The DoD

How many years ago did Missus Surname's nurses became Mister Surname's daughters? Here, I am calling them, DOD. Daughters of Delusion. This morning it feels significant that I cannot remember how many years have passed since the charming father/daughter scenes started playing out. The absence of daughters in the family had always beed acutely felt for both Mister and Missus Surname. I was a dissapointment to them in that regard. I have never had an intimate conversation with the other Surname DIL, so I donae know if she was as much a disappointment as I was I didnae much understand my in-laws before that. Now? Color me repressed. If I must have an opinion, it is: The serving side of the silver platter sure gets messy.

I don't want to have an opinion, but whether I want them, or not, I do have feelings. Processing. . . Sorting. . .

I don't know which one gives me the more vicious psychic twists: Head DOD's similarities to my own mother or denying my own mother's condition while watching how rich folks play out the death drama. I cannot seem to help the way my mother's image floats into my mind when I hear Head DoD's name. Both women are short, curly haired, fat and ambitious. The level of education, and skin color are the main difference. Head DoD is an RN with much darker skin tones.

My mother's State nursing home drama is a loud scream from The Sucking Black Hole of our estrangement for 17 years now. Avoiding The Old Folk's Home is Mister Surname's story set surrounding his deep affection for his DoDs. Ouchy Yeowchy. Staying silent during those stories has been high octane fuel for my over-developed flight instincts. Did I bring extra cancer sticks? Excuse me folks. . . I need a smoke break. Oops. . . Ran out. . . I need to go get some. My favorite cigarette vendor lives in Bolivia. Back in a flash. . .

News that my mother had been moved to hospice care was the trigger for the Tit for Tat skirmish which ended in police action and our last separation. My mother became his mother once again. I reckon that j. hasnae had enough physical exposure to his MIL to be able to separate the mothers well. To my senses, I could more easily confuse an 18 wheeler and a MIG jet. Again, I canae recall the timeline. At least 3 years ago. Before Missus Surname died. I am pretty sure we were already watching the father/daughter enactments by then.

Call received. Mister Surname has died.