Caterwauling

I used to ask my mom why she didn’t just abort me.

It was 1973 when I was conceived. She could have. She was 16.

She wanted nothing more than to be my momma. She knew then.

I just had the thought that she died too young. Too freaking young.

But it hit me that what if she had me at 30-ish, when my grandparents had her?

We would have gotten 15 fewer years together.

When I look back at photos, I see how fragile she was all along. And I get mad at myself for how many times I wished we just lived separately.

Like, I loved her to absolute pieces but I don’t think humans of any genders, ages or relationships should spend that much time together.

But, when I think about it, we were better together than most spouses and siblings. That’s where the ache really comes from — the fact that, for the most part, it was just easy.

And now, it’s all gone.

I came back from Orlando changed. Sadder, yes. But this is the second trip I’ve taken with the cats and third on my own. And coming home to an empty house becomes slightly less of a shock each time.

“Mama, I could use some help here
Tired of talking to myself here
Back at home, you don’t exist
So here I am in the abyss
Are you really in this place?
It’s like the emptiness of space
I could search for all eternity
And never see your face
Help me out
I’m lost without you.”

The cats are uninvited from the next trip, which my friend CJ thinks is hilarious. Like, they got themselves disqualified because they were goobers.

I guess I just can’t believe there was a life with Mom and a life after Mom. It was always “You and Me Against the World.”

Now it’s the entire Beetlejuice Broadway soundtrack.

“The nothingness ahead of me
Is this the end you meant for me?
Every living minute
There’s no home without you in it
I’m falling
Quit stalling
Your daughter is calling your name
I’ve burned all my bridges and games.”

And it still is Momma and me against the world. Even if it’s just me and the cremains I carry in my car.

For saying I spent 10 days in Orlando, I didn’t spend much.

Well, let me rephrase. Other than pandemic credit card points, I didn’t spend much.

My fat ass ate and drank my way around Epcot twice.

And really the only cash I spent was at Joffrey’s and at the parking booth because the redemption system was down.

I was spend AF at Del Frisco’s, Delmonico’s and STK. So, you could say my souvenirs were filet mignon, Chilean sea bass and cocktails.

I also picked up a skeleton Mickey and a shoulder Dante.

Barely spoke to anyone who wasn’t a colleague or a cashier.

Until last night.

I was drinking my All Hallow’s Eve Halloween Treat chocolate-peanut butter porter.

Oh! I was on a peanut butter and chocolate kick too. That was the seasonal cheesecake at Delmonico.

And I picked up the cutest Minnie witch hat at the Starbucks in Magic Kingdom. Which almost made up for not seeing the parade, fireworks or Hocus Pocus performance that my credit card points paid for.

In any event, I was just sitting down with my porter and a gal next to me, who was drinking the mimosa flight I’d had a few hours earlier, asked if I knew where the Australia booth was.

The sweetest bee decided she wanted my berry mimosa. Mom got berry everything. She would have told me not to waste my money on the flight.

Anyway yes I did know where Australia was because fatass knows her Epcot Food & Wine Festival.

Also because the poblano margarita right across from it was the first thing I tried.

She introduced herself as Tiffany. And she said please come join us.

She was there with her best friend Christina. They met when they were pregnant. Their teenage kids are friends now and their loser husbands are long gone.

They are from Cocoa Beach. I told them all about my recent trip there. They asked if I come to Disney often.

I mean, I didn’t want to say no I quit coming when Mom got sick and now I am here to avoid being sad on her birthday but I have never been sadder because she is EVERYWHERE.

So I deflected back to do they get here often.

Christina said her kid’s dad lives in Tampa and he was never good about showing up for drop-offs, as Orlando is kind of a midpoint.

So, to make up for her daughter’s dad being a constant disappointment, she got them annual passes.

“I just like to turn setbacks into successes,” Christina said.

Now THAT is a mother of the year.

Tiffany was super pretty. She said she never wants to see anyone sit alone. She remembers high school all too well and never wants anyone to feel left out. Which was why she reached out to me; she didn’t really care about Australia.

I didn’t tell her that I’m more the type to leave myself out. Whether to avoid rejection or simply to avoid wanting to do the rejecting, I’ll never tell.

Tiffany and I bonded over my Stevie Nicks mouse ears.

Which, I had to tell her about all the people who told me, “LOVE YOUR TAYLOR SWIFT EARS!” that day.

We laughed and she was going to go home and listen to Clara Bow because I started singing it. “You look like Stevie Nicks / You look like Taylor Swift.” Like they are interchangeable. Hah.

I almost gave her the ears but decided, nope. Mine. I wanted them forever, and I wear them around the house because I love them so much. It’s just nice to wear them to Disney and not (just) to greet my Amazon driver.

They all wanted to go ride Remi’s Ratatouille ride. Which I had ridden for the first time earlier and I LOVED IT. Selfie from the ride.

But I was also tired AF and not sure I was going to make it to fireworks. So, I said thank you and I can’t thank you enough for inviting me into your circle.

That was the most I talked in a week. But it still only got me to about 7:30 and I wasn’t sure 9 p.m. fireworks were gonna happen for me.

Spoiler: They did.

Epcot has a new fireworks display, “The Symphony of Us.” And all I could think of with the music was my Momma. But how could I stay awake when I was SO TIRED?

I started to walk toward the poblano margarita booth (as my porter was gone). And I stopped to take a photo with Miguel and Dante. Because, I finally realized, music plays if you stand there long enough.

Well, people kept walking in front of me as I recorded. Of course.

But then a nice group of friends stopped and asked if I wanted my photo with the statues. I said thank you, no, but hey if you stop and listen, you can hear the music with me.

And friendships were born.

So we stood there and listened and the two girls noticed the Italian horn around my neck.

They asked if I’m Italian. I said maybe; I found this in my Mom’s stuff and really wanted to wear it.

I didn’t explain Mom’s stuff and they didn’t ask. But they — and the guy — and I all started talking a million miles a minute about Bravo housewives and Kamala and Joe Biden and what a fuckup Trump is to live by.

I told them my theory on Taylor Swift getting married to Travis is in London. I also told them my theory on how JD Vance will never be president; Orange Fuck will hand it to Don Jr. if we let him get in power.

And on and on. It was so exhilarating.

OH and they liked my Stevie Nicks ears too. So I am glad I kept them.

Anyway I was trying to remember everyone’s names and Chloe, Sam, Sophia or Marcus came to mind, since we are all Swifties.

Matty and Rachel and Terra Dawn. And this Dawn!

They asked if I wanted to go on Soarin’ with them. Um, HELL YEAH I wanted to go on Soarin’ for the third time that day.

We went to a bar afterward (for them) and I scouted out a great fireworks spot. I warned them that I would cry and they are like girl, we love art and beauty. We will be crying with you.

The fireworks were amazing. And “When She Loved Me” came on, I recorded it again.

And there was this amazing dancing orb and some other energy in the shot.

I swear to god it was not there for the naked eye to see.

And it was not in any of the photos I took before or after.

Momma was with us. I know she was. I am so thankful for that.

She is in the wind and on my shoulder and everywhere I look.

I once saw a video of a woman getting bridal pictures done and she had a similar orb dancing all over her dress. Everyone said it was her mom.

So, further proof that the little yellow light who was dancing around like Star danced around Asha in “Wish” was my beloved momma.

After the fireworks — and the waterworks, of course — we all exchanged Instagrams and I noticed two of them followed me instantly. Enjoyed fireworks together and ended with a big group hug.

They asked me to join them for a post-Epcot drink. But I told them I was worried that Bella was bellowing for the whole fourth floor of the hotel to hear again.

They said hey if you are ever in Boston, New York or, hell, Orlando again, you are one of us now. We got you.

I thanked them for adopting me. I also said I think I manifested you all. I was wishing for friends and for a reason to visit New York and maybe see a Broadway play on Broadway for a change. And Matty said he just saw “The Notebook.” Which is the one I want to see next!

The girls wandered off but Matty wanted another hug. And I felt like I should tell him.

I said you guys said I’m so cool and brave for being here by myself. That I just got in the car with my cats for a fun weekend.

Truth is my Momma just died and I have not spoken to another human or FELT human until tonight.

Thank you for giving me a few hours to just be myself again. I love you all very much and I hope you all get home safely.

I changed into goddesses, villains and fools

Changed plans and lovers and outfits and rules

All to outrun my desertion of you

And you just watched it

If you want to break my cold, cold heart

Just say, ‘I loved you the way that you were’

If you want to tear my world apart

Just say you’ve always wondered.

It was the first night I cried all the way home that it wasn’t in utter and complete sadness.

I mean, that will ALWAYS be there.

But, it was out of my mouth before it had congealed in my head.

It felt so good to talk about something other than work or much I miss my Mom.

Granted, talking about work and Mom are the only things that come naturally anymore.

But it was fun to just be Dawn again for two hours.

Went to Mickey’s Not So Scary Halloween Party on Mom’s birthday Friday night.

And guess what, it got rained out.

It was a horrible day. Sitting at the bar — Mom’s and my bar –alone last night made something absolutely snap in me.

My beaded Fitbit band that she bought me broke. Like hello sign. She would be so sad.

The workday started out typical. Fridays are scream-worthy on their best days. Then people outside my department start to dream up extra projects for us that cannot wait.

And then the stuff that IS in our control goes sideways. And those outside people say dumb shit like, “Are you going to send an alert?” Like, multiple times a day from multiple directions,

There are two possible answers for “Are you going to send an alert?”

One, no. (Because do you really want me to cause a riot and make member care’s life hell for no reason.)

Two, yes. (Because, I do not need you to tell me to get off my ass and help member care’s life from becoming hell.)

If we are all here to tell other departments how to do their jobs, I would be delighted to return the favor. I used to love my job till doing everyone else’s became a thing.

Anyway, I got all my work ready by 3:30 so I could go to Magic Kingdom for 4.

Well. I got on the tram at 4:15. Got on the Monorail at 4:30.

Got OFF the Monorail at 5:15.

Because shit started blowing up so bad that I was texting (no I am not sending an alert NOW; OK FINE I will send an alert NOW) and completely missing my stop.

TL;DR the SEC ruined the sending of two publications tonight. After ruining basically the past two weeks of my life, indirectly.

I always joke that “If I were ED” — shit, I want to tattoo that.

Well, today, I am joking, “If I were EDgar” — since it was EDGAR who crapped on my Not So Scary Halloween Parade.

WHICH … after murdering my battery on the work stuff, the event got rained out.

The parade started an hour late.

Then the Hocus Pocus spectacular literally got through two songs before the announcer said “hexing” inclement weather ruined that.

I tried to hang on for fireworks, But naturally, the rain got to me and I got on the (Express, thankfully) Monorail.

Which … the fireworks started when we pulled into the station for MK parking.

So we have ED and MK departments at work. I run ED. MK runs the world. I really hate that I can’t write MK for Magic Kingdom without getting hives.

I am not kidding about the hives. My legs are broken out after today. Though maybe that’s because Magic hides in my bed all day. I have gone through three lint rollers but that little shit has left his mark. Whilst Bella has destroyed all the other furniture.

In any event, I did not want to work today because I knew it would be a horrible day.

Full day, half day, whatever — I didn’t want to deal with anyone. Not even the people I like.

I texted my cousin, who just had her mom’s first heavenly birthday on 8/1, and I said man I am sorry I didn’t reach out more. I did not realize how fucking AWFUL it was.

She knows the characters who usually make me want to order bodybags. But today I said, my god, it’s the people I LIKE who are making me look bad.

She said they were probably always that messy but my tolerance is shot today.

Anyway, from being sad and depressed and stressed out and then the Big Thing that was supposed to happen at work on the 22nd (but, SEC) but got punted to the 31st and now to the 6th (hi, regulators!) … is being moved to Monday.

And not only did I spend a good quarter of my day on this project, but my entire staff stayed till 7:30 first to make it happen and then second to completely redo the plans as I walked around a park with dwindling phone battery and NO GODDAMNED ALCOHOL.

When I finally dragged my wet ass home, I went to the hotel bar at 11:11 … and it had closed at 11.

I texted my mom’s friend that I want to die. I am sad and I miss my mom and there has GOT to be more to this life than living in my town and dying at my computer.

She made some weird comment back that tells me she’s jealous of my life. Which she was always jealous of Mom, her whole life.

And I made some comment that I paid for most of this trip with credit card points. And she sounded envious of THAT too.

Anyway.

I really needed to whine. I mean, I know Psycho is out there so glad I’m having a bad run of luck. Probably Cindy too.

But unlike them, I will not dwell for 20 years on it all. I will figure out how to be happy again. How to be grateful again. How to LIVE again. And they will just be the losers who should have left this earth because no one will love them the way I loved my Momma and she loved me.

In the meantime, I am just so bummed that it was a miserable day for her birthday.

I expected no less, mind you. And it still beats being miserable at home.

But I just feel like I wasted her honor, not having the bandwidth to miss her more when all I wanted to do is die myself.

“Your integrity makes me seem small
You paint dreamscapes on the wall
I talk shit with my friends, it’s like I’m wasting your honor.”

Happy birthday, Momma.

I wasn’t sure how to commemorate it. We all know I just couldn’t be at home, so I needed to run away to the Haus of Maus.

Which would have been a great trip if I didn’t have to work. But, those emails aren’t going to send themselves.

I took myself to see the new “Beetlejuice” movie yesterday. Which was so fun.

When I came out of the AMC, it was raining again. It has rained every day of my trip. And I have worn more ponchos and stepped in more “street soup” than I care to count.

In any event, I couldn’t stomach another wet poncho day, so I drove to I-Drive with the intention of going to Mellow Mushroom.

But as luck (my luck, so Irish) would have it, “Dead Mom” came on shuffle. Christ.

So I pulled into Delmonico’s and said what the hell.

I wasn’t thinking birthday. I could very clearly hear Momma saying, “Treat yourself. You’ll regret it if you didn’t. Use my green card, honey.”

I still carry her green debit card in my wallet. I closed that account but it sits with her driver’s license in a zippered pouch. I worry more about losing those more any of my active cards.

I got our favorite, the Dirty Martini. Unlike our last visit together, it was SO good. I had one and then had one for Momma.

I took a pic of the last booth we sat in. We picked it so that we could hide her little walker out of the way.

I think this one (below) was our favorite booth. Back corner by the bathroom. At least, it was the one we picked 90% of the time.

We often got the seasonal cheesecake. I always tried to get there in November because Momma loved pumpkin best.

As luck would have it, the September cheesecake is peanut butter. So I didn’t have to think twice about ordering it to celebrate Momma with.

As for food, well, that was the source of a nervous breakdown on my part.

We always sat at the bar because Delmonico’s has the most amazing bar menu ever. But I got there after happy hour, which, I didn’t know there was a time limit on our favorite snacks.

Seriously, I used to spend $150 on bar food and martinis for us. You could trust us to make up for any discounts.

My bartender was amazing. Drinks were amazing. I wish Mom’s last Dirty Martini there was amazing but at least the food was great.

But when I said may I have the filet sandwich with greens, she said I needed to order two.

I asked her to repeat that. She said I can do it but it’s past happy hour so I have to put an order in for two.

The tears fell straight out of my head. And wouldn’t stop.

I said, “I used to come here with my mom. We always ordered two.”

She said, “I’ll give you a moment.”

I thought about getting my sandwich and giving the other to the cats.

But I did something I never did there other than on a date. I ordered my own meal.

I got the filet, which was exquisite. And a side of penne marinara — mom’s favorite sauce/pasta, and we often took home an order so she could have it the next day. And of course greens.

I tipped the gal all the cash in my wallet. She looked over so grateful. I said you’ve put up with me so beautifully. Thank you for making this easier on me.

Everything over the past three months has been so hard. So freaking hard.

But I told Momma in my head, sitting at that bar without her was the hardest yet.

Harder than watching her die.

Harder than cremating her.

Harder than watching doctors and nurses and hospice workers treat her like a throwaway.

Harder than hearing her say no more treatments and having to sit quiet because it was her decision and my job was to support her since no one else would.

She will always be young and beautiful. I’ve said this before.

But now, I will say she will always be young and beautiful and sipping a Dirty Martini at the bar at our favorite Orlando steakhouse.

Better days …

Even if I never get back here, I’ll always remember her happy.

I told my cousin, a doctor, that I’m working on vacation.

She said Goddess, I only work on vacation because there are some clients I cannot help but check in on because they are dying.

That was like getting walloped with a walleye across the face.

I’m like well two of us are off so we’re both working part-time so the other doesn’t have to carry the whole load. But I’ll carry the load next week so she can enjoy a week.

My cousin’s like and when is YOUR week? And don’t you get like four weeks anyway?

It’s not the job, to be clear. It’s my job to take the time, for starters, and to TAKE THE TIME once that time is taken off.

I get to thinking about some of those final conversations with Mom. And how she was so happy for me to have landed back where I am. But that she never, ever wants me to be so comfortable that it becomes a stopping point.

I don’t really know what’s next for me if this ends or if I decide to end it.

But I do see where I would be a lot healthier if I were outside and not using my “time off” simply to keep up.

I sure hope tomorrow is the last birthday of hers where I have to work even if I don’t want to.

And don’t think I’m not sitting in this hotel with two yowling cats thinking about how I should have spent her final birthday fully and completely present with her.

And definitely don’t think I’m enjoying my trip as much as the money I’ve spent on it suggests I need to.

Anyone who expects me to come back rested … might want to adjust that expectation now.

Last night was my third in a hotel with Bella, normally my happy travel kitty, spending the entire night singing the song of her people.

So with no sleep and also knowing I am working today (which, believe me, happy to have this job — I am not suited for anything else!), I asked the universe to remind me to be grateful.

I ran to Foxtail for breakfast. Which, the coffee was good but my sandwich was as frozen as it was bland. And I got a free drink coupon for my trouble.

As I gnawed on my heated-again-this-time-to-an-infernal-temperature bagel, I saw a woman eyeing the trash can in front of me.

She had a full shopping cart of, well, things she’s clearly picked up.

I was going to throw away the half of the bagel I didn’t feel like busting my teeth on. But I decided to take it to the car so she wouldn’t think it was something good.

Anyway I was not gone six seconds. But the woman somehow conjured up a half-full cup that clearly looked like an iced coffee.

I ran over to her and I said they gave me a coupon for a free drink next door. Go get yourself a fresh cup. I said it’s good for any drink — get the best one!

Man, she lit up the biggest smile under the sun. And I noticed she had perfectly applied bright red-orange lipstick. Like, she might be in dire straits but she was not going to sacrifice her beauty ritual.

Anyway, it wasn’t much and I wouldn’t even have thought twice about it after I left. And in a normal world, I would have NEVER written about it. Too many others do that and I find it tacky AF.

But I had told the universe to remind me to be grateful. And I got almost an instant reply.

I hope she used the card. I would have used it but I was happy to have turned what would have been a useless visit into something good.

I couldn’t wait to get to the HOB for some Voodoo Shrimp tonight.

My food intake was a piece of candied bacon and a mango Dole Whip by that point.

And I would go on to have an entire flight of Dole Whips and a Dole Whip float after.

(Adulting is getting drunk off Dole Whips. And don’t even bother buying the ones in the freezer section. Not even close.)

Anyway I took the last available seat (and maybe I’ll talk about my crazy bar stories from STK last night).

Some woman said she’s so proud of me, being out and about by myself.

She asked where I was from and she said she’s from Jupiter. Which, the last hospital I had Mom in. So, she must have felt me bristle a bit.

Anyway I get this whole reading that, “You have someone on your shoulder” and I said good I hope. She said yes.

She also said she picks up abuse around me. Which … my cats are assholes. Mom’s ex-husband was an abusive shit. I’ve known a few psychos in my life too. Then there’s the hospital system roulette. Spin that wheel, Bob Barker.

She said I have to take some time to rest but I have one massive battle ahead with someone or something.

Great. Don’t any of you take that as a challenge, since she said I will defeat you.

Jen gave me her number. Her man said don’t use it if you don’t want her to stalk you with all these things that come out of her mouth.

After I heard her stage-whispering, “SHE’S ABUSED!” I figured I should take his advice.

She also made him hug me. Which was the best part of the interaction.

I would have been impressed if she said there’s a mother energy around you or something else that might have resonated with me.

I mean, if we’re all reading people here, I looked at her and felt like she might have the gift but she might not know what to do with it other than drink to drown it out.

Ask me how I know that trick.

In any event I might look up her number to see what I can see.

But I am bummed as hell that the Voodoo Shrimp that I used to buy two of at $10 each and then $16 each so Momma and I could each have one is now $24 for one serving. Same five shrimp and three wedges of jalapeño cornbread.

I am also bummed that I am literally going out there and putting myself out there and, while I am generally meeting lovely people,

I am not meeting people who have much in the way of a message from Momma. Or who could be a friend or a date or anything other than what they are — a story to tell.

I’ll have to write about Susan, the gal from Minnesota I met at STK who, yes, knows Tim Walz because who doesn’t. Or Kaia who bought me a glass of Caymus. Or the girl who looked like Kat who told me how to get to Magic Kingdom faster than any of the people on our tram. (She was right!) Or Summer at the KSC badging office who saved us so much time by sharing her spare ticket. And so on.

Anyway, maybe Jen is right. I should be proud of me for putting myself out there. I should also be proud of me for knowing who or what to avoid. Like, well, her. Even her man said it!

So Mom’s 67th birthday is coming up.

She will be forever 66. Young, beautiful, happy, sweet. Forever pretty. Forever loved and lovable and loving.

She deserved so much better than all this. She wanted to be here. She wanted to be my mom. She said she had so much more to teach me. She worried that I won’t be OK or know what to do in situations I haven’t encountered yet.

I mean, I’m 50. I’ll do the best I can. But, yeah, a girl needs her momma. Well, let me rephrase, given some of the mothers I’ve encountered. THIS girl needs HER momma.

I knew I would be a fucking mess. I am. I cannot hold it together and it’s fruitless to try.

So I booked a trip.

Come to find out that one of my staffers also booked a trip. Out of the country.

Our payroll system is strange, so we usually just input our days closer to the time off so we don’t go into deficit.

So when I looked and saw no one else was off, I was relieved and booked my week.

Well.

Person reminded me that they always take off around this time. Which is true and fair.

So I moved all my reservations to the weekends. Well, almost all of them. And I booked an extra four nights to do it.

I’m just going to keep saying well. Because, well, the nonrefundable, pet-friendly hotel just informed me that I cannot bring cats.

I said fine. My mom just passed and I have my cat AND hers, and I am going to need that money back to go someplace else.

Suddenly cats are fine! But you have to pay the dog rate.

Which, thanks to the extra-long stay is going to be upward of $500.

I don’t mind the working. I am the boss and all. And frankly I like my edits when I take over things that aren’t always mine to edit.

Also I am just grateful to have a job. My mental capacity is diminished. They give me all the rope I need to climb back when I’m ready.

But, maybe the whole reason why I cannot get my brain back together is I am not able to fully disengage.

Like our Cocoa Beach trip. It was supposed to be half work, half personal. Turned into all work. And that’s fine because I will get the tax break for it. And frankly I LOVED IT. Had so much fun.

But … I really really really wanted that day at the beach that I didn’t get.

At least with going away for a long time, I will at least have some awesome dinner options when I do log off.

And we worked it out that I will work for 80% of the week and she’ll cover the weekday I wish to be unavailable. Skipping that day’s meeting is vacation enough.

So, with the publishing of this post, I will release my annoyance.

I just needed to crab a bit about it first.

My plan was to tour some houses. Maybe this is all for my higher good that I can’t. Who knows.

I was reading some copy that someone in my company was about to put out.

I saw a glaring error. The dog-whistle, right-wing “Democrat candidate” bullshit.

When I said, hey, it’s DemocratIC when used as an adjective, I got this back:

“Oh, OK. We didn’t know it would be Harris when we wrote this.”

So, Democrat candidate if Biden but Democratic if Harris. Got it.

I cannot believe I have to go through life without my sweet, smart, kind, caring, beautiful, loving mother. Who would have been able to respond beautifully so I don’t have to.

And also, it was so nice to have a friend because I don’t know how to keep all this to myself without imploding like ReMorse does at the slightest perceived (and mostly manufactured) inconvenience.

And not Vytas Reid the weather guy in West Palm Beach. Though seriously fuck that stupid red plaid jacket he wears every goddamned day. Mom and I hated watching him.

Specifically, I say fuck VITAS the nursing home agency in the Palm Beaches.

I got a call from them yesterday, following up on some allegations I made a few months ago.

They tried to call several times. But it was only, um, last weekend that I could even admit publicly that my mother had died.

Also this guy who calls usually asks for my mom by name. So I just say no she can’t come to the phone right now.

Other times he calls and refers to me by my last name. Like yesterday, he asked for Mom and I said she’s not here. He said oh ok is this (last name).

My reply was one of my trademark exasperated sighs.

Anyway he said he has done an investigation and he’s been missing my statement on what was reported to him.

Honestly I’d forgotten about it all. But hey, since we are here reopening the wound, pop some corn, Sparky. I got issues.

I put Mom in the hospital last August. The third or fourth hospital system at that point, I’d lost count.

Anyway, the pain was uncontrollable and would never be controlled. And the treatment options were all pretty terrible.

But rather than be human, the medical director said welp fine then, call hospice. Have a good rest of your life.

Just kidding. She wasn’t that nice to say have a nice anything.

Mom was appalled. She felt OK. Hospice, really?

After Cocoa died in January, I could tell something changed in Mom. I mean, I have never been the same, either. But she had said something like she wishes she could have gone first, so Cocoa could have comforted me through that.

I mean, she also said I’d probably miss Cocoa more. Which … maybe I do. But in a totally different way.

Hindsight being what it is, I think things happened in the right order. Mom was here to comfort me through all my big losses. So I was better equipped to handle losing her.

Anyway, in March, it was clear that the pain was getting worse. Our last car ride was in March 24. I still have the parking receipt from Deerfield Beach. 3/24/24 at 4:24 p.m.

I should have played the lottery. But at that point, we were all basically on autopilot.

Second week of April, I called hospice. There are really only two options here, and the other one had even worse reviews than VITAS.

Justin was my main nurse. He was useless. He liked to sit here and stare at the water and talk about himself and play on his phone.

When I got the bill from Medicare last week for “skilled nursing services” — for over a thousand dollars an hour — I laughed. The second good laugh I got this summer.

I told the guy who called me yesterday, “You guys sent me a request for a donation last month. It was the first I laughed all summer. And I am tempted to call Medicare and report fraud.”

Justin did not provide a thousand dollars’ worth of care once a week. I was the one doing all the bathing, lifting, wound-dressing.

He did not do SHIT.

He did not give me supplies. He told me Medicare pays for supplies and he did not get me anything I asked for. Save for the one day he fished a pair of XS gloves out of his trunk.

I told the caller, there is NOTHING about me that is extra small. Fuck this idiot.

Also, I said your doctor on call in the Boynton office is a joke. His name is Ichabod or ItchyBalls or something. Anyway I said this guy stood in my house and took calls from other patients. Has anyone mentioned HIPAA to him.

And what’s worse is how he and Justin covered for each other. It took eight days to get pain medication ordered. EIGHT DAYS.

Both of these fools blamed each other. Justin said the doctor is new. (To doctoring?) The doctor said Justin is busy.

I know Justin ain’t making no thousand dollars an hour. Hell Justin even said I should pursue nursing because you really only need a pulse to pass the meager requirements in Florida. And there’s job security because there are so many sick people and no one wants to work in the field.

I said my cousin did hospice for her mom, and they would get pain meds at midnight, the day they asked.

I said you run a clown show there. And then for Justin to have the nerve to ask me out for tacos while my mother was trying to tell him about her pain?

I don’t even care about the getting solicited in my own home. Someone should tell his wife and kids though.

Also like I told the caller, I’m over here ordering supplies off Amazon and groceries off Instacart and food for delivery.

I didn’t tell him, but since my memories are coming back to me now, there was a good three weeks where I did not set foot outside of my house other than to buy pain patches at Walgreens.

VITAS thought I was problematic because I stopped letting Justin in. I always had an excuse. Mom told me to tell him — and eventually Renie at the Boynton office — I’m always on calls and don’t have time to entertain this joker.

Eventually Renie sent a different nurse, Mariel. And I loved her.

Mariel actually texted on her off days to ask how Miss Robin was. And did she need anything.

And I’d get the pills or whatever in the next day or two. Whenever that Spanish mail-order pharmacy with the “empanada” sounding name could figure it out.

And then there was Sarah the night nurse. Who arrived exactly five minutes after Mom died. Not her fault. I had called the Boynton office and she drove up from Boca.

I tell you, everything in Boynton is cursed. I knew we were doomed when that was our main office. Real talk, if I could have moved us to any other city, I would have.

In any event, I confessed my rage to Sarah. After she helped me with the funeral director and all that, she went and reported it all.

Good girl.

Anyway I told the caller I don’t have plans to pursue any sort of litigation. Justin and ItchyBalls were absolute failures, but Mariel and Sarah were good to me when I needed them most.

The caller said he would talk to Justin. That this is unprofessional and unacceptable.

I said I really don’t care what you do. But as a supervisor, I concur that you have to address bad behavior.

I did emphasize that my mom was LUCKY to have me to take care of her. I feel bad for people who have to let in these idiots and never get their supplies or the high-price-tag care that Medicare thinks they are getting.

My guess is they probably don’t like Justin and want to fire him, and they needed me to do help them do it.

My guess is ItchyBalls isn’t going anywhere.

OH! So Mom passed on Father’s Day at 2:47 a.m. That’s when she took her last breath.

She opened her eyes super briefly, closed them, and was gone.

After the insanity that was the previous three hours, it was nice to see her at peace.

Sarah got stuck at the broken front gate (heavy sigh) at 3 a.m. so I had to run down and let her in.

I mean, why not let Mom down one last time, right? Me and the HOA.

Sarah pronounced her at 3:25 a.m.

The undertaker was sweet and cute and he said I could have all the time I wanted with her. But I said the best way to honor her is to get her the fuck out of this place before all the fraggles wake up.

By 5 a.m., I was alone for good.

Sarah said VITAS offers caregiver support for a year. I said please tell them never to call me.

I got a call Monday afternoon. The CNA I had been waiting for because I was breaking Mom’s and my backs with bathing attempts, was at my doorstep.

They never told her Mom had passed.

I don’t blame her. I blame that fucking clown show that is VITAS Hospice in Boynton Beach, Florida. With locations in Delray Beach, Boca Raton and West Palm Beach. For the Google crawlers.

I didn’t get her ashes back for well over a week. The funeral director happens to live in this complex (trademark heavy sigh) and he finally called me to say we cannot get a doctor here for some reason.

OK I grew up in the funeral industry and I never, first of all, had to have a medical professional make the call for me. And second, she’s been in a freezer for how many days and you need a doctor to tell you she’s dead?

Well.

So anyway a month ago I needed to use her death certificate to close her bank account, as TD had frozen it and I was like nope, MINE.

The doctor’s name on the death certificate …

ItchyBalls.

They had to dig up this motherfucker to fail my mother one more time?!

And no fucking wonder I had to wait so long. Where the fuck was he, itching his balls in someone else’s house?!

OH MY GOD I HATE VITAS HOSPICE IN BOYNTON BEACH. HATE IT HATE IT HATE IT SO MUCH BURN IT TO THE FUCKING GROUND.