Looking at the end.

Mom's email this morning says her friend, Libba, has been told she's got about 3-6 months. Libba is a cranky old trouble-causing bitch but I'm able to round up some sympathy because she's been a pretty good friend to Mom and because she, herself, is no where near - even at 85 - ready to die.

Mother and Daddy moved into the 'home'. In February of 1999. For the year before when they were deciding and then planning for it, Daddy called it the 'club' and got all cranky when Mom called it the 'home'. But, move in, they did. Daddy immediately set to work getting the dinner hour extended so that he could have more time in the bar visiting with everyone. To this day, dinner now ends at 8 instead of 7.

In August of 1999, Daddy had a heart attack one Sunday night. By Friday he was dead. I stayed with Mom an extra week after everyone else had left to help get her organized. One afternoon, one of the few people they knew there called and asked us to have dinner with them. Liz had spent much of her married life in Winston-Salem where Mom and Daddy did so they knew a lot of the same people. Liz had gathered Ursula and Libba for dinner, too. Mom had met the other two before but only briefly.

It was a nice dinner but mainly it was clear that Liz and Libba and Ursula were adopting Mom and would take care of her. And they did. Liz died about a year later and Ursula never did warm up to Mom or she her so they just kind never got too far friendship-wise, but Libba stuck like glue.

She and Mom, for several years, were, as they say "tight as ticks". Mom will tell you today that she could have never gotten through those first few years without Daddy if it weren't for Libba. (Libba's own Otis had died about a decade ago.)

But, Libba is really annoying. She is miserable. I suspect she has been miserable all her life. I know she has been miserable as long as I've known her. Nothing is ever ever ever to her satisfaction. She hates Charleston, she hates the woman who does her hair, she has never liked her doctor. The people that run the 'home' have no idea what they are doing. Her children never call or visit (no mystery there!). Her knees hurt, her hands hurt. You get the gist.

None of this bothered Mom much at all. She cut right through it all and found the good Libba bits. (I often wondered if Mom - who has always been able to find the sunny side of anything and everything - wasn't kind of envious sometimes of Libba's ability to wallow in misery. Or maybe she was just intrigued watching it.)

Among the many things that Libba would not tolerate was any discussion of her moving to the assisted living wing where Mom is now. "I'll die first," she said about a bascillion times. Two weeks ago she just hadn't felt well in a while and couldn't get ahold of her doctor so went to the emergency room and they admitted her. Earlier in the week she told Mom they were going to amputate her toe so she would never walk again and would now have to move into assisted living.

This morning, Libba's daughter called Mom to tell her that tests revealed that her heart wasn't going to last more than a few months. They've called in hospice and, apparently, are going to let her stay in her apartment and not even go into the nursing wing. But, for sure, she's going to have bypassed assisted living. Wonder if she will be able to get any joy out of outfoxing 'the man.'

Mom has not spent much time with Libba this past year. They talk on the phone now and again but rarely see each other. Still I think Mom is going to feel the loss of Libba so I'm more than a little grateful that they have time to say goodbye.

Looking at the end.

Mom's email this morning says her friend, Libba, has been told she's got about 3-6 months. Libba is a cranky old trouble-causing bitch but I'm able to round up some sympathy because she's been a pretty good friend to Mom and because she, herself, is no where near - even at 85 - ready to die.

Mother and Daddy moved into the 'home'. In February of 1999. For the year before when they were deciding and then planning for it, Daddy called it the 'club' and got all cranky when Mom called it the 'home'. But, move in, they did. Daddy immediately set to work getting the dinner hour extended so that he could have more time in the bar visiting with everyone. To this day, dinner now ends at 8 instead of 7.

In August of 1999, Daddy had a heart attack one Sunday night. By Friday he was dead. I stayed with Mom an extra week after everyone else had left to help get her organized. One afternoon, one of the few people they knew there called and asked us to have dinner with them. Liz had spent much of her married life in Winston-Salem where Mom and Daddy did so they knew a lot of the same people. Liz had gathered Ursula and Libba for dinner, too. Mom had met the other two before but only briefly.

It was a nice dinner but mainly it was clear that Liz and Libba and Ursula were adopting Mom and would take care of her. And they did. Liz died about a year later and Ursula never did warm up to Mom or she her so they just kind never got too far friendship-wise, but Libba stuck like glue.

She and Mom, for several years, were, as they say "tight as ticks". Mom will tell you today that she could have never gotten through those first few years without Daddy if it weren't for Libba. (Libba's own Otis had died about a decade ago.)

But, Libba is really annoying. She is miserable. I suspect she has been miserable all her life. I know she has been miserable as long as I've known her. Nothing is ever ever ever to her satisfaction. She hates Charleston, she hates the woman who does her hair, she has never liked her doctor. The people that run the 'home' have no idea what they are doing. Her children never call or visit (no mystery there!). Her knees hurt, her hands hurt. You get the gist.

None of this bothered Mom much at all. She cut right through it all and found the good Libba bits. (I often wondered if Mom - who has always been able to find the sunny side of anything and everything - wasn't kind of envious sometimes of Libba's ability to wallow in misery. Or maybe she was just intrigued watching it.)

Among the many things that Libba would not tolerate was any discussion of her moving to the assisted living wing where Mom is now. "I'll die first," she said about a bascillion times. Two weeks ago she just hadn't felt well in a while and couldn't get ahold of her doctor so went to the emergency room and they admitted her. Earlier in the week she told Mom they were going to amputate her toe so she would never walk again and would now have to move into assisted living.

This morning, Libba's daughter called Mom to tell her that tests revealed that her heart wasn't going to last more than a few months. They've called in hospice and, apparently, are going to let her stay in her apartment and not even go into the nursing wing. But, for sure, she's going to have bypassed assisted living. Wonder if she will be able to get any joy out of outfoxing 'the man.'

Mom has not spent much time with Libba this past year. They talk on the phone now and again but rarely see each other. Still I think Mom is going to feel the loss of Libba so I'm more than a little grateful that they have time to say goodbye.