MONDAY, AUGUST 30, 2010

Oh, I didn't realize it's been an entire week since I've written! Everything here has been pretty calm with Tom. With Cynthia coming again a couple times a week, he's starting to confuse us. He asks questions like, "I know I've asked you this before, but how many kids do you have?" To this I always just stare wide-eyed at Carol until she starts laughing and tells him I'm not even thinking about having kids. He also asks me how "the ol' boy" is. I ask who this is and he asks, "aren't you married?" This question I can answer by myself, although not with much different of an answer. Then he asks me (while drinking those little treasured 7.5 fl oz Cokes I buy him) "So, how many people like us do you see?" "Grandpa," I say,"I'm your Granddaughter. Jeanne's daughter." He starts defensive back-treading, "Yea, I know that," he snaps. As far as the new depression medication he's on, I don't know yet. On Saturday I made lunch for him (Carol has been refusing meals lately, but not neglecting the candy/cookie drawer) he calmly said, "How long will you be staying with us?" I say my usual answer, "until you kick me out." "No," he says without a smile, "how long? A week?" I say that no, I was going to be here for another few months to a year. "That's not going to work out," he says. This strikes me as odd. Right as I'm starting to get a grip on him lashing out at me for challenging his control on the house, he decides to have the conversation out of the blue as he eats the tomato sandwich I made for him. Like we are discussing what to have for dinner, or where Tobey might have been hiding. "Why do you want me to leave? I do my share around the house. I buy groceries. Mostly all I do is read and watch TV in my room." "I don't really know. Who said you could stay?" These questions hover in the air as I try to grasp the logical answer to them, "You did." "Well, I must not have realized that was how long you were going to stay." I look perplexed as he adds more salt and pepper to the world's spiciest sandwich on white bread. "Where should I go if I must be out in a week," I want to know. "You're leaving this week?" He asks alarmed all of a sudden "You just said you wanted me to leave in a week and that I can't stay here for months." "No, you can stay as long as you want. That's not a problem. Who said you couldn't stay?" And suddenly I feel like the crazy one.
I know he still gets mad at Carol though. Two nights ago I was in the laundry room/hallway and I could hear him yelling at her. She went to the bathroom to cry when she saw me. I talked to her for about a half hour, while standing there with my folded clothes in my arm. I'm not sure where what I said to here came from, but it sounded more like what my mom has been coaching me. "You can't take it personally. If you need to get away for a while, you can do that." We talked about her going to visit Bill, "We can go, just us girls and go see William. Cynthia can make sure Grandpa is alright for a few days." Knowing that his was an option seemed to be reassuring. She's been having these panic attacks at night, like tonight with thinking she got the wrong year for the tabs and if she didn't figure it out at 9pm that Tom would find out and get mad at her. She's also hasn't been very good with her medicine. She'll do her patch alright, then wont take her pill, but still write that she did on the calendar. When I finally switch from say things like, I think you should take the pills (which usually works) to more recently just saying, "I am 100% sure you did not take your medicine, and I know you'll be happier if you take them now." The other day she practically stomped off to her room and came back in and said, "Do you see them, they're on my tongue." I almost laughed, she looked about 5 years old with her tongue stuck out as far as possible. "I'm not a doctor. I'm a concerned Granddaughter who loves you too much to let you be miserable tomorrow." She doesn't take long to forgive me for having to take the 23-year-old-knows-best approach.
That's about it. Most days I go to work before anyone wakes up. When I get home I make dinner and they claim to have already had a big dinner, but throughout the night they pick at what I made. I don't get into argument's with Grandpa. When he eats out of the ice cream container, I mark a big "T" on it, and move on. When he acts rude or ungrateful, I treat him the way I did with rude guests waitressing, over-the-top-kindness (very passive aggressive, I know). And, just about every night I play therapist by talking Carol through whatever problem she's worried about. i.e. "I just knew I bough coffee the other day but it's gone", or the old stand by, "I didn't take his license but he thinks I did!" Then the day ends and we start over.

MONDAY, AUGUST 23, 2010

Today has been a little odd. When I got home Carol was in the kitchen and was a little defensive. I was quietly checking to see if there were new additions to Tom's medicine, when she asked me what I was doing. I just said I was checking to see if he took hid medicine and she told me in a very matter-of-fact tone that the calendar said he took them, so he took them. I asked her if she'd eaten and she informed me they had already eaten plenty. This doesn't sound like much, but considering she's usually over-the-top gracious when I get home, it's a little weird. I put out some food and go to the gym. When I get back I sit at the kitchen table reading and eating. Usually by this time Grandpa is long gone watching TV and Carol is in her pajamas, occasionally going into the kitchen to shut screens and eat ice cream. But, here they are in the kitchen with me. Then they are in the hallway arguing about the tiki hut (someone called earlier to say he would come by and fix it up because it looked like it needed it last time he was here... whenever that was? Tom and Carol seemed to know him). Carol says it needs to be done because it is "leaking like sieve," but Grandpa counters that he goes down there everyday and it's just fine. I don't say my opinion, which is that everything in there is so weather torn that as long as the structure is standing, I'm probably not hiding their in a hurricane anyway. Then Grandpa comes in looking for something to eat, "is this your aaacctiiiveeea?" "Yes," I say. "What is it?" "It's yogurt, like really creamy strawberry ice cream. Help yourself." I hold my tongue while he opens it by stabbing it with a fork repeatedly, then takes it to his room without any utensil at all. He comes back later, I presume for a spoon, but he opens the fridge, shuts it, looks at the picture of Jim on it and asks, "do you know my son?" I say yes, silently begging him not to ask me any more questions. This is enough for him. He nods and turns back to his room empty handed. I hear some arguing, but I don't know what about. Then Carol comes in and asks me what book I'm reading. She thinks this is wonderful. She turns around and walks away. A little while later I hear doors opening and shutting. Grandpa calls out on both porches for Carol. He comes in asking if I've seen her. I say I saw her about 15 minutes ago, and I thought she headed back to their room. He's not so sure. Something "stinks." He continues to look for her, and says he's going to call the police, after all, he says, "she never disappears. We didn't get into any augment. We NEVER argue. I don't know what this is all about." I help him look. but it doesn't take me long. She's in the office smoking a cigarette. I ask her if she's OK and she says she's not. I tell her that Tom is worried about her. She says she has to compose herself before going out. I somehow convince Grandpa that we should give it a full half-hour before alerting the authorities. She comes out about ten minutes later, and instead of being relieved, Grandpa is accusatory. "Where were you." "In the little bedroom." "No you were not." "Well, yes, I was." "Something stinks." He sits muttering swear words to himself under his breath. When it gets loud enough that I hear him say "bullshit" clearly, I ask if he's OK. "None of your god-damn business," of course. Alright, now he's ready to go to bed. Is Carol coming? No, she says she's not ready. This clearly does not please him but she's just fine eating ice cream in the kitchen. Very strange.

SATURDAY, AUGUST 21, 2010

For those of you (my family) who read that comment that random girl wrote on my last blog, I don"t know. I'm trying to keep my family informed about what"s going on down here, but I guess people are angry and need an outlet by mocking people.
Grandpa just told me to pack my bags and be gone in the morning. Why? Because I tried to get him a bowl for the ice cream because he was eating out of the container that was half full. He said he bought it and he could do whatever he pleases. I told him that I bought the ice cream. He asked how much it was, and I said I didn't mind buying ice cream for the three of us, as long as I could have some also. He said it was his house, and I said that I was living here and can he please just use a bowl so that I could have some later. This is where he really started getting angry. This is aparently not my home and I need to mind my own business. I told him I was granddaughter and can he at least not yell at me. This just set him off. "I don't care," he says, "get out of my house." Please keep the imagery in mind of my 78 (79 tomorrow) year old grandfather yelling at me that he doesn't need me telling him what to do, while he's standing in the kitchen in his white boxers.
After two bites of ice cream, he puts the carton back in the freezer, puts the spoon in the sink, turns on the water and leaves without shutting it off. I go to my room so Carol doesn't see that I'm upset by him yelling at me. Two minutes later I hear him come back in the kitchen, tell Carol that he's hungry but doesn't know what he wants. He opens the freezer and I can hear Carol ask him to put it in a bowl so everyone else can have some. He says, "I bought it so I can eat however I want." Carol wisely doesn't push the subject. I should have known not to even say anything, because Carol has been avoiding him all night and last night, telling me that he's starting in on her with everything, and she doesn't really want to talk about it. He's going to the doctor on Monday.
Carol is doing really well with taking her medicine (actually), but the bottle of wine I bought on Tuesday is half gone, and I haven't had any. She hasn't been crying that I know of, we've all just been trying to tip-toe around him. Sometimes he comes and asks me where Carol is and neither of us know. For example, right now at 7pm at night she is walking around the yard pulling down dead tree branches. He gets concerned when she's not in the room watching TV with her.
There has been some good times in the last couple days, though. In the morning when he's around we are fine, but his grasp on what we've talked about isn't as good as at night. Last night he asked me what I had planned, and I said that me and him were gonna go do some shots of tequila, which he got a kick out of. Then I told him I was going to kick-boxing class and showed him some of my moves. He told me I would get knocked out if I went up against anyone, then smiled, shook his head and went into his room.

TUESDAY, AUGUST 17, 2010

Tom's grievances against me today (in order):
-Talking too quietly
-Asking him if he wants some of the dinner I'm making, when he has already eaten (the only thing gone from the fridge appears to be doughnuts and the strawberries he was eating while I was making dinner)
-Telling him doughnuts don't count as dinner
-Asking him if he'd like me to cut his strawberries for him (he's "not a child")
-Still talking too quietly
-Offering him a beverage while I'm getting myself one
-Scooting my chair in too loudly
-Handing him his shot glass of medicine (per usual) instead of his preferred method tonight, dumping them in his hand

Tom's grievances against MauMau today (In order)
-Running away from him when he went to pet him
-Trying to get up on the counter to drink his milk
-Not coming to his chair and sitting in his lap when asked
-Getting into a fight with Toby

Tom's grievances against Carol today (the only one I witnessed)
-Not knowing where Toby was, and then when found...
-...letting him get into a fight with MauMau

SUNDAY UPDATE/SATURDAY, AUGUST 16, 2010

I posted my blog too early yesterday. So, here's what happened, in case you haven't heard. If we remember that yesterday both I and Grandpa went grocery shopping. I had gone when it was raining out, so my car was parked with the trunk closest to the garage. Grandpa came in to my room (without knocking or asking of course) and wanted me to move my car because he had to go to the grocery store... I told him I was on the phone, but I'd be out soon. He must not have believed me or remembered I said I'd be done soon, because he came in two more times in 5 minutes. I finally obliged and came out. Part one of the argument: he's mad at me for parking how I did, I'm asking him what he's going to the grocery store for because between the two of us we probably already got it today. Part two of the argument: He's telling me it's non of my "god-damn business what he's getting" and I'm asking him to stop swearing at me. That I'm trying to save him a trip if he's going to get something we already have (I don't think he even remembered what he was going to get). Part three of the argument: He's got his face a foot away from mine and is sticking his keys in my face yelling and swearing at me to move my car. I tell him I don't want to move my car if he's going to treat me that way and tell him to come inside when he's figured out a way to talk to me without swearing at me. Part four? I go inside and hear him start his car engine. I come out to see him moving my car with his car. I smack the side of his car to get him to stop. I go to move my car and when I get out I hit the side of his car again to get him to stop his car. He rolls down his driver's side window so I go around the front of his car to talk to him, but he puts it in drive and starts driving AT ME looking more angry then I've ever seen ANYONE...Until I storm inside the house and realize I'm screaming, no screeching. I hear myself, but it sounds like someone completely different. I actually catch myself thinking, "who is that woman continuously screeching 'HE TRIED TO RUN ME OVER!!!! HE TRIED TO RUN ME OVER!!! MY GRANDPA JUST AIMED HIS CAR AT ME WITH THE INTENTION OF HITTING ME!!'?" I call my Mom, but he's decided against the store and is following me around asking me what my problem is and asking to speak to her. When he gets on the phone with her he is laughing saying I've gone nuts and can she please come pick me up. I'm crying, beyond frustrated. He doesn't remember what he did, and he's LAUGHING to my mom AT ME. I take the phone in my room and he wont let me shut the door. I tell him to leave, but it's apparently his house and I can get the hell out. I try to leave my room then, but he's blocking it. Telling me I'm an idiot. Telling me to leave. Finally I get the door shut and locked and Bill calls him on their phone to lure him away from yelling at me from outside my door. Within fifteen minutes he is in his room watching TV.
I go to talk to the police to file a report, but it isn't very satisfying. He says he could take my Grandpa to jail, but neither of us wants that. He says filing a report is useless, unless I want to submit it to car insurance for the almost non existent scratches on my rear bumper. He wants to know why my grandpa even has a car and keys. Why would I put people in danger by giving him these resources. He says it's a civil dispute, and since he doesn't know if I was just saying all this to take advantage of my grandfather, he can't do much. He says since my grandpa didn't put his hands on me or Carol, that any action would probably by unnecessary. I'm just supposed to keep a record of it for lawyers to use as evidence that he isn't able to make rational decisions later. Then the police officer tells me a lovely story about how they finally decided his grandma should go to an assisted living community after she pulled a knife on his aunt. Oh, and do I know if my grandpa has access to any weapons? I sleep with my bedroom door locked and barely sleep, every time Carol comes to the kitchen for a late night snack, I'm sure it's Grandpa getting a knife. I know this is irrational.
When I went to work this morning Carol is up, but not Grandpa. When I get home from work they are just putting out left over chicken from last night. I go to my room to change and I can hear Carol telling Grandpa that I'm home from work, "whoopee," he says. My hands are shaking despite myself when I come into the kitchen to make some vegetables to go with the chicken they are eating. Since Grandpa was asking me the normal questions he asks about every afternoon, "Where did you go? Is your Ma/Bill coming down?", I decide it's OK to sit at the place setting Carol has set for me. He doesn't seem to remember at all. Besides only talking to politely respond to questions, I'm silent. After dinner I hand him his medicine where he is sitting with 2 cigarettes un-lit in his lap one lit in his mouth. He sets it to the side and I go to my room. When I come out in an hour I can't find the shot glass we put his medicine in. Me and Carol look everywhere, and finally it's found inside the pack his cigarette packs come in (does this make sense?). "He hid his medicine," I say to Carol, "No," she defends, "he just didn't know where it went." I want to believe in her sweetness, but I doubt he accidental shoved his un-taken pills in the back of a cigarette carton. I don't want to risk him yelling at me, so I ask Carol to bring him water and his medicine. I wait quietly at the door to their room as she has him take it. She comes back to the door to hand me the empty shot glass, and he notices me. "Now, what the hell is going on." I wasn't expecting this response, so I run away as I hear Carol explaining that I wanted to make sure my Grandpa was healthy so I...

SATURDAY/SUNDAY, AUGUST 14/15, 2010

Grandpa has taught me my new favorite phrase, "writing on the wall." We've been having these ten minute long conversations about how homesick I am and how my friends/boyfriend are doing stuff that makes me feel like a ghost. This is when Grandpa smiles and offers his only wisdom that may stick with me, "writing on the wall". For those who don't have interest in the melodrama of a socialite turned homebody, this is a record of how lucid Grandpa can be at the end of the day by having a semi-real conversation with him. The mornings are much worse because it's still, "What is your plan? How long are you staying? Did you know we built/planted everything on this lot? Is my daughter/Bill coming down, do you know? Jeez, someone needs to trim those trees." Then the conversation starts all over again. I'm not saying he doesn't act like a jerk 80% of the time anymore. Just today I went to get groceries after volunteering, and a monsoon started while I was in Publix. It was the type of rain that you have to pull over your car because your windshield wipers can't keep up when your going 15 miles per hour when they're at top speed. When I got home and was bringing the last bit in, completely sopping from head to toe, Grandpa was sitting in the kitchen glaring at me--not lifting a finger to help--just glaring. "What's wrong?" I ask. "What is this?" "Groceries... for us to eat..." "ooookkk." I tell him that the proper response is "thank you," thank you, thank you, thank you. I'm stupidly trying to get him to realize that snapping at someone isn't a proper response to thoughtful actions from others, we are working on this, although usually Carol makes up for it. He spends the entire time I'm putting away groceries asking me if I left any food there, talking about how wonderful the storm is. "Have you been out today?" (I'm still sopping wet) and asking me to hand him things as I take them out. Yesterday I was beginning to think that Grandpa was doing loads better, but then he put a dirty pan away in the oven (mad/embarrassed/flustered: "I thought you might need it again soon.") and when I left at 10pm last night, the garage was open, the lights were on, and he was in there in JUST HIS BOXERS looking for his keys. I asked, "you usually keep them in your pants, did you leave them in a pair of pants?" "I checked!" he snaps. "OK, well I can help you look for them tomorrow, but it's late at night, and you don't need them right now." He seemed satisfied with this answer, and today he obviously had his keys because they went to get groceries, yea, while I was volunteering and before I got groceries they got some. I swear.
As far as Carol goes, she is on top of her game. Hasn't come crying to me, but I've been gone a lot, and taking her medicine by herself. In fact, she's great at documenting it too. She'll leave the empty package with the old patch stuck to it with the date and time, so I can see that she did. I'm completely shocked.
Sorry I haven't been writing a lot lately. I've found if I'm forced to be in front of a computer for 8 hours a day, you tend to want a break.

TUESDAY/WEDNESDAY, AUGUST 10/11, 2010

Yesterday when I got home from work Grandpa and Carol had already eaten a dinner of breakfast sausages and grapes (presumably) and Carol had not only took her medicine, but gave Grandpa his medicine. Which, was good because I was a little strung out. I ordered a credit card to be sent to here, and have been living on checks for most the time I've been here. I had forgot to bring lunch to work, had no gas to get home and only about 5 dollars in change in my car. This lead to me working though lunch and only fueling myself on water. I don't know how I do this to myself. Apparently they sent the credit card I ordered to my old place in Minneapolis even though they had me jump through hoops to send it here. I'm not going to get into my never-ending battle with US Bank, let's just say I was happy that the grandparents had everything under control, sort of. When I expressed my financial concern to Carol she started asking if I thought maybe the people who had been stealing her mail out of the mailbox stole mine. They she started going on how it shouldn't have been held with her mail at the post office, but if I had time to go to the post office the next day we could check. I explained to her the situation, which was kind of heartbreaking because you hate to correct someone who is trying to help. Then Grandpa started going on about how he was going to see Bob tomorrow (his doctor). Carol asked if he had an appointment because nothing was on the calendar. He said he was just going to drive to his house. I asked him what was wrong that he wanted to go see the doctor. I knew the answer he was going to give me was, "well, it's none of your business, is it?," but I thought it was worth asking.
He didn't go today according to them. I guess it was too hot to go outside at all. There were pork chops thawing next to the sink when I got home, and for this i was truly thankful. I set to work making them, but soon Grandpa came in asking me to move my car. It was parked behind Carol so I asked why. "I want to move Carol's car out of the garage." I'm torn between wanting to continue to make dinner, spend time relaxing and the desperate need to know if he really did find Carol's keys. I get my keys out to move my car, when Grandpa goes, "Now, wait, where did they go." Carol looks at the contents of his pockets in his hand and says that they are right there, but it's another pair of Grandpa's keys. False alarm. Grandpa asks if I can move it anyway, and my exasperation with him got the better of me-"I'm in the middle of making dinner, and I just got home from work-do you think it could possibly wait?" Carol didn't help Grandpa with his medicine today, but she was once again on top of her pills.