Mr Mom

In a few days I'll be bent over a desk, signing a pile of paper work giving me power of attorney and become a healthcare proxy. Once again, and again and again, I'll be clothed with such powers. It's nothing new to me! I've become pretty good at living my life plus another's. The shit hasn't hit the fan yet but like all prudent people, you lay plans in advance before the the excrement starts flying across the room.

Ever live two lives? I've been doing it since I was thirteen, not that I wanted it. These things are thrust upon you by virtue of dumb luck and circumstance. When my Dad passed, my Mom was in no condition to cope with that. I learned quick at thirteen on how to cut checks for bills, shop and play armchair psychologist to a 46 year old. At the same time I was trying to be a young teen which meant riding my bike, trying Jaquin's Blackberry Brandy for the first time (it's sugary crap!), sucking on a joint for the first time and learning that that thing between my legs would become a better toy than any I played with before. As I look up, past the ceiling to heaven and halfheartedly apologize a bit to him, I say this: My brother, with a sense of self preservation, split from that whole scene and left me holding the bag back in 1977.

Now that I remember it, I stepped into her life three separate times to manage it, the final time we were dealing with breast cancer and emphysema. Then I got to do it again with my brother when his health headed south. You count pills, set Dr's appointments, calm them down when chronic illness inflates the worst part of their personalities and then finally, you get to pick out a coffin.

Living two lives is doable but you sacrifice a huge part of your own, yet you don't really see the sacrifice, not at the moment really. It's only in hindsight that you see how much you really did put out, of yourself to another. Christ, talk about a near pathological devotion to Edwardian Etiquette. “Oh, please allow ME to help!”

I find it odd that many times, in comparison, my health was far stronger than the ones I did know. Not that I'm braying. I feel every bit of 50 years old and I continue to steep my body and teeth in Coca Cola. Even so, I was in situations where I alone had the stamina to bail out the boat. So I bailed. By the way, you get no medals for this.

Do I feel like a Saint? Mother Theresa? Not by a fuckin' mile. This is something you are required to do w/o compensation whatsoever. I've never believed you racked up points with the Big Guy by doing these things. By default you should be doing this anyway.

There's a song I've heard a zillion times without really paying attention to the lyrics much. The Doobie Brother's “Long Train Running” has got me to thinking once again.

Down around the corner

A half a mile from here

You see them old trains runnin'

And you watch them disappear.

Without love

Where would you be now?

You know I saw Miss Lucy

Down along the tracks.

She lost her home and her family

And she won't be comin' back.

Without love

Where would you be now?

Simply it comes down to this: You try to keep those closest to you from being fucked. And if they're fucked anyway, you try to ease it as much as possible.

So, where's my macaroni and paste and glitter Mother's Day gift?