Return to Normalcy...

Been back in Connecticut for almost a week, and I’ve got to admit that it feels good to be home.  It still strikes me pretty much every day at lunch that my mother is gone, but I suppose that’s the way it’s gonna be for a while, and I’m dealing with it.  I used to call my mother during my lunch breaks at work, usually while strolling around in Manhattan somewhere.  When the weather’s nice, Manhattan is a great place to walk, and lunch is pretty much the only time of day that both and my mother both routinely had free.  So now I get sad whenever I head out for my afternoon walk, but like I said, I’m dealing with it.  Now that Mom’s gone, it’s a little easier to focus on the positives of her life, and for that as much as anything, I’m grateful.

Training’s been going okay.  It was a little tough getting back on the horse when I got back from Tennessee—I ended up taking four days off while we were down there—but I finally went for a 25-mile ride on Sunday last week and did intervals, and they were awesome.  Still, that ride left me so sore that I had trouble sleeping for two nights, which sucked.  Since then, I’ve been trying to do basically easy aerobic work to keep training my heart without exhausting myself in advance of this weekend’s Westpost 10K race.  Still, it’s been nice to be back on the bike every day, riding through Manhattan and doing my thing.  And it’s not like I’m really going to race this weekend.  Running’s not my best thing by a long shot.  So I’m kind of working through the race while hoping to use it as a guidepost to how my approach to run-training has been this season.  Long story short, I’ve been doing A LOT more intervals this year, and I feel like they’ve been helping.  But I’d still like to see it in numbers this weekend.

Meanwhile, as of this writing, I’m up to $280 in sponsorship for this year’s New York City Tour de Cure, an annual bike ride done to support the American Diabetes Association.  And look, it’s true that I don’t have diabetes, nor does anyone in my family have diabetes.  But still… both my parents are dead, mostly from self-inflicted causes, and this is a ride done in support of what is in many cases a self-help health issue.  That, more than anything, is what makes it important to me.  I mean, yeah, maybe it would be a little more apropos for me to be riding in a no-drinking, no-smoking ride, but there isn’t one of those.  What there is, is a ride that supports better health and—with any luck—better nutrition and better lifestyle habits for the millions and millions of Americans who have diabetes.  Diabetes sucks, and if that weren’t bad enough, Americans are becoming ever fatter, ever lazier folks.  We’re making it worse!  So the question isn’t, “Why am I riding?”  The question is, “How can I not ride?”  Or maybe, “How can I not support what is so obviously a worthwhile cause?”  Honestly, the fact that it’s a charity bike ride is just icing on the cake.

And while we’re on the topic, if you’re interested in sponsoring me in this year’s Tour de Cure—and you know you are—you can do so by clicking here.  As I said above, the ride is done in support of a GREAT cause, and I could certainly use your support.

Speaking of bikes, I want a new one.  Y’know what I mean?

Home Sweet Home

As the title says, I’m finally on my way home after what has been a really tough week.  Starting around two weeks ago, my mother’s condition worsened steadily, to the point where it was obvious that I needed to get back home ASAP.  So I tried to fly out Thursday last week, had my flight cancelled without warning, and finally wound up having to book the last flight available out-of-town on Friday—on a different airline!  Still, I was lucky enough to get in early on Friday morning, and more to the point, with the day off on Thursday and nothing to do in any immediate sense, I was able to spend A LOT of time running and swimming and basically working through my feelings…  As it turned out, that was a good thing.

For awhile, Friday was rather close to my worst case scenario.  I got in, and my mother didn’t know where she was or what had happened.  So I sat down with her and did my best to explain it all, but with a breathing tube stuck in her throat via tracheotomy, communication was difficult at best.  Then, shortly after that, the doctor came in and started talking about Hospice care.  To say the least, Mom did not want to hear that.  She got this look in her eyes like she refused to believe what was going on, and honestly, for awhile, I think she thought we had bad intentions.  So, bottom line, as I feared, I wound up sitting there trying to talk my mom into Hospice.  Well, for better or worse, it wasn’t much of a sell on my part because by then my mother had really been through Hell, and she was quick to realize that there wasn’t at all any likelihood of her recovery.  So the doctor left, and we sat, and by the time he came back—about an hour later—she not only wanted to go on Hospice, she wanted me to pump her full of morphine and remove her breathing tube, personally.  Bottom line, if there wasn’t any hope, then Mom wanted to end it, time now, and quit screwing around. 

And then I had to go explain it all over again to my grandfather—my mother’s step-father—who was apparently caught completely by surprise.  Which is to say that he’d known what had to happen, but I think he’d been in denial about it.  Not a fun conversation, that.

Anyway, it took about six hours and quite a lot of argument with the ICU nurses—who aren’t like Hospice nurse and get very concerned about over-medicating—but I eventually compelled them to follow my mother’s wishes.  Some of her friends came over, we said goodbye, and then they gave her the morphine pump, and once she was out, yes, I personally pulled off her breathing tube and shut it off.  After that, it took about four hours.  She was gone before midnight on Friday.  It was sad, but at the same time, it was also a relief because the last few months were pure Hell—for her and for those who loved her.

Saturday and Sunday were like days of waking dream.  I stayed at my grandfather’s house, and we consoled each other.  I ran a lot and swam a lot, and I went grocery shopping, and I tried to catch up on lost sleep.  And we made the arrangements for the funeral.  Then Sally got into town on Monday morning, and we started trying tie up some of Mom’s affairs and get a start on cleaning up her house.

We buried my mother on Tuesday.  In deference to her pride and the fact that her beauty had been a casualty of the year’s illness, I decided on a closed casket.  Still, the weather was nice, and it was a very nice service, and considering the size of the little town she lived in down in Tennessee, I was amazed at the number of her high school classmates that attended the funeral.

After that, it was work.  I skipped my day’s workout on Wednesday—and then again on Thursday—and Sally and I headed to Mom’s to get serious about packing up valuables and cleaning up.  That was quite a job.  To say that my mother took solace in mindless shopping would be to make the understatement of the year.  On top of that, by the end of the week, I really felt like we’d been living on another planet.  There are a lot of nice, kind, committed, intelligent people in the South and in Tennessee, but then again, there are also a lot of folks who aren’t like that.  I mean, I suppose most Tennesseans are polite enough, but whenever they heard my (lack of) accent, they invariably gave me a look that was either naked curiosity or naked hostility.  It was kind of cute at first, but by the end of the week, I was more than ready to get back to the familiar anonymity of Connecticut and New York.  Having to explain to virtually everyone I met that I was in town to bury my mother was more than a little tiresome by the time the third day rolled around.  And then, too, some Southerners view Yankees with the same contempt that most folks reserve for serial rapists.  It gets old.

Anyway, I’m on my way home now.  I dropped Sally at Nashville airport this morning, and then headed up in one of my mother’s cars.  It’s been a log day, but with the end in sight, I’m finally happy.

My Mother Finally Passed

The title kind of says it all.  I finally got into Nashville late Friday morning.  I'll spare you the gory details, but Mom agreed to go on Hospice care shortly thereafter, and she eventually died late that evening.  And I'm sad, but it's also something of a relief.  She's been sick and in pain for a long time.  It was time.

For the curious, her funeral is Tuesday, starting around noon.  Then I plan to stay in Tennessee for the balance of the week, getting a start on getting her affairs in order.

Stuck in Hartford Airport

I'm on my way to Nashville to see my mother, and my plane's broke.  Fortunately, it's a direct flight; I don't have to make a connection.  So, bottom line, I'm sure I'll get there at some point today.  On the other hand, it would've been cool to know that I had more time to catch my flight.  I'd have liked to go swim this morning.

After talking to the doctor last night, I'm heading down to either put my mother into Hospice care or attempt to take her back to the rehabilitation hospital.  At this point, Mom is stable, but the doctor doesn't think that she has  a realistic chance of recovery.  In fact, at this point it's very much an open question as to whether or not her mind is still functioning at anything like full capacity.  Added to that is the fact that last time they tried to take her into the rehabilitation hospital, she was back in the ICU within 12 hours due to renewed internal bleeding.

On the other hand, Mom can't stay in the ICU.  She's stable, and the ICU isn't meant to be a place for folks to just hang out.  However, up to now, she's been surviving on a steady stream of IV drugs, IV blood transfusions, and constant medical interventions, and she's still sliding slowly downhill.  But my mother's last wish was to basically fight to the bitter end.  And I want to honor that wish as long as it remains valid.

Still, I don't know how cognizant my mother is, and I don't know if she knows how sick she is.  The doc described her current state as "torture."  Somehow, I have to sort through all of this today and come to some kind of intelligent decision.

But my plane is broken.  And now my flight's been cancelled.

Brian’s Beachside Boogie 2011 Race Report

First thing’s first: I’d like to once again thank everyone who has so far donated to the American Diabetes Association in sponsorship of my riding in the 2011 NYC Tour de Cure.  I’ve already raised quite a bit of money, and with the generosity of friends and co-workers, I’m once again contemplating raising my personal fundraising goal.  In what has recently been a very difficult time for me personally, raising money for a worthy cause has given me both hope and a sense of accomplishment, and it means more to me than you can probably guess to see the generosity of others.  So thanks again everybody!

Now then… as I noted earlier, I had my first race of the season over the weekend, Brian’s Beachside Boogie, which is held at Hammonasette State Park in Connecticut to support pre-natal and infant nervous system screening.  The race was an off-road duathlon consisting of a 2-mile run, a 10-mile ride on trail bikes (fat tires mandatory), and then another 2-mile run on the same course.

NUTRITION IS THE FOURTH DISCIPLINE

There’s a saying in triathlon that “nutrition is the fourth discipline”.  Folks say that because multi-sport races tend to be long—even a so-called Sprint triathlon lasts more than an hour—and failure to maintain your blood sugar properly will destroy performance just as surely as will failure to properly train.  Moreover, the Boogie takes place in a kind of nutrition no-man’s land.  At a little over an hour, it’s short enough that you have to race hard the whole way through, but it’s still long enough that you can bonk if you’re not careful.  The typical well-trained racer has enough blood glucose to carry him or her through 45-minutes of grueling activity.  After that, if you don’t take some at least partially effective measures to hold up your blood sugar level, you’re looking at a crash—and an afternoon of sheer misery.  On the other hand, the race is too short to take a gu or other substantial in-race nutrition.  First off, you don’t have time to slow down enough to cram a gu down your throat, and even if you did, the race itself would be over by the time the gu kicked in.  That leaves you with essentially one option: you have to take something pre-race to hold your blood sugar up early and then use a sports drink to keep from falling off a cliff later on.

I mention all this because I tried something new for this race.  Instead of taking a gu pre-race—as I often do for Sprint triathlons—I instead took a power bar about an hour and a half or so before the race, on the theory that the power bar ought to be a little slower acting and longer lasting.  And I washed it down with Gatorade while driving up to the race itself.  Then I got to the race, got checked in, set up in transition, and headed out on my bike for about a 2-mile warm up. 

Having spent the previous day worried about my mother, it felt better than good to finally get out on my bike and start to shake out the emotions of the previous day.  Once I was loose, I cached the bike, grabbed my mat, and walked out into the field to do yoga.  Went through four Sunrise Salutes and the rest of my typical pre-race routine, all of which takes about 30-minutes.  Got back to transition, had a woman tell me that my yoga looked good, and gradually realized I was having a good day.  Considering that my mother is dying, and that I’d spent the entirety of the previous day worrying about it, this was worth the price of admission all by itself.  I ended my warm-up with maybe a mile’s job and a quick pee-break, and then I was ready to rock-and-roll.

THE RACE

The race started at 9 am.  Weather was slightly overcast, maybe 48-degrees, no wind.  An absolutely IDEAL day for racing.  I started out in an Underarmor tee shirt base layer, a long-sleeved polyester pullover, and my blue GIANT cycling jersey over black running tights.  I also wore sunglasses and a lightweight racing cap that fits nicely under my bike helmet.  As it happens, I ended up stripping off both the cycling jersey, but Sally gave me that jersey, and I love it, so I’m still glad I got to wear—at least for a little while.

When starting gun sounded, I was amazed at how fast folks were taking out the first run.  I don’t do that many duathlons, but this wasn’t my first one, either, and in fact, this was the second time I’d run the Boogie.  With that in mind, I tried to follow my old swim coach’s advice and take it out fast but loose.  I wanted to get as much speed as I could without using too much effort.  In the event, most folks ran MUCH faster than me—some a lot faster—but tellingly, I started to catch a few of the rabbits before we even finished the initial running leg.  Experience told me those folks were looking at a tough hour ahead.  But I felt good.  As I said, I stripped off a layer, put on my gloves, fumbled for a while with my helmet, and then grabbed my bike and ran, feeling strong.

1^st Run: 2-miles in 15:24 (7:42/mile pace)

10/14 Age Group

63/128 Overall

THE BIKE

I got on my bike and immediately started passing people.  You never know what to expect with these things, but honestly, I was absolutely AMAZED by how far I moved up.  I rode hard, tried not to listen when my legs started screaming, and did my best just to LAY DOWN THE LAW!

It felt good to do that.

Bike: 10-miles of mixed road and trail in 36:35 (16.4 mph pace.  That’s not bad on a mountain bike)

5/14 Age Group

19/128 Overall

2^nd RUN

I spent some time in transition looking for my gear.  Which sucked.  But eventually I headed out, legs feeling like lead.  This is where some experience with the sport helps.  I concentrated on holding form and just waited for the race to come to me.  And I passed a couple of folks, which almost never happens for me during the last running leg of a race.

Anyway, when I hit about the ¾-mile mark, I knew was okay.  I couldn’t accelerate much, but I held pace and held form, and that was enough to finish strong.

2^nd Run: 2-miles in 15:42 (7:51/mile pace)

7/14 Age Group

53/128 Overall

OVERALL

Alright, so a guy sprinted by me at the line, and I didn’t have the acceleration to match the move.  And that sucked, especially because he was in my age group.  But still… for a race without a Swim Leg, this was about as good as I could’ve expected.  Moreover, any time I can average under 8-minutes/mile running, I’m having a good day.  Here, I did that twice.  I  must have done something right.

Brian’s Beachside Boogie: 2-miles/10-miles/2-miles in 1:07:41

7/14 Age Group

38/128 Overall

Some Notes:

 - Only 1 woman finished ahead of me.  That’s pretty unusual.

 - I was 37/83 if you count only the men.  That’s probably the right way to figure it.

 - My Age Group was faster on average than any ahead of us save for the 20-24 year olds.  Wow!

Dark Thoughts

Mom's really sick.  As the doc told me a few days ago, "She's as sick as a person can be and still be alive."

So here's the thing.  We're reaching the point where her odds of recovery approach zero.  Which means, bottom line, that I think I'm going to have to tell her pretty soon that there's just not much more that the doctors can do.  They might be able to keep her alive a few more weeks or months if they keep pumping her full of antibiotics, anti-fungals, extra blood, and IV proteins, and if they keep her hooked up to a ventilator.  But she's almost certainly not going to improve.  And it takes ALL of that stuff to even keep her going as it is.  She has massive internal bleeding, which leads to both infection and blood loss, and she's not healing, and her intestines have shut down.  How long do we keep this up?

I feel awful for asking that question, but it's the simple truth.

And I'm exhausted, mentally and emotionally, not only because the prognosis has been changing almost daily for the past month--though steadily trending downward--but also just because I'm trying to steel myself for the worst, and it's like hanging on the edge of a cliff, making peace with the fact that you're going to fall, and then having your carabiner catch you right before you hit bottom.  Nothing can save you, but the worst hasn't happened yet.  It's just sitting there, staring you in the face day after day after day.

My mother is a stubborn person, and I hate to say this, but I fear that she simply will not accept the reality.  That she'll want to hang on as long as possible, no matter the costs.  I feel like I should want her to fight, but the truth is that I just want this to be over.  She's not going to get better.  I mean, I don't know that, exactly, for certain yet, but... really, she was 80 lbs before she got sick.  It's been a LONG time since she was healthy.  I just... can't bring myself to believe in a miracle here.  I just can't.  I don't believe it's going to happen.  And I don't want to see my mother suffer, and personally, I don't really want to suffer any more either.

Yesterday, the doctor asked me to give him 48 hours, and then we'd revisit the issue.  Which is fine.  I mean, he was trying to break it to me that she might die, and I was at pains to tell him that I was already aware, I've merely been trying to figure out when and how do I deal with it.  Still, he's a new doc, she's in a new hospital...  I mean, I don't believe a miracle is coming, but I'm not going to actively sabotage the chances that one will occur.  My best engineering estimate is therefore this: at some point late in the week, I'm going to have to travel to Tennessee, break the news to my mother that she cannot be saved, and then do my best to say good bye in a way that brings honor to our family.  I don't know how to do that, but I know by now that I'll do my duty when it's in front of me.

I'm telling you all this just to get it off my chest.

Normally, I'd go out for a run or a ride and try to work through it all, but with a race tomorrow, I'm kind of stuck.  And right now, I feel like I'm about to go completely out of my head.

Tour de Cure NYC!

I've got one more race to add to my list: the American Diabetes Association's Tour de Cure.  I signed up for the metric century (100km) ride, and I'm really excited about it.  'Course, now I need to find sponsors.  I personally donated $25 to the cause and committed to raising another $125.  If you can give, even $5, I would greatly, greatly appreciate it.

Honestly, I would be ECSTATIC to have your $5 donation.

To donate, all you have to do is click the link below and donate.  You can use a credit card.  It's not at all difficult.

And thanks.  I think this really is a good cause.  But even if it's not, you're creating suffering for me, and that's an unalloyed good all it's own.

Here's the link:
My Tour de Cure Page - Click Here to Donate!

2011 Race Calendar

Brian’s Beachside Boogie

Sunday, April 10, 2011; 9:00 am

Hammonasett State Park

This is a short duathlon, 2-miles/10-miles/2-miles.  Sally and I did it two years ago and liked it, though it was windy as all get out.  Then they raised the prices last year, and we decided to skip it.  Which worked out because it was COLD.  This year I’m running the race by myself because Sally’s got a nasty case of plantar fasciitis.  And once again, it promises to be COLD.

Westport Minuteman 10K

Sunday, May 1; 7:45 am

Compo Beach, Westport

Most years, I love this race.  We ran it for the first time maybe four years ago.  Maybe even longer ago than that.  Then, three years ago I fell off my bike and broke my arm.  And had to watch Sally run it.  Awesomely.  Which sucked.  Then, two years ago, we ran together again, and Sally smoked me BADLY in super-hot 85-degree weather.  In April!  And that sucked.  Then last year—again—I couldn’t run because of a pulled groin.  Ugh.

So.  Finally, this year it’s MY TURN to run, and Sally’s turn to watch.  Ha!

Anyway, I still love this race.  I’m not a good runner, but I like to run and I feel like I’m running well right now—at least for me.  So I’m looking forward to seeing where I am in terms of conditioning vs. past years.

Y-Tri

Sunday, May 22, 2011; 8:00 am

Woodruff Family YMCA, Milford

Last year I won my age group, mostly off a blistering swim posted against a small seven-man field.  You wouldn’t think you could get that far ahead in a 300-yard swim, but I posted a 3:10, and that gave me maybe a minute or so on the field.  From there, I managed to hold serve through the bike and then gut out what was at that time a 2.5-mile run.  It was a nice little race. 

This year, the race is Sally’s first race of the season, and it’ll be her first triathlon EVER.  It’s a short Sprint: 300y pool swim, 10-mile ride, roughly 3-mile run.  I’m not sure, but I think they’ve changed the run course, probably to ensure that I don’t win my age group again.  Bastards.  Anyway, it should be an interesting experience for Sally, but I need to get her out on the bike a couple of times between now and the end of May.

Sherwood Island Sprint Triathlon

Sunday (Father’s Day), June 19, 2011; 6:30 am

Sherwood Island State Park

(Not Signed Up Yet)

This is a new race located on one of my favorite local beaches.  We’ve not signed up yet, but I’d really like to get this one in.

Greenwich Point One-Mile Swim

Saturday, July 9, 2011; 7:30 am

Todds Point, Greenwich

I’ve been nursing a little knee injury this year.  Turned out not to be real serious, but I’ve been wearing a brace, and to compensate training-wise, I’ve put more focus into my swimming.  With that in mind, this’ll be one of my “A” races this year.  I doubt I can win, but it’d be nice to go under 20-minutes and be competitive in my age group.

Amica 19.7 Ocean Beach

Sunday July 24, 2011; 7:00 am

Ocean Beach Park

This race was new last year, and it was brutal.  It’s a long Sprint: full ½-mile swim, 16.5-mile ride, 3.2-mile run.  Not a bad course, but they advertised it as flat, and it’s not.  It’s actually one VERY LONG false flat, maybe 2% grade, just enough to make you miserable while you try to keep the pedals turning.  On top of that, the run course is absolutely devoid of tree-cover, so that by the time you’re out there, you’re absolutely baking.  Last year’s run times were miserable, mine included, and everyone looked a little dazed after the race.

I’ve not signed up again yet, but I’d like to.  My mistake last year was thinking that this race was going to be easy because I’d done an Oly with a lot of climbing early in the season.  I won’t make that mistake again.

Litchfield Hills Olympic Triathlon

Sunday, August 21, 2011; 7:30 am

Brodie Park, New Hartford, CT

Two years ago, Sally and I did this as a tag-team.  Last year, I did it solo. 

It’s a nice swim, but it always feels long—which isn’t actually a problem, at least for me.  Then there’s the ride, which is nice.  Downhill for the first half and then rolling hills that climb slowly into a 3-mile climbing finish.  That finish is brutal, but then, that’s kind of the point.  Where I struggled last year was in the run, which felt like it was uphill the entire way despite being a circular course.  In reality, I think that the first mile and a half or so were steeply down, and then we climbed slowly back for the rest of the run, and I just let it get to me.  Or maybe it was just fatigue playing havoc with my mind.  Either way, it was quite the mind-screw, and it left a mark.

In any event, they sent me a $10 coupon, and so I signed up again.  Was this a good move?  I’ve no idea.  I do know that I need to spend more time riding long before I head out there again.

Westport Kiwanis Triathlon

Sunday, September 11, 2011; 7:30am

Compo Beach, Westport

Now THIS is a triathlon.  A full half-mile swim, followed by a 6-mile ride and a 2.2-mile run.  Like Charlie Sheen, I was actually winning for a while last year, and I think I ended up fifth overall.  I can’t wait.  BRING IT ON!

I’m hoping to get Sally to run this race, too, but it might be kind of a long way for her to swim.  We’ll have to see.  At least the swim course is shallow, anyway.

What’s Going On?

Folks been wonderin’ where I been.  Well.  Not to put too fine a point on it, but it’s been a rough couple of weeks.  First off, starting maybe four weeks ago, my mother went back into the hospital, this time seemingly to stay.  Then Sally got sick.  Then Emma got sick.  And then, finally, Hannah got sick, and she was the worst of all.  And on top of that, there’s work and triathlon.  It’s been a lot.  I mean A LOT.  So anyway, let’s start with my mom.

Look, I love my mother, but I’m not gonna sit here and pretend that we had some great relationship.  The truth is that I wish we had a better relationship, but there are reasons that we don’t, and that’s kind of the way it is.  My mother is a life-long smoker, she married a man who turned into an self-destructive alcoholic, and she made absolutely NO effort to improve either her own health or her personal fitness.  So by the time she was in her early sixties, her body was absolutely shot.  This was an avoidable circumstance, but she chose not to avoid it. 

The same was true of my father.  He was a good man, but he developed a really vicious disease in alcoholism, and he made absolutely no effort to get it treated.  He was nonetheless a magnificent natural athlete, and as a career infantry Marine officer, his physical fitness was almost part of his religion for most of his life.  He was in GREAT shape when he developed alcoholism.  But the disease will kill anyone if left untreated long enough, and so while it took ten full years, my father did—eventually—manage to drink himself to death.  I still find the whole thing hard to believe, but there it is.

My mother is a little different.  I mean, you can’t possibly be married to an alcoholic for that long without also being a co-dependent, but even more than that, she was a person who just utterlyrefused to take care of herself.  She was actually belligerent about it.  In fact, she was pleased when a psychiatrist diagnosed her as a passive-aggressive “caretaker,” and she embraced that role, doubling down on unhealthy mental behavior as a kind of internal badge of honor.  She ignored completely doctors’ orders, orders for rehab, and any other medical or health-type advice that anyone near her cared to give if it was even mildly inconvenient or demanded the most rudimentary commitment.  She didn’t have time, didn’t want to make time, and ultimately wanted us to feel sorry for her sorry state. 

Well, it wasn’t unexpected. 

Which is to say that I knew my mother.  It’s been a while since she’s fooled me about who she is.  This is the woman who refused to tell me where she thought I ought to go to college when I asked but then never missed an opportunity to tell me that I’d made the wrong choice after I’d already graduated.  Who introduced me to my first wife, then turned on her and decided that I shouldn’t marry her but then never actually told me… until after we were married, at which point she wouldn’t shut the fuck up about it.  Who had to be hospitalized and given morphine for back pain the week before I went to Korea.  Back pain that mysteriously cleared up as soon as I left.  Who literally broke out in hives the week that Sally and I got married.

Now that she’s actually, permanently hospitalized, I’m starting to learn exactly how bad it was.  I mean, I should’ve known that she’d never let me see the worst of it, but still…  She’s been on Xanex for more than 15 years!  She survived lung cancer but kept smoking, working all the way back up to a pack-and-a-half or more every day!

It’s frustrating to me.  I simply cannot understand my mother’s mindset.

Mom’s probably not going to live much longer, and lately I’ve been trying to think of the good things about her, to focus on the positive.  Truth: I love my mother, but I cannot remember many times when I was actually happy to have her around.  It’s not that I have NO happy memories of my times when my mom was around.  There are plenty of those.  It’s just that she’s always a spectator in them, hanging around in the background.  The closest I can come is thinking about the time I had my Wisdom teeth pulled out, and the dentist mis-measured the anesthesia and almost killed me.  I was in High School.  Mom took me to the Emergency Room, had the doctors give me whatever that shit is that they give overdose victims, and basically made sure that I lived to tell the tale.  And afterwards, she was really great.  She was comforting, and she didn’t give me any shit about anything at all.  It was great, honestly.  I didn’t love her then because of my obligations, I loved her because, well, she was just really, really nice to me.

And then, there was the time she made me the Winnie the Pooh cake when I was three.  That’s my first memory, and it’s dim, but it seems happy.  I’m sure there were a lot more times like that, and I just can’t remember them well.  That I’m not being fair because I’m now really, really pissed off that both my parents have essentially committed long-form suicide.  But there it is.  I never needed them to take care of me, really, but it would’ve been nice if I could’ve counted on them to take care of themselves.  Maybe stay together, see a couples’ counselor, work their problems out like adults…

Eh.  Who am I kidding? 

This is America.  Land of the dumbest, most self-entitled motherfuckers on the face of the earth.  My folks were nothing if not patriots.

Ugh.  Enough.  Let me stop.  It’s true, I’m frustrated, but life goes on.  I wish my mother would’ve lived her life differently, but it was her life, and I’m quite sure she wishes I’d live my life differently, too.  It is what it is.

Anyway, suffice it to say that triathlon has been my out lately, my way to stay sane.  I don’t know what else to tell you.

And yeah, Sally's been sick, too.  She had a sinus infection.  Then Emma got a cold.  Then Hannah got the flu.  Ugh.  Been a rough couple of weeks.