Today’s office

This is not a post about Blue Eyes or Sex Addiction. It’s a post about my own family of origin and dealing with the dynamics of fallible people making stupid decisions.

I do not for one minute think I am anywhere near perfect. I know I have lots and lots of faults, just like everyone else. However, I am aware of my faults and I try, I really do, to address them. So, what do I do when I am incredibly frustrated and need to purge. I come here, to my respite of choice.

I have written here about my aging parents (82 year old mother with short term memory related dementia, and 85 year old step father dying of prostate cancer). I have written about my younger sister with Borderline Personality Disorder. I have written about my baby brother who ran away to Tokyo 30+ years ago. Then there’s me. The oldest child. This is the little family I grew up with day in and day out. Yes, there is the big ‘every-other-weekend and some holidays’ Mormon family, but they are not what this particular story is about.

When my Dad died a few years ago, I went through a bit of the history of my parents. They met in middle school (Dad was a year older) in a very lower middle class neighborhood of Portland. They were an item through High School (although Dad dropped out Sophomore year to drive a “pop delivery truck”) and then they married after Mom’s graduation. I was born 11 months later. They were 20, and 19, respectively. I was an only child for five years. I was the center of their young lives and I was loved. I knew this and never questioned it. I was a happy, content child. My mom was a great nurturer. Then all hell broke loose. Mom was unhappy and asked for a divorce. Dad cried, blah, blah blah. Mom gave him another chance. She got pregnant with my sister. Dad cheated and left us. They both remarried. My sister and I were dragged back and forth for years. I took care of my sister when we were at Dad’s because he was ill equipped to handle her “personality.” My sister’s BPD shaped all our lives.

So what’s going on today? After weeks and weeks of searching retirement home options, procuring real estate agents, estate sale agents, moving companies, storage units, etc… the parental unit moved into Independent Living in a beautiful retirement community in a suburb of Portland. Unfortunately, my step father’s cancer has taken a fairly drastic turn for the worse. I mean seriously, he has been fighting this thing for 25 years now and has done a pretty stellar job of winning at cancer. Until now. The 35+ rounds of chemo have taken their toll and the chemo has run its course. He’s gone from refusing the cane, to a walker, to a wheelchair in a matter of weeks. He has fallen numerous times, broken bones, gotten concussions.

The problem really started with my shoulder surgery. I wrote about how that morning my incredibly weak step father took a bad fall. Mom and dog were left alone at the retirement home. BPD sister kicked in. Since sister needs knee surgery, trip to Hawaii was postponed and I sent her to the beach for a break. I was a month out of surgery myself and still really wasn’t supposed to be lifting anything over a pound but somehow I convinced myself I could lift my step father’s heavy wheelchair in and out of his SUV to take him to his wound care appointments. Ouch.

During this time, we had an assessment at their retirement home for moving them into Assisted Living. It turned out, this particular assisted living situation is not conducive to my parents’ needs. Dad requires too much outside assistance and they have no resources for Mom (outside of Memory Care–and the parents won’t be separated). My sister had basically been living with them since Dad’s big fall. The retirement home let us know that this is not acceptable. It is in fact a breach of their contract. So, my thought was that we would move the parents to a house or condo. Much smaller and safer than their previous house, but for far less money than the retirement home and where we can bring in whatever help is needed whether that be my sister for part of the time (when she’s up to it), or a night nurse or 24/7 nursing care, or whatever. Because I am who I am, I spent hours (days) searching for a small home/condo in Dad’s price range (he is incredibly frugal), with easy wheelchair accessibility and at least 2 bedrooms and 2 bathrooms. We toured a number of homes and condos, but there was really only one (imagine that) that was small enough, flat enough, close enough to their doctors and in Dad’s price range. No yard maintenance. Beautifully built, nearly new. We toured it twice, Dad put in an offer that was accepted and he put earnest money down. While I was sitting with the real estate agent during the home inspection (as a courtesy to Dad), my sister returned from the beach trip I had sent her on. I paid for her and her partner, their fuel, lodging, meals, shopping trip and massages. I seriously was very grateful for her help with our parents, especially considering her limitations.

After her beach trip, and while I am there for the inspection, my sister decides to stop in and see the house that is basically already purchased. I can see from the moment she walks in the door that she is NOT in a good mood. Classic behavior for someone with Borderline Personality Disorder and Bi-Polar tendencies. Many a discussion has been had between me, my brother, and our parents about how ill-equipped this sister is to take care of our parents, however, she has had their ear for the past six weeks, and she is persistent, self centered and manipulative. She looks around the little house (which is freakin’ adorable btw), says “her bedroomS” are too small. I ended up finding a 3 bedroom/2 bath house. I asked her what she was talking about. She said she is planning on moving in with mom and dad and there is no way those bedrooms are big enough for her (and her partner and her cat and all her hoarded belongings). I explained to her that those bedrooms weren’t “hers.” They were for whoever needed to stay with mom and dad, which would probably be nursing care at this point.

She literally SCREAMED AT ME: “YOU DO NOT GET TO DECIDE EVERYTHING FOR EVERYONE. WE’RE NOT BUYING THIS HOUSE.” And then she stormed out, slamming the door of a house my parents didn’t yet own. The very sweet and patient real estate agent just stared at me. Most people would be embarassed or in fact mortified, however, I am so immune to my sister’s violent outbursts that it barely registered. Later that night, my Dad pulled out of the real estate deal. The next morning I sent him an email (because he puts every call on speaker phone and again, my sister had been living with them in their tiny retirement home apartment) and I let him know that I thought he was making a huge mistake and that he should not be relying on BPD sister for their care and she (and definitely not her partner) should not be giving up their apartment and moving in with them. I told him I was done and that they should just stay in their retirement home and figure it out. He called back when I was in a meeting and left a message. He was crying and saying the reason he pulled out of the deal was not because of my sister, but because his health is failing and he didn’t want our mom to have to deal with a house when he is gone. Fair enough, right? NO!!! We had already discussed this and he knows I am well equipped to deal with anything and everything once he is gone. As much as I love him, I knew I was being manipulated. I am sure there was a nugget of truth to what he was saying, but there was no doubt in my mind that my sister let out her wrath on them the night before and he just ran out of energy to deal with it. I did not return his phone call.

Two nights ago I received a very late night text from my sister saying that our parents are doing fine and that they were going to look at houses yesterday. I have not texted her back, nor have I talked with my parents. My parents know how destructive my sister is and yet I believe they are too weak and beat down to fight her at this point. There is really nothing more I can do. Being the older sister, who is not mentally ill, with parents that are too old to know what is good for them, is a thankless job. A job I never wanted, but was given anyway.

There are many days (and I have written about a lot of them here), where I wish I had a different personality. A personality that could just easily walk away from other people’s bullshit. I wish I didn’t care. I wish I hadn’t been trained to shoulder other people’s burdens. I know I need to fix this part of me, for my own sanity.