Thank you so much for liking and reading my blog. I wish I could personally thank each of you, but my limited vision just won’t allow it.
It somehow seemed appropriate to choose Labor Day for this post. So many of us have worked hard striving for our version of The American Dream; whatever that might be. Let us all remember to help each other and continue to strive for health and happiness, and as Dickens’ Tiny Tim says: “God bless us everyone.”
My son is finally getting divorced, and oh the memories that are haunting me… memories of my divorce, and Sis’. Memories of my aunt speaking to her grandchildren from across the street; not being allowed to kiss them or touch them. Oh the true stories I could tell, but they would just create more barriers between family factions, and it’s taken 40 years to repair some of the damage caused during the 1970’s before The Feds got involved in custody disputes.
So I’ll just relay information on my son’s uncontested, but costly divorce. Alexa and Bernard Jr had agreed on what they wanted, but kept delaying seeing a lawyer; so I stepped in and asked if he wanted me to find a lawyer. (I wanted him to just pay the money and get on with his life, but being a “helicopter Mom” to a 30 year old is So Uncool!) They jointly filed their income tax, but neither could scrounge up the needed money for the uncontested divorce because they had initially planned to split the cost.
And then the proverbial shoe dropped, as it does if you wait too long to do what “needs doing.” Alexa’s expecting. So, we saw the lawyer, and what was going to be an uncontested divorce is now complicated because “Alabama doesn’t like ‘bastard babies'” per the lawyer.
Alexa swears the father will sign an affidavit saying he’s the father. I’ll believe it when I see his signature on the paperwork. (I mean, why should he when Bernard’s legally responsible.) And so my fellow bloggers, please share this because the schnook you save may be a relative. Love you son. Onward…
I haven’t blogged in months. I’ve begun, but never finished. I guess it’s just hurt too much.
You see, Sis told me months ago that she has cataracts and macular degeneration in both eyes! She saw a retinalogist who said she needed surgery on “the good eye” first, but she was so traumatized by the visit that she never followed through!
I can understand. I would’ve never navigated my own fear and pain of repeated eye shots if my son, Bernard Jr, hadn’t been with me. Now as I recall those horrible doctor visits, I realize just how brave my son was. He never complained, even when he held my hand and walked with me into the dreaded room. He would chat with me and even joke while we waited for the retinologist to come and give me my shot. Then he would take my hand and guide me out to the car.
I have since apologized repeatedly to him for subjecting him to that horror, but really, isn’t that what families do? I told Sis I would take the bus back to Cahokia, IL to hold her hand for moral support, and tried over the months to convince her to see the retinologist and discuss her options, but she consistently refused. When we spoke on the phone, she told me she’s not even going back to see the eye doctor. She’s resigned to the fact that she’s slowly going blind, and I’m resigned to praying for us both.