My mom, as I wrote in the previous blog, was a physician. She generally took care of herself physically, she altered her and my dad's diet as they got older to generally more healthy foods, and she never got sick - no cold or flu - rarely ever. The one time I remember I was young, and she went away to a conference. She had laryngitis, and when it was my turn to talk to her on the phone, I couldn't hear her. I remember getting mad and putting the phone down. I know I was really young, and slim chance I ever apologized for that, but I remember this incident and it is hurtful.
My mom was very caring and worked hard and was deeply religious to a fault. I always blamed the catholic church for her never divorcing my dad. Whenever they got into ugly fights I always prayed that they would get a divorce, but it never happened. My mom stayed, and she stuck by my dad. My dad is hard of hearing, and I think this plays a major role in his BPD, as paranoia can be a common trait among the hard of hearing. My mom interpreted for my dad, and she covered up for him, and she smoothed over his outbursts in public. She never would have suggested he see a psychiatrist - that just wasn't even an option.
When I got older, my visits to them became less frequent. Besides having to buy the plane ticket and taking time off from work, I didn't relish the thought of being trapped in that old dusty allergy ridden house, with no working air conditioning in central Florida. And of course, being trapped with my dad, who after a day or two of seeing me, would always start to get annoyed with me or lecture me for hours on end about stocks and other things I didn't care about. My sister who lives in Florida would visit about once a month, and my other sister called my mom almost daily. But not me. My mom took the brunt of all my dad's rages. And she intervened between my dad and me and my sisters. Luckily, she had lots of friends and priests she could talk to, and she went to church every day and prayed.
The last year of my mom's life, my parents had finally decided to build a new house. Their front facade of the house needed repairs, and the city was going to fine them thousands of dollars if they didn't fix it. So, then, they decided to just rebuild. Oh, they looked at other properties in the communities with the cookie cutter houses and the manicured lawns and community. But, my dad, in his detective engineer role, discovered that one of the communities was built on an old phosphate mine site. So, the story as goes, that my dad asked my mom, "Do you still want to buy one of these houses?" And she answered with a resounding "No!"
So, they set about to build on their existing property. They interviewed contractor after contractor. They hired one, then fired him and hired another. The property was actual two adjacent lots, so they were only permitted to build on one side of the property, leaving the other side empty. My dad insisted that my parents buy a lot of the appliances and stuff, so he could get exactly what he wanted at the price he wanted. Perfection. He was always seeking perfection in a way that he thought it was attainable. To the point, that he wouldn't be able to look at the project as a whole, because he couldn't find the right towel bars or hood for the stove.
When they wrecked the old house, my parents had to find somewhere to stay while the house was being built. They asked one of their friends if they could stay in her old vacant house, but she said it needed too much work. So, they ended up renting a spare room from one of my mom's church friends. She was very particular, as anyone who lives alone for any period of time can get. She had to watch her TV shows and she didn't like my mom's Philippine food, so my mom would cook American style food for all three of them. Of course, my dad didn't like watching the "stories" and he prefers Philippine food to American food always. So, this living situation was cause for tension and stress and anger. And I'm sure, the fact that my mom was changing her cooking to appease someone else must have made my dad jealous or feel neglected. What about his needs (preferences)?
Sometime during this displacement, my parents discovered the hot dogs at Sam's. They would be at the building site all day, or running around looking for fixtures, so they probably decided to grab a bite at the snack bar. Cheap hot dogs. They could both eat a whole meal for under $5. And those hot dogs were addicting to them. So, I think many factors were making my mom's health decline. I later learned that her physician had advised her to take Coumadin but she refused to because of the risks involved and the side effects.
So, the house was near complete. It should have been done, but my dad was always stalling the progress by changing his mind and making them reinstall something, or by not deciding on something else, so they couldn't move forward with that phase. My parents had just moved to another house. They were staying with my mom's friend, whose deceased husband was my mom's patient. My mom was cooking dinner, when suddenly, she felt dizzy, she fell back, and the last thing she said was, "Having stroke." They called 911 and rushed her to the hospital. I got a call later on, from my sister who lives in Florida. It was unreal. It was a shock. Not my mom.
My other sister, upon hearing the news, said, "I want to kill him." I didn't say it, but I thought the same thing - my dad did this to my mom.
It's been over a year since my mom's passing away. She lost a lot of weight the several months leading to her stroke. She was stressed out. Undertaking a new building project is a strain at any age, but when one partner has to be involved in every single nail that goes into the house, every brush stroke, it can be taxing, especially at an older age. This time was supposed to be my parents' golden years, the relaxing retirement. I can't help but think there could have been a different situation to prevent my mom's premature demise.
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