last wishes
This definitely falls into the "crap I encounter" category.
As I left the gym, I glanced at my cell and saw the pretty blue flashing light indicating a message. There was a message from my brother, so I dialed him up and got him at the other end with a few drinks in him. We went through the normal preliminary chit-chat and then he asked me to hold while he answered his call waiting. I told him to take his call and that I would call him later in the evening. He told me it was urgent and that he would wait for my call.
I got home, had dinner, sat down to watch the boob tube and forgot to call him back. Well, I didn’t forget, I just didn’t want to talk to him while he was intoxicated. I decided to call him the next morning when he might be more coherent.
I woke in the morning and found my blue light flashing. This time, it was a message from my sister asking me to call her back. I called her and found out that our mother was hospitalized a few days ago and was in jeopardy of losing her leg due to complications from diabetes. This was her third visit to the hospital with the same ailment in three years. She lucked out the previous two times, but it didn’t look too hopeful this time.
That would explain my brother’s call.
My sister then told me that our mother discussed her "last wishes" - a one-day wake, followed by cremation, and her ashes disposed at our discretion. My sister indicated her acceptance and I told her I’d also go along with whatever our mother wanted. Then she told that there was a problem; my brother disagreed and wanted to bury our mother without her consent. I was the swing vote.
Oh ... that’s why my brother called.
I called him up and told him, since I was the tie breaker, that we would carry out our mother’s wishes. Then I asked him why was he having issues with cremations and he surprised me by telling me cremation had nothing to do with it. He wanted to deny our mother her last wishes as a “payback” for the lives we lived.
A little history: Notice that I always call our mother “our mother” and never Mom or Ma. In my lifetime, I have seen her less than twenty times. The details are sketchy, but when I was nine months old, our mother had a major breakdown and attempted to kill us, and herself, by setting the apartment on fire. Somehow, we were saved. While we were sent to Puerto Rico to be raised by our father’s mother and sisters, our mother was sent to Bellevue. Obviously, I have no memory of the incident, but my siblings do remember that night as they were six and four when it happened.
I don’t know is she was ever charged with a crime or how long she was institutionalized. Our family never told our mother to stay away, but she would only pop in for an hour every few years. To me she was just a family friend who would visit occasionally.
A few years ago, I rushed to New York to see her in the hospital as her condition was very grave. I had to introduce myself to her as she didn’t recognize me. I only stayed an hour and we struggled through the conversation. She told me that she was “sick” and had been so all of her life. When the nurse came in, with a beam in her eye, she proudly introduced me as her son. That is the only substantive memory I have of our mother.
I was surprised when I listened to my brother express his remorse about our lives. Until now, I never thought about how the mother I never knew, was taken away from them. My brother is in a different place and I hope that someday he’ll come to terms with it. One of the things he said was, “I wonder how different our lives would have been if she raised us.” Would I be different person? Most definitely! Would I be a better person? Maybe ... maybe not. But this much I do know, regardless of who raised me, I would like to think that I would never deny anyone their last wishes.
As I left the gym, I glanced at my cell and saw the pretty blue flashing light indicating a message. There was a message from my brother, so I dialed him up and got him at the other end with a few drinks in him. We went through the normal preliminary chit-chat and then he asked me to hold while he answered his call waiting. I told him to take his call and that I would call him later in the evening. He told me it was urgent and that he would wait for my call.
I got home, had dinner, sat down to watch the boob tube and forgot to call him back. Well, I didn’t forget, I just didn’t want to talk to him while he was intoxicated. I decided to call him the next morning when he might be more coherent.
I woke in the morning and found my blue light flashing. This time, it was a message from my sister asking me to call her back. I called her and found out that our mother was hospitalized a few days ago and was in jeopardy of losing her leg due to complications from diabetes. This was her third visit to the hospital with the same ailment in three years. She lucked out the previous two times, but it didn’t look too hopeful this time.
That would explain my brother’s call.
My sister then told me that our mother discussed her "last wishes" - a one-day wake, followed by cremation, and her ashes disposed at our discretion. My sister indicated her acceptance and I told her I’d also go along with whatever our mother wanted. Then she told that there was a problem; my brother disagreed and wanted to bury our mother without her consent. I was the swing vote.
Oh ... that’s why my brother called.
I called him up and told him, since I was the tie breaker, that we would carry out our mother’s wishes. Then I asked him why was he having issues with cremations and he surprised me by telling me cremation had nothing to do with it. He wanted to deny our mother her last wishes as a “payback” for the lives we lived.
A little history: Notice that I always call our mother “our mother” and never Mom or Ma. In my lifetime, I have seen her less than twenty times. The details are sketchy, but when I was nine months old, our mother had a major breakdown and attempted to kill us, and herself, by setting the apartment on fire. Somehow, we were saved. While we were sent to Puerto Rico to be raised by our father’s mother and sisters, our mother was sent to Bellevue. Obviously, I have no memory of the incident, but my siblings do remember that night as they were six and four when it happened.
I don’t know is she was ever charged with a crime or how long she was institutionalized. Our family never told our mother to stay away, but she would only pop in for an hour every few years. To me she was just a family friend who would visit occasionally.
A few years ago, I rushed to New York to see her in the hospital as her condition was very grave. I had to introduce myself to her as she didn’t recognize me. I only stayed an hour and we struggled through the conversation. She told me that she was “sick” and had been so all of her life. When the nurse came in, with a beam in her eye, she proudly introduced me as her son. That is the only substantive memory I have of our mother.
I was surprised when I listened to my brother express his remorse about our lives. Until now, I never thought about how the mother I never knew, was taken away from them. My brother is in a different place and I hope that someday he’ll come to terms with it. One of the things he said was, “I wonder how different our lives would have been if she raised us.” Would I be different person? Most definitely! Would I be a better person? Maybe ... maybe not. But this much I do know, regardless of who raised me, I would like to think that I would never deny anyone their last wishes.
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