Break out: the 91 year old fugitive

DATELINE: November 11, 2020; from Lady Proverbs, somewhere on the Oregon Coast.

So Dementia Mom broke out of her care facility today, literally. Broke through a screen in another person’s empty room. She ran to an apartment complex next door, in the dark, the cold. Shouldn’t provide a lot of details about the poor thing, but she thought she and the entire facility were being poisoned. She had another trip to the hospital and they are checking her out.

Yowsa! Our first family fugitive! And the day had been going so well. I had a long walk on the beach and pondered how to keep myself calm when Dem Mom and all of the other moving parts in our life rear up and punch me in the gut. Husband is a philosopher scholar. He talks me through the process of how not to internalize worry. It looks so good on paper. And I was actually achieving it today! Sun was out, the world was beautiful, we’re changing to a new rental (until our new pre-fab done) after rats, flood and a landlord who I can’t even go into or this will be biblical in length is on our case when we should be on hers. Things are flipping on their fucking heads right now.

Practice your calming breathing, Lady P. And then there’s edibles. Administer when needed.

I was the go-to kid for 911 calls. Dad fell, dad fell again, dad had a stroke, dad has cancer. So many drives to doctor’s appointments, transporting him and his pain and Mom suffering because her Love is suffering.

Now he’s gone. And she’s kind of gone too. It’s like her dementia waited patiently, not showing itself too much, until Dad was gone and then it snuck out a little bit and then fucking broke through the gate and ambushed poor Mama Bear. Li’l sis managing this fugitive chapter tonight. Being two hours away makes those midnight runs to the ER not too easy anymore. Sibs taking turns learning the hard way that Mama Bear has gone into hibernation, permanently, and left her fear and illness behind.

She ain’t there no more. I mourned her a few days with choking tears and wails that reared up and smacked me. It was a death cry, the kind I only have done at deaths of those I loved. God damn it.

P.S. – And on a totally different note, it’s Veterans’ Day, husband is a vet, love to vets and their families.

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