I was called in October ‘04 by my sister. She said that our mom was in the hospital and may be operated on soon. This operation will either extend her life for a short time or end it much sooner. I was never told what she was suffering from except it had to with the lower abdominal region. I was confused that I wasn’t even aware of this as I spoke to her at least weekly for about an hour for the past several years. We had a joke about this. I told her that calling her was free. What I further explained is that it was already paid for and that if I didn’t use the minutes, I would just lose them. Already Paid For = Free She was confused how I made that leap in logic. She didn’t have a cell phone or computer. Imagine!
My brothers and I flew out Thursday afternoon, October 28 to Richmond, California. A friend of Dara’s, Donald, picked us up at the airport. We went to the hospital right away to visit. There we met Dara and talked about what was going on. She drove up from Fresno where she and Bridgette lived. We all met with the doctor only to find she already had the operation and it wasn’t good. We started talking hospice which is probably the first time I heard of it. After visiting our mom, we went to dinner where we discussed this next move. It was a lot for me to take in but Dara had been made the executor of mom’s estate so we followed her lead. My brothers and I stayed at our mother’s townhouse. It was pretty nice.
I wanted to visit my friends in SF but felt this visit had more to do with our mom and a lot less to do with my need to play catch up. I also tabled talking to her about a medical problem that had started with me about six months ago. She was on some pain medication so all that seemed important was for her to be comfortable.
When she was moved across the street to the hospice, we would visit for a few hours, then let her rest for a few hours, then return and visit some more. I could tell she was not comfortable and not liking the dependency. She had always been very independent so now that comfort zone was gone.
We left Sunday and finally got home that evening. Ten days later, Dara called my cell phone and left me a message that our mom had passed. What irritated me is that’s what she left on the voicemail. She didn’t say to call her back. That I felt would’ve been more appropriate.
I sure miss our weekend chats. When I would be in a quandary, I would call her. Now there’s not really anyone to call.
As Dara was the executor, all we wanted (or expected) from her is an accounting of our mom’s estate. The assets we knew about were townhouse, car, jewelry and bank account. We had no idea if there were other assets like an insurance policy. We also knew our mother had co-signed a loan for Dara’s home in Fresno (where she lived with Bridgette) but I don’t believe any of us boys considered that an asset to be divided up as that was an agreement she and mom had.
We never did get that accounting and her evasiveness has estranged all of us. Hopefully that can be repaired someday.
