A ways back kid2, now a grown-ass adult, said, “Mom, you gotta get a substack.” So she made me an account, and I planned to youtube/google the shit outta it and figure out how to ride this thing. I had every intention of jumping back into my writing life, until life (or death) grabbed the reins and said, woah there sistah, I ain’t done with you yet.
So if you’re wondering what’s up since the dead dad of years ago, here’s a short shopping list of what’s been happening:
Rather attractive (ex) husband moved to FL “for work.”
Join a gym. Work out like a motherfucker.
Favorite aunt diagnosed and dead.
Dog died, pandemic hit.
Husband doesn’t call, text, or come home.
Menopause.
Younger, non-smoker, non-drinker sister 3 states away doesn’t get covid, instead gets terminal diagnosis.'
Rather attractive husband (RAH for old time readers) of 34 years texts me to expect divorce papers, adding, he already told the kids; “they understand.”
Turn off phone. Got to bed. For days.
Get back-up dog just in case old-as-fuck accessory dog dies.
Go to gym. Beats crying (not really).
Kid4 graduates college. First time seeing husband in months.
Little sister dies an ugly, inhumane, unfair death.
Future ex-husband tells me to sell the house. Me. Solo. Empty, repair, prep, stage, find realtor, sell. I beg him to do it; lawyer says no, my job. I beg to stay until pain-in-the-ass mother dies; then sell. Denied.
Go to gym. Beats drinking (almost).
Our house sold; beloved community left.
Couch surf at alive sister’s house; find barely-affordable airbnb (beautiful, unheated fishing cottage).
Employer of 7 years lets me go with no notice. “Sorry, you’re really great, but ….”
Divorced via zoom. All > middle-aged white men tell me 8 years of alimony, despite 34 year marriage, because, “no judge will make a man work past age 65 – maybe 67.”
Go to gym. Smile. Nod. Sweat. (beats murder)
Find new remote gig!
Submit a couple essays, thinking I just might be okay.
Caregiver to elderly pain-in-the-ass, difficult mother, who says re above husband: “Why is Kathy ruining her life?”
Run fabulous Newtown realtor ragged looking for a place to live. Make 14 offers, outbid by 100+k or chased off property by current owners during inspection.
Quit gym. Can’t afford it.
Elderly mother gets shoulder replaced; alive sister and I tag team caregiving, both wishing we/she were hit by a train instead.
Find condo, offer accepted, buy it, move in and within a month, receive 4 letters from HOA about breaking rules.
Rejoin gym. Necessary expense. (beats dying)
Bestie convinced to get BRCA gene surgery to save her life, and mine.
Kid2 gets engaged!
RAxH gets engaged!
Take elderly asshole mother to Denver for engagement party (kid2’s not RAxH); she has trouble breathing due to altitude. Nearly shove her down flight of stairs; probably should have.
Take elderly mother to South Carolina for niece's wedding. Still can’t breathe. Is miserable and vocal. Abusive.
RAxH lives not in Florida, but in a gated North Carolina golf community with new fiancé, boat, truck, dog. Poor thing.
I get new neighbors: heroine dealer(s); addicts next door were okayish, but traffic due to dealers very disturbing. Then frightening. HOA more concerned about the fan in my window.
Miserable mother goes to ER, berates EMTs and calls volunteer fire department to lodge official complaint. Also berates ER staff for uncomfortable beds and slow response time.
Miserable mother has “suspicious nodule in left lung” which she argues is “chicken disease” from growing up on chicken farm.
Kid2 wants to go wedding dress shopping. In Denver.
It is not chicken disease.
Alive sister and I know this from experience: dead dad, dead aunt, dead sister; miserable mother does not.
Constant revolving door of doctors, hospital, home, ER, doctors, visiting nurses, ER, doctors, surgery, scans, nursing homes, PT, insurance negotiations — all with miserable, defiant, uncompliant, mean patient — for 8 months.
Part-time (adult) daughter has a baby! Scary, pre-term, pre-clampsia.
I am not there; I am on 11th floor, Danbury Hospital, again, trying desperately to get miserable terminal mother appropriate pain meds. Again.
Alive sister loses her job and housing due to caregiving.
Kid1 home burns to the ground. I cannot go to her; I am pulling puke out of my mother’s throat.
Bribe/conjole/negotiate with oncologist, pulmonologist, palliative, nursing home, PT, OT, visiting nurse, friends, insurance, bill pay.
Lose.
Miserable mother dies long, inhumane, horrific death no one deserves. Not even her.
Go to gym. Cry in exhaustion. (beats nursing home smell)
Childhood home filled to rafters with hess trucks and fabric must be emptied, cleaned, sold.
Kid2 gets married; beautiful bride, fabulous groom, funnest party. I give a speech. Ex brings fiancé. I introduce myself and throw up in the bathroom.
Childhood home listed on market. First time in 100 years no Mayers will live on Harmony Hill Road.
Ex-husband texts he is out of work and will no longer pay alimony. (Must have seen the zillow listing)
Redo budget. Not quitting gym.
Friends text me, asking about a new realtor in North Carolina I used to be married to.
Rinse repeat.
Leaving a lot out, but that’s why this substack was established, then abandoned. But I need to write, like I need to work out, and now that folks are dead and divorced, filter may be off.
In case you were wondering.
Whoa. That is a LOT. So glad you are writing again.
I was wondering. This list of reasons made me read to the end. You're going to be okay, barring any new "learning experiences." You've learned enough...