Well, well, well, it's Friday. My husband got a call from a stranger and we can't yet verify if he was actually speaking to the person that the screen said was calling. We'll wait on that.
So, what I would like to talk about today is old age and bad decisions and a slight bit of possible dementia.
This story is about my Dad. My Mom was in a nursing home when this happened.
The first thing I would like to say about my Dad, is this... he was a highly intelligent man who had beliefs and concepts that were at times 'at war' with himself because he had, mainly, lived in small 'cloistered' communities where 'backwards and odd' behaviour is sometimes hidden and possibly approved of.
I believe the culprit of most of Dad's strange decisions, from his years of 90- 93, in age, came from his potato chips and cola diet. Unfortunately, he much preferred a yukky potato chip variety to a good homemade meal.
About 7 years ago... I'm not totally sure of the year... I was single... Dad was alone... my children were all busy on Christmas Day. So, I guess Bruce was already dead... that could have, then been, 2022 Christmas. I made a entire meal of meat, potatoes, gravy... and brought it to Dad for us to share on Christmas Day. Dad was a very generous man so he didn't really like 'taking' without 'giving.' He went to the pantry and got his 'potato chips' and put them on the table along with the hot meal I had prepared. We prayed and the repast was enjoyed... "Don't you like these?" Dad said with a 'Help yourself' smile. I smiled, and said, "I like real potatoes and gravy and meat, like this," I put some on his plate.
The reason I tell this small story is that... Dad was much more able to think clearly when he ate good, nutritious food. I am a very strong believer... in many ways... in the area of food and the brain, I believe that food is the best medicine and the most important medicine.
Now, fast-forward to the summer of 2023... Dad and Sara, thought it would be a great idea if I moved into Dad's house to help him, in particular, drive him around. That is, definitely, what Dad requested of me.
So, my son and I got a bunch of my 'stuff' together,...
after Restall and Restall law firm sent a letter to 3 Donegal Bay, telling me that I would be paid a paltry sum of $10,000.00 if I moved out of that house that Bruce and I shared. I had no intention of only getting that small amount of money because, when Bruce was alive, he said that half the house was mine... so, when he died, and I had invested in the property with sweat equity and almost $10,000.00 worth of bills I still have in photocopies... I assumed the entire house would be mine because I used my personal money to renovate the basement. The only reason I moved out of that address was because a very nasty man turned the water off, to 3 Donegal Bay, at the corner of London and Donegal. I saw him do it one day but I did not know who the man was.
I have never signed off on that estate and I have never received anything even though I did sent a copy of all my purchases to Restall and Restall, as Martin McKaughan, Bruce's brother, requested I do.
Now, back to my one day move to my Dad's house, 17 Chevy Drive.
Most of my belongings had to go into a storage unit and what I brought with me, to Dad's, was supposed to be 'enough' to get me through the time I might have to serve there.
Well, things did not go very well when we started to unload my kitchen stuff and then... I was going to unload my gardening boxes but, woah, those went right back to Winnipeg when Dad said... "As soon as I die, you will have to get out of this house immediately so the family can divide the money from it."
I looked at Dad and said, "We'll take most of my stuff back to Winnipeg."
So, my son was there to 'follow my lead' because Mom and Dad didn't spend very much time with my children... dinners at 90 Forest Cove Drive... when I invited, especially for our personal celebrations of Thanksgiving.
So, that one day... I put my little black Baroque style upholstery button- tufted tub chair on the boulevard. The woman, across the street came to get it. Dad asked if I got money for it... I said no.
When my son was safely on his way back to Winnipeg with much of my stuff going back, Dad pointed to one drawer in his kitchen and said, "You can put your stuff here."
I looked at him to see if he was serious and it seemed he was so I didn't say too much but I wondered if he realized that I had been cooking for quite a few people in life and I brought all my kitchen stuff there, thinking that I would be cooking for him every day.
Things really did not go well when I said I would be getting the Internet while I was there. Dad, basically, said, 'when hell freezes over... nobody is ever putting that devil's tool into my house, 17 Chevy Drive."
So, I had a nap and then took my mattress and went back to Winnipeg before nightfall. I still had plenty to move back because I had brought quite a bit to 'be busy' while I was there.
By the Wednesday, Dad called to apologize by saying... "I just can't have things the way you live because I am old and I need things to be like I want them. I was so shocked at all the stuff you brought for the kitchen, I just couldn't imagine trying to change my lifestyle for how you were used to living."
I said, "That's okay, Dad. We don't have to live differently than each of us wants to. I will come get all the stuff I brought there and visit you like I have been doing."
So, to synopsize, I can't live in 'one room' in anybody's house as a grown woman, of just over sixty, who has raised three sons to adulthood, been divorced due to a very contrary difference of opinion with their father, as to how a person should live. I was not willing to cope with his alcoholism. The having my next 'husband' drop dead. Then being forced from my home. Then trying to help Dad. Then, finally, finding another place to live, not a happy one... and, in all this time... losing all my retirement money in terrible rentals.
So, this information is for those who haven't bothered to keep up with all the tragedies I have lived through.
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