Another Long Dark Night of the Soul

Last night, for me, was the low point for me with my mom.

Things started out okay when I picked her up and took her to Kaitlyn's (my niece and her granddaughter) basketball game at Overton High School.  It was slow going at first, as my mom had misplaced her purse and it's just a chore to get her out her apartment at Maristone, downstairs and into my truck.  We made it to the game as the first quarter was ending.

She sat between Gary (my brother-in-law) and me on the first row of the bleachers and watched the game intently.  Other than being a little too intense and thinking every foul should have been called on Antioch High School - which is actually the way she always has been when watching one of us play sports - she was fine.

Things began to go downhill when I was driving her home after the game, as darkness fell.

As an aside, sunset is when my mom seems to get the most confused and rattled.  It's called "Sundowner's Syndrome."  It's apparently pretty common among people who have Alzheimer's or other forms of dementia.  Like so much of what she's dealing with, it sucks, plain and simple.

I picked up dinner for the two of us at Brockton's in Cool Springs, so we could eat at her place and watch the end of the Tennessee-Nebraska game (Music City Bowl).  She became more confused when we arrived at Maristone and I helped her inside.  She didn't understand why she would be spending the night there and argued with me about it.  Then, she told another resident that she was only staying the night and would be going back to her house the next morning.

As we walked into her apartment on the second floor and I began to help her get settled in, she asked me if I was going to stay the night.  She hadn't done that in a while.  "Of course not," I replied.  "I have family at home, including JP and Joe, who need me to be there when they go to sleep."

Stunned, my mom looked at me with grief - not sadness, but pure, unadulterated grief on her face.  She was on the verge of tears.

"Does anyone else know?" she asked plaintively.

"Does anyone else know what?"  I responded.

"That we're getting divorced." she said, her voice quivering with emotion.  "Does any of the rest of the family know?  Grandmother.  Sue (her sister).  Ann (her sister).

My heart sank.  "Mom, we're not married.  I'm your son.  I was born in Bakersfield in 1966.  Tracy is your daughter.  She was born in 1968 in Vista, California.  Your husband - my dad - was Howard Newman.  He died in 1971 and we moved back to Tennessee."  My voice was fraught with emotion, as I tried desperately to convince her of the true nature of our shared history.

"I didn't birth you," she continued.  "Does the family know we're getting a divorce?"

"Mom, Grandmother, Sue and Ann are dead.  Tracy, Alice and I are your family."  Practically pleading with her, I said, "you were the best mother ever!  You did everything for the three of us."

She looked right at me, still stunned but with a look on he face that confirmed in her mind, she was getting this news for the first time.  She was heartbroken and refused to eat.  When I asked why, she said "Why do you think?  I've never heard any of this before you told me."  One last time, she asked "we're not married?"

"No," I replied.  "We're not."

My mom just stared down at the food on her tray.

There's more, but I just can't relive it right now.  I told her goodbye, then left and drove home on the verge of tears.  Angry, hopeless and as sad as I have ever been in my life.

Happy New Year.  2016 was bad, but 2017 is going to be worse.