As I sit here my mother tells me stories. Because \u00e2\u20ac\u0153here\u00e2\u20ac\u0161\u00e2\u20ac\u009d is at her fabulous new computer, I try to write them down as fast as she speaks, but I get behind. She\u00e2\u20ac\u2122s a terrific story teller with a scary memory, and if I could keep up, I\u00e2\u20ac\u2122d have no editing to do. Today, I\u00e2\u20ac\u2122m not in a spiffing up mood. Here’s today’s, ragged edges and all. <\/p>\n
But first, a short update. Tomorrow we have Helen\u00e2\u20ac\u2122s first doctor\u00e2\u20ac\u2122s appointment at 9:30. It\u00e2\u20ac\u2122s with her primary care physician, the one who will tell me Helen has to move to be closer to her children. Joan wants me to say, “My sister, Joan, would be happy to have her parents move in with her, and she will do everything humanly possible to facilitate it. Michael, however, thinks it\u00e2\u20ac\u2122s okay if his mother dies a miserable and neglected death in bed in her computer room.”<\/p>\n
At 2:30, we drive back to the same building to see the gastro-enterologist who will tell us if the Prednisone is keeping Helen\u00e2\u20ac\u2122s auto immune liver disease under control. Joan, wants me to ask him about interferon lozenges.<\/p>\n
On to today\u00e2\u20ac\u2122s story: <\/p>\n
\u00e2\u20ac\u0153When Ron Coleman killed himself, the police wanted to interview me. I told them, no, I didn\u00e2\u20ac\u2122t want the police driving up and down the street in front of his house. \u00e2\u20ac\u0153<\/p>\n
\u00e2\u20ac\u0153That was the guy across the street?\u00e2\u20ac\u0161\u00e2\u20ac\u009d<\/p>\n
\u00e2\u20ac\u0153Oh, you remember. Ron came over asking for money and we gave him a check for forty dollars. I made it out for twenty and he looked at it and said, \u00e2\u20ac\u0153Couldn\u00e2\u20ac\u2122t you make it out for forty?’ I said, \u00e2\u20ac\u0153No,\u00e2\u20ac\u2122 but Mack gave me that don\u00e2\u20ac\u2122t-be-so-stingy look. Later that day the bank called to ask me if I had written a check for four hundred dollars. Anyway, the investigating detective wanted to come to our house to interview us. I told him, \u00e2\u20ac\u0153I do not want you parked in front of my house because I live across the street from these people. They don\u00e2\u20ac\u2122t need the embarrassment.\u00e2\u20ac\u2122 He said, \u00e2\u20ac\u0153I\u00e2\u20ac\u2122m not sure it\u00e2\u20ac\u2122s any of your business.\u00e2\u20ac\u2122 I said, \u00e2\u20ac\u0153I\u00e2\u20ac\u2122m not so sure it\u00e2\u20ac\u2122s not,\u00e2\u20ac\u2122 and then I said, \u00e2\u20ac\u0153Why don\u00e2\u20ac\u2122t I meet you at the bank?\u00e2\u20ac\u2122 His answer, \u00e2\u20ac\u0153I don\u00e2\u20ac\u2122t have time to do this.\u00e2\u20ac\u2122 I\u00e2\u20ac\u2122m getting impatient now, so I asked him how about if we meet at the bank in two hours, and the detective agrees, but he doesn\u00e2\u20ac\u2122t show up. After I got home from the bank, I called him in his office to ask why he didn\u00e2\u20ac\u2122t wasn\u00e2\u20ac\u2122t there. He said he didn\u00e2\u20ac\u2122t feel like it. He wanted to meet me here.”<\/p>\n
\u00e2\u20ac\u0153Anyway, I turned the news on the next night and there is a story about a man found dead in an abandoned house of a drug overdose. It was Ron. I had to call his brother to tell him what happened. As much as I knew. He was greatly relieved by my call because he was afraid he had caused his brother\u00e2\u20ac\u2122s death after he stopped giving him money.\u00e2\u20ac\u0161\u00e2\u20ac\u009d<\/p>\n","protected":false},"excerpt":{"rendered":"
As I sit here my mother tells me stories. Because \u00e2\u20ac\u0153here\u00e2\u20ac\u0161\u00e2\u20ac\u009d is at her fabulous new computer, I try to write them down as fast as she speaks, but I get behind. She\u00e2\u20ac\u2122s a terrific story teller with a scary … Continue reading