Alzheimers, part four
“He must come from money, I think, where every household is separate and has its own separate, carefully sorted piles of assets.”
The last time I talked to the social worker on the phone, he was berating me about my irresponsibility. “Just admit you don’t want to be in charge of this. Just say it, Jen. Just admit you don’t want to be in charge of your mother and I can turn her over to the state. Just say it, Jen. Just say it.”
I didn’t say it, but of course I don’t. He was yelling at me like it was a shameful thing, but does anyone want to shepherd their mother through Alzheimers? Does anyone want to navigate this impossible system?
I don’t want any of this. I don’t want to spend the next five to ten years watching my mother decline and suffer until the Alzheimers finally lets her go.
The social worker had been complaining that I didn’t call him, didn’t check in with him. He never had any solutions, he just berated. He was only good at berating.
He froze my mother’s bank accounts because I admitted that, while trying to survive a global pandemic, I had spent some of her money on myself and my child.
He must come from money, I think, where every household is separate and has its own separate, carefully sorted piles of assets.
I’m the single mom daughter of a single mom. It was on me to get us through the latest catastrophe. This time it was global. I used the resources I had.
We’re supposed to be ashamed if we don’t have money. I try not to be anymore. The deck has been stacked against me for awhile. I’ve gotten some good hands. I’ve been lucky in my birthplace and skin color and life experiences. I have a really good life. I just don’t have money.
I didn’t want to be the only full-time parent to my kid. I didn’t want to scramble to make money while also being there for her any time she needed me.
I didn’t want to be the person who has to worry about my mom all the time. I hate being yelled at while trying to find her a safe harbor.
What the social worker doesn’t get is that I don’t have money because I chose to take care of my Mom. I chose to be there for my kid. He seemed to think I should be ashamed for all of it.
“This is why I don’t call you,” I said, and hung up the phone.
I started bawling then. The kid came in from the other room and threw her arms around me. Taking care of her mother.