Read the previous post if you haven't already. I got a call this morning, and stupid me, I answered it without thinking.
Migraine One.
A pleasant, decidedly masculine voice declared himself to be Migraine One's soon to be ex-husband, Banana Peel (BP). He told me that Migraine One was in hospice and ripped to the tits on pain meds of various and assorted names, purposes, and colors. Wheeeeee! She's unable to talk for more than a minute or so, and seems to recognize people. Out of her three children, the eldest bat-shit crazy and sometimes violent daughter who lives and practices family counseling in granola land is visiting her, and is bringing along her daughter from a previous marriage, so there's that - whatever that may be. Her middle child, eldest son, talks to her on the phone. Remind yourself that long distance via phone is a great thing, as you are not in the same room with the other party. The youngest isn't speaking to her, and the last I knew threatened a restraining order should she ever come near him or his family, or try to contact them in any way. She will, of course, as it's the perfect opening for a martyr.
BP is doing the best he can. He's being tested for liver cancer, (hence the moniker, meaning one foot on the banana peel, one foot in the grave) but the jury's still out on that one, so we'll see if he craps out later on. My money's on the don't come line, but that's just me.
I've decided to give it another month, and if she hasn't cashed in her chips, I may send a Thinking of You card of some sort. May send a card. I'm equally likely to wait and see what shows up, because a sympathy card is far easier to send than anything else.
I'm also pondering the advice of two women who read this hound, one Anonymous and the other is Jo-Anne of Jo-Anne's Ramblings. They both said essentially the same thing, and I think they're both experienced and tough. They said NO! for reasons of self-preservation and sanity, and I believe them.
I'm sitting on my hands and keeping my big, fat, yap shut for once.
3 comments:
My nephew's mother is a batshit crazy bitch my nephew is 22 or 223 and my brother split with her 22 or 23 years ago but still has times when she rings wanting him to sort out her train wreck of a life.
I remember years of similar crap with my ex. She barely talks to the kids now, and couldn't tell you her her grandkids names if you gave her a multiple choice with an A and a B, and the B was, "Same as A".
Jo-Anne: Yeah, that's the thing. After twenty years, the phone still rings, and it's still the same old thing - I want something, and if you're not miserable I'll do my very best to help you along in that direction.
Well, at least she's predictable in that sense.
CW: I'm sorry to hear it. Take an older, wiser man, tie him to the back end of a pickup truck and drag him over ten miles of bad road, and he'll just dust himself off because he's been there before. The grand-kids haven't, and it's hard on them.
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