This is all I've done today and although that is a lot of fruitcake, it should not be an all-day event to make it.
It's been a hard day. A crying day. A day where I've felt useless and ugly, small of spirit and of soul. I have been highly emotional today. I have cried at good news, I have cried at old memories, I have cried at bad news, I have cried just because my eyes filled with tears. And then Mr. Moon called from the road. He told me last night that he was coming home tonight instead of tomorrow night. But today, when he called, he was so upset.
Oh god. It's a long story but it involves our friend Tom of whom I've spoken many times. He was our partner on Dog Island but I've known him for far longer than I've known Glen. And he and Glen have bonded over the years, helping each other out with tools and cars and manly things like that and they have been going to FSU basketball games together for decades.
The last few years have been very hard for Tom. He's had a form of cancer, he's had strokes. His mobility and abilities have been severely limited but he is as stubborn as the day is long and has refused to go into any sort of assisted care, and in fact, has recently ignored small strokes, deciding to only take an aspirin and get on with whatever he was doing.
Tom is not like other people in many ways. He has been a loner for most of his life, living in the woods, and he does not have a lot of friends. Glen has been a wonderful friend to him and has helped him in so many ways during all these troubles. Ross was one of his best friends. Tom adored Ross and Ross loved Tom, too. When Ross died almost a year ago, Tom took it hard. Hard.
But he went on. Despite his problems, he continued to do what he could and that included tending his garden, going to a gym, doing his own shopping. He still took care of his younger brother who lives in St. Augustine who has severe disabilities himself that he was born with. Tom has always made sure that his brother had a place to live, people around to take care of him and he was recently put in hospice care himself.
What I'm saying is that Tom is stubborn and tough and he's had a hard row and that he's faced insurmountable difficulties with sheer determination.
And what Glen was upset about was that Tom was in the hospital and that they had called him because he's Tom's health surrogate, and as he was talking to the nurse about Tom's history, he did not realize that he was on speaker phone and said something that upset Tom very much who grabbed the phone, cussed at him, and hung up.
Both Glen and I understand this. Tom is incredibly resentful that he needs help of any kind. Hell- he DROVE HIMSELF to the hospital this morning and neither of us can figure out how he did that. He'd probably had another stroke. And he was angry at the situation. Angry that he is in this place. I think he is probably angry that he's still alive. He made it quite clear to the hospital staff that he is DNR.
But Glen felt so bad. He would have never in a million years done anything to hurt his friend, no matter how irrational he might be, how stubborn he might be. And Tom wouldn't answer his phone.
Glen called another friend who lives near the hospital and he went to see what was happening. He reported that Tom's not really able to communicate verbally at this point and that he seems very angry in general. Which we knew. Beyond that, he found out nothing.
And here's the thing- I should have left this house and gone to the hospital myself to see Tom, to try and ease the anger towards Glen, to be there for him.
And I could not make myself go.
Listen- I have been with people when they died. I am not afraid of that. Death does not frighten me. Dying does not frighten me. But the idea of going to the hospital to see him seemed impossible and I think that it is more of a situation of me being so damn loathe to leave this house to go and deal with a difficult situation which is not in one of my "safe spots" than it is of anything else.
Which is nothing but selfish.
So all day long I've been beating myself up for not doing the right thing. And once I got those fruitcakes in the oven- well, I just couldn't leave, could I? It takes hours for them to bake.
Ironically, I was joking with Rachel yesterday about how I used to take on such difficult tasks. This was back in the day when I had four kids at home.
It was like- "Been gunshot? Come stay with me! I'll take care of you! Wound care is my specialty!"
"Got cancer? Hey- here's a bed just for you! I will tend you and feed you and love you and take you to appointments. I will do whatever I can."
"What? You're a teenager and you say your parents kicked you out? Well, what's one more mouth to feed? Come stay with us."
"You just had surgery and need a place to recover because your husband is a violent jerk? Well, the guest room is ready for you!"
I did these things. And I worked part time. And I volunteered at my kids' schools. And I took care of my family and I put a good supper on the table every night and I made sure the kids got to lessons and I did the laundry and cleaned the house and had friends and did my best to be a good wife. I fed legions of people on Thanksgivings. Tom himself dined at my Thanksgiving table since the years before I married Glen.
And now I can't even go to the hospital to be with one of my oldest friends when he so needs a friend. When I know that my husband would have liked me to do that because he was on the road and could not do it himself.
It's like I've used myself up. Is that possible? I don't think Rosalyn Carter ever whined about using herself up. She and her husband kept giving and doing for others until they physically could not do it anymore.
It's not cold this evening, or even very chilly. I have a light sweater on, but my feet are bare and plenty warm. It's raining. Glen should be getting to Tallahassee pretty soon and has to drop off those boats and then he's going to go to the hospital and see if they'll let him go up to Tom's room.
He is a very good man.
But hey! I made the fruitcakes! I did the laundry! I changed the sheets! I worked on my jigsaw puzzle.
I am not proud of myself. Not one fucking tiny bit.
Another camellia. I do not know her name.
This is me, y'all. This is who I am now.
I'd say "Happy Friday" but it really isn't. Not for me, anyway.
Still...
Love...Ms. Moon