Kyle was flown to his ship Thursday. I’ve not heard from him since, and here I am keeping myself company.
Thursday and Friday were both bummers because of this, but also because I had midterm exams as well as an experiment to do that was not going well (and to which I resolutely return tomorrow).
Saturday I managed to reach my mother by telephone. Again I am questioning the value of her psychiatric care. Is a patient better off if he or she feels better but no longer makes choices as rationally as before?
You see, my mother–after years of “forbidding” me from the other side of the country to get a motorcycle, went out, and without a motorcycle license or even training, bought a motorcycle.
She crashed it into a tree on her way out of the dealership and sustained multiple injuries, including two broken bones, necessitating surgery.
Where is Kyle when I need him? Only he understands how I feel, especially after having met my mother.
I am grateful that my mother has access to quality healthcare, has a loving husband to serve as her caretaker, and… you know… she lived! But I am exasperated. She’s lost it. She has bloody lost it.
Of course she did teach me basic human decency growing up, so I could not even express any of this to her. Of course with her new pins and screws in her body, road rash, bruises, etc., she is suffering enough, and I wouldn’t dream of telling her how I feel about it all. But I do have strong feelings. When did my mother turn into such a hypocrite? Who told her any aspect of her decision to purchase a motorcycle was not stupid?
Anyway, our conversation didn’t last long. As usual, she told me the latest drama of her life–which indeed was quite dramatic this time–and shortly thereafter felt the need to go.
I am hesitant to compare her to my grandmother, who was absolutely horrible to her, but I do think of it now. One of the reasons I never got to know my grandmother was that she seemed to have zero interest in me or even my mother. She also took anti-depressants and other medicines. Were they the same as my mother’s? I don’t know. But maybe it is simply a side effect of some of these drugs that one becomes less interested in listening. I don’t know. I only wish if my mother did not care about my life, she would stop pretending she does.
Saturday I also aggravated an old running injury, spent some time outside under the shade of some wonderful trees, and did some reading and writing. It was mostly very sad and frustrated.
This morning I volunteered at the ER as usual, and it was a good though bittersweet morning. At least I know I have a soul. But I have written about that in a place dedicated to my experiences in the hospital.
When I got home, I called my father. Sometimes he is off the wall, truly, and I don’t know what to even say. Often however, he still teaches me things. It’s insane. My father is not the most talkative person, and it is a shame because he has a wealth of practical knowledge. History too. We spent a lot of time talking about weather and politics, a little time on relatives, etc. I told him I would certainly not vote for Trump, but that I was not entirely supportive of Clinton either, especially after the FBI’s findings were released.
And Dad promptly convinced me to vote for Clinton. I won’t go through his arguments, but most significantly, he told me he would do so if he could–“but I’m a felon so I have no business talking about it.”
W H A T ? !
I didn’t feel right asking him what felony he’d been convicted of. I had no idea. Does this mean my father’s been to prison? All this time I thought he didn’t vote because he lacked faith in the system or something. This must have been 30+ years ago!
I mean, let me be as clear as possible: I don’t give a shit at all. My father has worked hard and given me all he could. He is knowledgeable and intelligent and funny. He has integrity–and for all his flaws and sins, I don’t know of lying, cheating, or stealing ever being one. I know of a thing or two both of my parents have done in violation of the law. Now what the hell and when my father was caught, charged, and convicted with a felony, perhaps I’ll never know. But it does change my opinion of him… only for the better.
Now I know he had an additional struggle I never knew of. I have long thought it wrong that people who’ve served their time should still be unable to vote. I have long thought it is hard enough to find a job, how much harder it must be for people who have made bad mistakes during youth. I never knew my father was one of these people.
I feel like when I learned about the suffragettes. How could a woman not vote? How could she not vote when her foremothers had to fight so long and hard to win her that right? But now, here I was thinking of throwing my vote away on a third party or abstaining from voting for president in November… when my father would vote, but he can’t! How could I not?
Like Dad said: we don’t want that nut job having the nuclear codes.
Say what you will about Hillary Clinton. I guess… I’m with her.
Ahhh, I have so much to write about, but I need to get things prepared for tomorrow and get to bed. I miss my dad. I wish he lived closer. I miss my mom, too, but I don’t think she’s appreciate my company like my dad would. Things are just different with her now. Besides, she has my stepfather and brother. As for my dad, he and Kyle haven’t even met yet. God only know how that will go, but they are my favorite people … and isn’t there something wrong with life when you spend so much of it away from your favorite people? Then again, I don’t like that many people, and even fewer of them like me, so maybe I should not think too generally. Who knows?