Thanks Bean, that helps a lot. (Her estate’s not $2 million- it would have at least two fewer zeroes in fact, so that’s good.)
At the risk of butting in where it ain’t my business, I am indeed going to offer some free advice (and always remember- free advice is worth what you pay for it).
Since I consider you family, after having read your trials and tribulations (and before you write the book- get the spelling of Kathy’s name- you regularly alternate y/i endings- I only notice because Kathy is my name as well. Also once you write the book, please let us know, because I’d buy the damn thing if you simply had it published on the office copier) I will tell you exactly what I’d tell any of my five idiot brother (not that you’re an idiot, just that my brothers are): Stop waiting Jackass! Waiting on this only makes you older. Print out the will, take it to your Mama, and ask straight up “is this what you want Mama?” If she says yes, find a notary and have her sign it with you and the notary as witnesses. If she says no, then you have the perfect opportunity to find out what she does want. This goes for her other wishes as well. She could also write them down, and then Kathy will just be screwed. Oh she’ll argue, but at least you’ll be able to wave the paper at her, and scream, “Well if you don’t want to follow Mama’s wishes, at least you’re gonna be the one she haunts!” all the while looking skyward saying “Mama forgive her… but if you can’t… remember, I wanted to follow your wishes!”
As far as the housing goes (once again I offer this in a sisterly manner only): Are you fucking kidding me?! Of course Mama is going to move back in! Moreover, stop being such a goddamn baby when it comes to the apology. Mama is apologizing (on the inside) and you are accepting (on the inside). You only get one Mama, so get over it already. If she is infirm, you are going to have to accept that either you move closer, or she moves closer, either way, you aren’t going to get the apology, and she isn’t going to offer one, but you love each other, so why let two words get in the way of that?
I do hope your Mama gets well soon. Sending good vibes (and some prayers- what the hell it can’t hurt) by way of Dallas.
Her name is Kathi, though I’ve referred to her as everything from Becky to Kathy on these boards as a “protect identity” thing, but I don’t think she’ll have staklers (and I’ve only given her first name, and technically that’s not it anyway (it’s her middle name but what she goes by) and it’s not what her phone is listed as).
Eh, I’m way ahead of you on that one. I’ve decided pride dictates I do not ASK for a favor, not that I shouldn’t GRANT one, though this isn’t a favor so much as a family necessity. I’ve essentially accepted that if worst or even bad case scenario comes to pass, I’m going to be in Montgomery living with the woman until such time as I can either swing a small apartment near her or wind up naked (except for some alligator pumps and a Cossack hat) on the roof of the Shakespeare Festival shooting people with outfits I think are age and climate inappropriate.
I love that you are the voice of reason in your family.
Tabby
I don’t know anything about Alabama law. In Washington, this could disqualify Sampiro from receiving anything more than his intestate share of the estate, because witnesses receiving an inheritance are presumed to have unduly influenced the testator.
Get a couple of the nurses to witness it. I bet it won’t be the first time.
This is probably the most gallows, ghoulish morbid true-joke you’ll read today.
A little while ago I got off of a three way call with my brother and sister, both of whom went to the doctor’s office with my mother today. It wasn’t great news (still no biopsies, don’t really understand that) but there is a mass on my mother’s brain. (Other places as well.) The subject of brain tumors and their symptoms of course came up.
My brother and sister relayed what the doctor asked.
My siblings both held it in while in the doctor’s office then as soon as they could fell apart laughing when they got outside. I fell apart laughing as soon as I heard the question, then the three of us laughed on three-way. And we compared notes.
That was cool.
My sister and I are going to clash at some point in some fair mountain valley this summer. I’ve a feeling this is the summer she learns her baby brother’s little secret (if only from her) as well. When we meet and when we clash, if my forces are victorious and once I’ve led them have their fun with the peasants and the cattle and if she’s captured and brought to me healthy, I hope “I will remember/things we said today” because I’ll be more inclined to show mercy rather than move in for the kill.
IANAD/N, but… if they’re finding multiple masses in multiple organs, I suspect a biopsy might not tell them anything they don’t already know. Again, I’m not an oncologist, so I’m talking out of my ass here, so just ignore me.
But you might not want to slack too much on getting her to deal with anything important.
I’ve no illusions about her condition. I don’t think she does. My brother doesn’t. I just hope she can hang on for a little while longer before the illness does its work. And that when I blow at my sister (which is going to happen) I don’t go way too overboard (I’ve the type of temper where I hold it in and bite my tongue and then something small triggers it and it’s like vomit- it’s going to stop when it’s all out and not until). And I’m worried about my sister because she insists on looking on the bright side and being optimistic, rah rah rah, the doctors have made NO diagnosis and Mama doesn’t have cancer in her family (not true- her brother died of brain cancer and one of her grandmothers died of stomach cancer) and she’s praying and all the people at her church are praying and she called the people she helped during Katrina and asked them to pray and akdjfalkjd fakiojdklfjdakojdkljfakl;djfakl;dfjklj;. If I’m wrong, I’ll be absolutely delighted when it turns out that it’s benign cysts or whatever, if she’s wrong she’s going to be absolutely devastated.
My mother has had EXTREME sensitivity to smell lately which I know for a fact others who have had brain disorders have had. Mostly there’s a “gut sense” about her that “this is the end” (or the beginning of the end). I’m not ready for her to go, not at all, but at risk of sounding awful if this is the B.o.t.E. then I want her to go fast, no lingering bouts of chemo and radiation and nausea and weakness and then it’s back again, just go. If she were a young person I’d feel differently, but she’s 71 and with a world of health problems. And I’m hoping she’ll make peace with my brother- he can be a first class horse’s ass and he knows it, but he’s waved the olive branch and she basically douses it with lighter fluid and holds her cigarette to it, and I honestly don’t know why. (I totally understand why she has resentment towards him on some issues, but let it go old woman, please, for his sake and especially for yours.)
I apologize for babbling and ranting and venting over something that’s not even certain yet and perhaps I’m being morbidly fatalistic, but…
At least I can say that if she died tonight I wouldn’t have any serious regrets. I’ve said some terrible things to her over the years but she had them coming, and more importantly I’ve forgiven her and she’s forgiven me and we’ve both always known the other would take a bullet for the other. (We’d never ever in a million years even dream of letting the other forget we once took a bullet for them, but we would take it, and that’s really what’s important.)
I’ve said before that the south is like my mother: I can call her a psychotic bitch but outsiders can’t. I’ll flip flop that now and say that my mother is like the South. The south is a place of extremes, it can be called with great justification bigoted, intolerant, close-minded, unrepentant, rebellious, troublesome, stuck-in-the-past, willfully blind to what it does not wish to see, and many other things. It’s been the victim of many atrocities and the perpetrator of at least as many. But whoever calls it simple or all-bad or evil or uniform or unchanging is either speaking in ignorance or a fool, because in addition to hellish August afternoons there are glorious summer nights, for the briars and kudzu and thickets and rattlesnakes there are some of the most beautiful beaches and lakes and mountains on Earth, there is diversity beyond imagining, there is a resilience that Germany and Cher could learn from and a willingness not only to change but to say with complete honesty “I was wrong”. It’s as overrepresented in art and beauty and culture and charm as it is in the bad things and anybody who says its simple or all bad has never blackberries and honeysuckle or had their arteries hardened one minute by a dumbass Pentecostal minister only to find themself clapping and stomping their feet at his choir the next and sweet holy mother of Dan Brown by a slatternly Mary Magdalene BE GONE WINFIELD! BE GONE I SAY! I REBUKE YOU…
Okay, sorry about the above. I started out writing about my mother only to be possessed by the spirit of Paul Winfield, taking control of my mind and body and trying desperately to revive City Confidential if only for a minute. Sorry about that. No more maudlin banjo backed soliloquies.
But the point is, yep I know. I don’t think she’s long for this realm. If I had more pity and energy and compassion I’d sacrifice a carrier pigeon so he could take a message to the next one and warn them of who’s coming.
I love that old bitch.
Five words.
That should be concise enough to please some posters.
The rest of us know you do, and it has always been clear whenever you write about your family. Really.
I wish for a “good” outcome, for want of a better way of expressing it.
Keep strong. 
If anyone could defeat whatever is going on inside her, I do believe your mother could. I wish you and your family strength, and peace, whatever happens.
No regrets, Sampiro. You’ve gone through hell and back again with your mom, sometimes hand in hand, sometimes with her chasing you. You’ve earned your peace. Here’s hoping your mom finds hers.
(((((Sampiro))))) (the hero),
Sending good vibes your way. I do care about you, your mother, and Kathi. I’ve only been a member for a few short months, but your tales have touched me and I feel as though I know you all. (your excellent skills in writing are the reason)
My mom wasn’t as quirky as yours, but reading about your relationship has brought some great memories of life with the women in my family.
Thank you again for sharing all these moments.
What a twisted emotional thread this is. There is no deragatory in that statement. Through all of the stress and sadness in your messages your humor jumps out and forces me to laugh. I actually feel pangs of guilt for laughing.
If your writing helps you cope, then write away. I can handle the guilt.
I cannot write the way you do so I’ll just keep asking for God’s blessing for your momma and strength for you…
Sampiro, your comparison of your mother to the South was beautiful. I continue to think of your situation and hope and pray for peace and strength for you. Take care.
Sampiro, although it may not be T.B.o.t.E., just in case it is and that mass on your momma’s brain is growing, you probably want to try to get matters like the will, durable power of attorney, and final wishes in place sooner rather than later. Since it sounds like your momma is at least ten times as stubborn as my grandmother was, who was the most stubborn woman I’ve ever met in my whole life, I think the “it’s better to ask forgiveness than permission” tactic is the best one to take – show up with a notary and the papers, fill in blanks with her if need be, and then get them signed and witnessed by two nurses – neither you nor the notary can be witnesses, in all likelihood.
And whatever happens, your momma is blessed to have you.
Sampiro, your retort back upthere on 5/23 on the ignatazis was amazing… Nazi comparison overstated, but alliterated; more like the dregs of fireflies dragging their last glimmer of ass through cheap flourescent paint to compensate for dim attention span. You put them in a rather elegant mason jar. Not that they’ll explore the edges of that, nor care.
You are such a tremendous writer, and, person, I suppose, from your posts here. Your momma has to know this, I hope. Can you just tell here that this latest health problem is Scaring you, and it’s time to get a frigging signature on papers. One odd out-of-the-blue just occured to my mind now suggestion: OK, she knows you’re a fine writer, right? Can you set the time aside to say: “OK, Mom,now we’re going to write the will the way you want, I’m all yours.” And get a tape of it, let her let it all out, on recorded tape. You’ve probably thought of that, but in case not…
Best thoughts and prayers to you and Mom now. She raised an amazingly talented son, and is lucky to have you by her side come what may.
Jon, all I can say is been there done that with a stubborn mother. She was not an ex-wrestler and a personification of the South but had her moments. She had cancer all throughout her internal organs.
I smiled at the idea of the doctor asking if Mama had any erratic bahaviour. It was like the radiation doctor telling my Mom that the treatment to zap the tumors behind her eye would give her cataracts in a year or two. Her and I looked at each other and burst out laughing. A year or two wasn’t going to happen.
I wish you the best and repeat the thought of; better to ask forgiveness for an act taken than ask permission for what you wish to do. Get the papers written up.
While nothing I can say can approach the eloquence of your postings, I wanted to let you know that I’m sorry to hear that your family is facing this situation. 
I hope that whatever the diagnosis turns out to be, that your mama’s doctors will be able to help her choose options that allow her to maintain a good quality of life for as long as possible. I know that caregiving for a sick relative can be very stressful, so I also wish you the best as you deal with all these issues.
Your family is more…technicolor than most, Sampiro but the fact that you find wry appreciation in its vagaries doesn’t make them less rant-worthy. I’m disgusted, though not suprised, that some can’t/won’t see substance through posting style on a message board fer crap’s sake.
I sure hope that your Mama may yet pull off another suprise come-back but (and this is painful to write) even her indomitable force is waning. If vital people troublesome, the slow slide toward the Final Exit we all ride just magnifies what was already there. That’s not to say there couldn’t a flash or two of life-culmination charity suitable for Hallmark moments but IME they’re flashes of grace, not remotely predictable or dependable. We gotta take the dying just as lived, only they’re usually…more so.
I don’t know what’s happening inside your mama’s head amd heart, emotionally or medically, but no matter what, her entire LIFE is passing away, all of it. Knowing it’d happen is miles away from being ready. Truth to tell, probably everything she has left is focuesd on the unthinkable. She lived it with zest and a lot of complicated but genuine love, but right now everything’s gonna up and really end on her. She might do the tidy anger, denial, bargaining, acceptance etc. shit but IME it’s a huge mistake to rely on it. It doesn’t mean flunks dying or negate any or every bizarre belief she lived. She’s just dying as she lived.
There are worse ways to leave life. Consistency, even if it’s stubborn, sidewaysinconsistency, should count for sumpin’, right? Not to discount money for instant, but passes a hell of lot more quickly than people and usually leaves far fewer real traces behind a legacy.
As for a will… you can try to appeal to last-gasp reason. My family–parsimonious, constipated Scots and Germans for the large part–stubbornly held to the belief that death was a dirty trick–by the government, possibly in collusion with family–to part them with everything they owned, parsed out among the living, most of whom didn’t come up to srcatch, even family they loved in their complicated ways. All that summing up stuff could wait until they were damned well ready to go and not before. So…my stubborn, canny, paranoid, loving uncle–who was gay before gay was permissable, to himself most of all–died intestate, even though he passionately wanted what little he had left for his infant grand neices and nephews. The state took what little–monetarily–was left after his death. Maybe–very probably–his actual ‘estate’ wouldn’t have mattered for beans, in terms of actual remembering, all he actually was and wanted. Piddlin’ death couldn’t trump all his life taught. Never got beyond flat refusal, y’know, and who’s to say that didn’t best sum up his life?
I’m not even touching my mother and father dying. Talk about conflicted legacies.
I’m so sorry for your mama’s decline and passing, Sampiro. Shit surely happens, and it–all of it–catches up with us in the end.
Just don’t–don’t, for any reason–take on more than your due. Your mother has two other children, both amply able to provide care for your/their mother’s needs. You don’t have to sacrifice or apologize for your hard-won life. Your needs are NOT expendable just because you’re seem more ‘available’.
It’s a bitch, but death usually is. The real loss, and attendant rationlizations, kick in way after someone dies. Denying others the responsibility–the last possibilty of doing well by the dying–hoplessly corrodes over time. It’s pitiless and inescapble in the end. Probably appropriately, in a twisty Greek drama way. Death catches up with everybody, and last-chance retrospectives can be dire. My family has been ripped apart by ancient guilts and comfy designated martyrs.
Money isn’t your mother’s real legacy. It’s a tool but it’s also a helluva of a symbol. Just don’t mistake the tool for reality, okay? Your mother’s real legacy is survival and sideways, take-no-prisoners spit-in-the-eye survivor’s honor.
How very eloquent. You have summed up exactly what I wanted to say, but so much more gracefully than I ever could.
Sampiro, I’m so sorry you have to deal with all of this. Take the advice given here to heart.
Although the laws are different in Germany, my mother went through hell after her mother died. Her mother hadn’t bothered with a will. Her father had died many years before that, and had left behind a complicated will. Of course Oma had survivorship rights and when she died without a will things got very nasty between my mother and her siblings. Being that my mother had to travel from the US to Germany, things became even more difficult. In the end, there was a hearing, and my mother was royally screwed in regards to her “inheritance”. The youngest brother, throughout the years prior to Oma’s death, had been selling off Oma’s and Opa’s stuff to museums and pocketing the money. There were certain items that were supposed to passed on to me as the eldest grandchild and certain items that were supposed to go to my mother. Sold, all of them, without apology. When they were asked about the stuff, they would shrug their shoulders and say the stuff never existed. :dubious: :mad:
The thing is, all these siblings are extremely well off. My mother, on the other hand, is nearly seventy and continues to work because she can’t afford to retire. She lives a frugal lifestyle. She could have used some of the estate so she could afford to retire and finally rest.
Needless to say, although I’d like to go back to Germany to see it again, I have no desire to see any of my relatives there, none at all. They said many nasty things to my mother, and I’ve lost all respect and any sense of familial connection to them.
Mom doesn’t really talk to any of her siblings anymore. One of them calls here occasionally, but only because she has become a bitter old woman and wants to complain to my mother.
I’m sorry, I didn’t mean to hijack this. I guess what I’m trying to say in a very rambling way, is that it is imperative that your mother have a will. Yes, your siblings are well off, but IME, this doesn’t really mean anything. Money is money. Things are things. Humans collect, it’s our nature.