Happy birthday, Laura! Beach mimosas and a nap sound great.

My friend’s mom had Alzheimer’s, and honestly, she ended up lying a lot. Her mom would ask where her husband—my friend’s dad—was, and he’d died years ago. Instead of saying as much, and triggering a fresh round of grief each time, she’d ask, “Where do you think he might be?” And her mom would respond with something like, “He’s out fixing the car”, and my friend would just say, “Sounds likely,” and redirect the conversation. Apparently this is a technique signed off on by dementia professionals. If a lie is kinder or makes things easier, lie your ass off.

Happy birthday Laura.

Support and love to Steph, shrift, and Sara and any others on the parental care front.

to take care of us when we’re old without any help.

I have long term care insurance because of this. If I just die without needing it, it acts as a life insurance policy for Mac. I also plants move to a retirement community as soon as I can afford one that is continuous care. I’m hoping that will be at 60 or 65.

That's a good plan, msbelle. I have been trying to figure out how to deal with that as a childless person kind of in parallel with eyeing my parents currently very independent lifestyle and wondering how much longer it can last and not getting very far with either.

Oh, happy birthday, Laura!

So sorry to everyone struggling with/ on behalf of their parents. I think my mother and I just flat-out spend too much time together these days. Mostly, we get along, but it's a lot what with her having retired in a global pandemic and such. And she feels bad about her arthritis and our needing more help. Which I get, but it makes her hover. Which I really don't love so much, even if I can concede that there are times when it makes some practical sense. I don't even know what I'd go and do, but I wish I could do it. And, complaining about this makes me feel busted down to the suburban teen without a car I was *lucky* enough to be the first time, except without the fantasy that things would be different when I graduate. So, that's fun. (And, cool,since then I know that , if something goes really wrong with your birth, and you use the teen-girl stand-by "God, I didn't ask to be born," you can make anyone cry. Which may be the closest I get to Dark Willow magic.) Calli, yeah, I'm not sure how that happens. Maybe someday, though that doesn't feel like a grown-up thought either.--tough balance, trying to keep some hope alive, without trying to be like my cousin whose family decided that since she isn't well, her life should be a theme park at all times. (I am somewhere between disgusted and envious of her facebook updates...If I actually knew German, bet they have just the word for this.) I'm not sure why people think a disabled *kid* is the hardest thing there is to be. Until I was ten, I kind of thought I was famous or had minions...that is how solidly this culture kissed my little blonde cripple-girl ass(Is that how Taylor Swift feels *every day*? No wonder she can't just pick one...) But you don't have to hate me...that party's been over for a long time, A lot of times in other stuff I do though, I feel like a former child actor who's like "Hi, America...I'm in Shakespeare in the park now." But they all want me to say "What you talkin' 'bout, Willis," again. And not for much money, either.

And I feel very guilty because I can't tell you I've gone on ahead in the assisted-living issue and found amazing options, cause I didn't and we didn't. Which feels kind of like "Fuck, Paulie, you had one job," if you're me, which makes me feel kind of glad I don't work for Tony cause disappointing him led to more than a bad review, right?

I haven't had any emotional spoons left for Dad for quite a while now. I know he's not being crazy on purpose, and I know he's not being crazy *at* me. But I still have nothing left for him, emotionally. Not anymore. I guess what I really need is an extra helping of grace so that I can extend some grace to him and get through this to whatever might help him.

This is me and my older sister. When we went down last week to bring some of her things from her house to my parents' house AT HER REQUEST (AND we picked up the car from my soon-to-be-former BiL), things went poorly enough that my watch gave me a high heart rate while not moving alert. Oops?

I might have lost my patience and snapped, but Christ fucking wept. I just. I remember more of 2023 than she does. I know how much we, including the BiL, tried to get her help for both physical and mental health issues. She doesn't remember or acknowledge this. She's angry and abusive, and when she's not verbally aggressive, she's passive-aggressive. She complains she doesn't have money to hire a lawyer (though she claims she can help my parents out with the bills my mom keeps forgetting to pay) while doing things like buying an electric bike that she can't even use, given that she's barely mobile. There are four people living in my childhood home (parents, both siblings), and none of them are really competent, and I hit the end of my rope a long time ago.

My sister used to be the sweetest person. A little Eeyore, but sweet and kind. That person doesn't exist anymore, or if she does, she's buried under pain and resentment. Trying to care about her or help her is a thankless task, and even with the boundaries I've got put in place, it's probably shaved a few years off my life, and I resent that it's making it hard to see my aging and fading parents.

So much whatever you need to Steph, shrift, sarameg, and Plei & any others on the loved one care front.

Oh, Plei. That is so much that is so hard.

Oh, Plei. That is so much that is so hard.

And that's as close to an elevator pitch version as I can even get! If I had a lot of money, like, multimillions, not just a few million, I would be throwing it at lawyers so fast.

You can barely walk into the house now because of the piles of boxes (and the still-in-a-box bike) from her manic spending. And I do mean manic. I suspect mood stabilizers would do her a world of good, but she screamed at me (both real screaming and FB message screaming) when I suggested she might look into the possibility of being bipolar. "I'M JUST DEPRESSED! YOU AREN'T A DOCTOR, SO STOP SAYING I MIGHT BE BIPOLAR!" as if potentially being Bipolar Type 2 is some huge insult (I found her taking it as an insult to be insulting, given that I kept telling her that, I, her blood relative, found SSRIs and the like far less effective than a mood stabilizer, which I am on because my pdoc treats depression mixed with severe anxiety as BP2 with a lot of success).

I'm trying to avoid talking about it as much as I can, as actually looking at it head-on makes me want to curl up in a ball and hide for all eternity, but man. It sucks.