rocket Boy's health insurance as of October 1st, and we still have his salary to live on. Fortunately, I hadn't made any major changes to our lifestyle -- there's no house cleaner I'll need to fire, no services I'll have to cancel. But we'll have to stop fixing things, and I won't be able to save as much money. I'll save as much as I can, but it will be less.
I'm trying to think about what to do next. Obviously I need another job, but what on earth could it be? Mainly, I want to retire. But 59 is too young, especially when you have 11-year-old twins. However, 59 is very old when you're job-hunting, and then there's my enormous weight, and the fact that I walked out of this job in the middle of a project, presumably alienating everyone who might have served as a reference. (I SO wish I had just quit on August 31st, as I had been planning to, instead of letting people convince me not to. It would have been a cleaner break.) On the plus side, I updated my resume this morning and it looks pretty good. Not necessarily the kind of resume anyone would want to see right now, but it makes me look like a competent person -- which is not how I feel.
I periodically think of something I'm not going to have to do now and I feel a weight lift off my chest. But I wouldn't say I'm happy. And I've still got all the single parent woes, and the depression, and the what are we going to have for dinner misery. So life is challenging. I have a to-do list each day and I try to work along and check things off. Yesterday I mended five pairs of Kid B's shorts. Of course, he's almost outgrown them, but they'll work for a little while longer.
And now the third big recent change. Our next door neighbor Eugene -- our tenant, along with his wife and kids -- is on hospice. This photo shows the view through our front door last Sunday afternoon.Eugene, who is 86, had been behaving oddly a few days before this. In fact, it was the day before I quit my job, and may have contributed to my own anxiety. He came to our door that Monday morning, very upset, and asked how he could reach Rocket Boy. I explained that I can't reach RB during the day -- he can't bring his cell phone into his workplace and he doesn't have a secretary, etc. Eugene acted like he didn't believe me, but he left. Later, RB called me at work and said he'd gone to his car to check his phone on a break and found four voicemails from Eugene, all about how someone was trying to kill him and he needed RB's help. RB was very upset and didn't know what to do. After I got home from work I went over to their house and asked Aspen what was going on. She sighed and said they'd watched a scary movie the night before and apparently it had gotten wrapped into Eugene's dreams and when he woke he couldn't distinguish between the dream and reality. Later I saw a police car outside the house, and still later Eugene called me and apologized for his behavior, explaining that the police had very kindly managed to reassure him that he was not in danger. Throughout the evening, Rocket Boy kept calling me and calling me, trying to find out what was going on.
So then I quit my job and that absorbed me for several days, but on Sunday there were suddenly all those emergency vehicles. Eventually I saw Eugene going out to the ambulance in a chair and they drove away with him. I thought about going over to ask what was wrong, but I felt as though I would be intruding. Finally, last night Aspen came over and told me Eugene was on hospice, at the Longmont facility. He'd been going downhill for a few weeks, and apparently the delusion that his life was in danger was part of that. (Except, from this perspective, was it really a delusion?) Aspen looked sad and stressed. On top of everything else she now has to worry about money, because she's been his caregiver and those payments will be ending. I told her we hoped they would stay in the house and we'd figure something out.
So now we wait. Rocket Boy wondered if he should fly home this weekend, but Aspen said Eugene might live a month (or, of course, die tomorrow). They don't really know. RB has known Eugene a long time -- at least 30 years, maybe 40. I know Eugene wanted to live to see all his kids graduate from high school. The youngest is only in 7th grade.
I was wandering around in a daze last night, unable to concentrate on anything. Kid B said to me, "Mom, do you LIKE Eugene?" And I thought for a moment about all he has to learn in life, such as how whether you "like" someone becomes rather beside the point when they go on hospice.
Postscript: Eugene died this afternoon. So it's over.
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