Being There


Anyone who knows much about me knows that I’m a compulsive viewer of the ID channel.  I will admit to having a Nancy Drew Mentality, if that makes sense.  I love mysteries, and am working on a couple, myself.  There is a thread you see going through so many tales where a member of a family ends up either dead or having done something dastardly.  They have reached out to family, usually a mother, who just can’t be bothered picking them up or dealing with their current situation – or something to that effect.

I had an amazing father.  My sister and I could call him at two in the morning, hours away, for help.  If he could not get there, himself, he would make sure someone else did.  I remember when I was dealing with a break-down on the other side of the country.  He was on the phone with the garage owner, trying to figure out the problem.

If a person isn’t going to be like this as a parent – of adult children, then they shouldn’t have them, to begin with.  We need to understand the difference between normal situations and things which are far from ‘normal’.  There are people who can’t get their act together, or need help.  One of the most horrible stories I heard was a young woman who kept begging her mother for help.  Her mother just didn’t have time.  The young woman ended up tortured and horribly butchered.  The mother had no remorse.  Had she just taken the time to go out of her busy day to help her daughter, she would be alive.

When one brother killed another, and the Lord went looking for Able, Cain asked if he was his brother’s keeper.  Yes, he is.  Yes we are.  We are our family’s keepers.  We are responsible for one another.

There are so many times when people are trying to tell us something and we don’t listen.  We think everything is great, and it isn’t.  The problem is the fact that we never know what is going on in someone’s head, the problems they are experiencing.  So many people never say a word.

I don’t mind admitting I’m going through hell.  I’ve been going through financial hell since 2010 to the point where I’m basically falling apart.  I’m nearly destitute.  I’ve been in the process of moving out of the condo where I’ve lived for nearly 20 years due to HOA fees.  The money I could have used to pay those fees, and keep the condo, was put into fixing up my mother’s house.  My mother died on January 2.  When she did, because she had a reverse mortgage, the clock began ticking.  I can’t afford the $278,000 it will take to buy back the house.  Not only am I out the money I spent on it, money that could have saved my home, I’m going to forced to move from the house in about 6 months.

Do you know how hard this is?  I don’t know what I’m doing or where I’m going.  The car is falling apart.  I  need to get the cats out of the condo.  I’m a wreck about that.  I’m down to just a few things here, but the house is such a wreck, I can’t even see straight in it.  It looks like a hoarder lives there – and that is NOT my fault.

I’ll take the blame for a heck of a lot of things, but I’m not taking the blame for the mess.  I have a wonderful friend who is amazingly good, but she keeps rearranging things.  My books were nearly sorted.  She re-stacked them. The framed things were blocking part of the garage.  I complained.  They are now in the living room, stacked to the point where I can’t move.  I have company coming in a few days.  I can’t even get into one of the guest rooms it is such a disaster with everything put in it.  The wrong furniture is in the wrong room.  The kitchen is a disaster.  Where she stacked all of my kitchen things, in the garage, has been invaded by mice, thanks to Dumb and Dumbest Contractors.  Everything must be washed.

I’m past go.  To make it worse, it’s cold.  I hate cold.  I have no idea where my winter things are.  My clothes are in three different locations.  I no longer know what to do, or how to do it.

Truth be known, I’m broken.  I keep telling my friends I need help, but only one will listen.  I don’t know how to survive the mess.  I’m begging for help, but no one will listen to me.  My problem – how often have I listened when someone needed me to hear them?  We’re all guilty.