I went over to Grandmother's bedroom and told her, as best I could in Chinese: Father wants me to take her to the doctor to get a shot. Why, Grandmother asked. It's for you before they put you in a home.
She said OK, but I knew what she would do next. I don't know whether it's a symptom of her oncoming senility or she just changes her mind like a girl changes clothes (tm Katy Perry), but as I was going to the bathroom before going to the bedroom to change, Grandmother starts reneging on her yes to go: "Do we have to go today? Can we do it another time? I think I'm sick. Constipated. Shit's not coming out."
Usually I would be very angry with her about doing an about-face. But I know the truth: Grandmother doesn't want to leave the house. My Fucking Father can talk all he wants about how opulent it is and how much the rent is and how she's going to be waited on hand and foot and the fact (maybe, I don't know) that all of her stuff will be moved there. She won't like it there because it's not home.
And I totally understand that. This is home for me, too, and I sure as fuck wouldn't want to be uprooted to anywhere else. Anywhere else isn't here. That's where I like it (at least for now), and I know this is where she likes it.
So I called My Fucking Father back because Grandmother wanted to speak with her. If he wants to kick her out, he'll have to do more of the heavy lifting, because I disagree with it every step of the way. After some back-and-forth between him and her, he called me. He asked, "Is she really sick?"
And this is where I could finally try and do something about all this shit. So I lied to him, sort of: "Well, she has been in the bathroom a couple times. I don't know for sure, I was downstairs trying to fix the printer." (Our printer is broken, but I think I fixed it.)
"Fine," he sighed, as he was going through yet another push-and-pull with Grandmother, "I'll go talk to her." And then, nothing.
---
I did have to go to the U. to be a guinea pig for their scanning lab. I figure on my way there I'd give a call to My Fucking Father, in case he still wanted me to set up an appointment at the clinic for Grandmother. I needed an excuse to call, so I figured I'd tell him I had fixed the printer and printed out the spreadsheet Mother had made.
After some small talk -- there's always small talk to break the ice between us, even if it doesn't break the ice -- I said, vaguely, "Do you need me to do anything else ... ?"
"No," Father said, getting onto the subject I kind of sort of wanted to talk about. "She's crazy. She can move into this great apartment but she doesn't want to. I now have her best friend talking to her, trying to put some sense into her."
"You know, maybe she's homesick," I said.
"No. She should go back to Hong Kong and be with her son," he replied.
Grandmother should, but as I reminded My Fucking Father, "He doesn't want her."
"I know," he said, and then, as is his wont, he hung up without saying goodbye.
I think we're in the clear, at least for now.
---
I had a fantasy baseball auction tonight, so I just stayed out after getting done being a tube subject (and exercising). I was in no rush to come home, so after the auction I bought some milk and put a few bucks' worth of gas in my car.
My Fucking Father was downstairs in the computer room, and as he usually does, he just calls out to me. Hate that. Hate it now especially since there are so many bad things going on with the family.
All he wanted was one bad thing. He wanted me to write down the type of shot the nursing home coordinator wanted Grandmother to get, the TB shot. I wrote it down. That's all he wanted from me. Thankfully my dealings with him was short, but what he wanted was more devastating to me than all the other times he wanted something unreasonable from me.
---
I went upstairs to Grandmother's bedroom because she needed to take her nighttime medicine. When I opened the door (her light was on so I took a guess that she was up) she looked like she was sleeping. But immediately, without even opening her eyes, she waved me in.
What she said next I couldn't quite comprehend. But it was the same old "your father wants me to leave, I'm leaving soon, I need to ask my son for money" stuff she's been telling me since August. I nod as I listen, even though I can't understand anything. What she repeated often was, "I have no choice," and she said it calmly. Plus she was trying to be reassuring to me; "When Father yells at you, don't talk back. Let him scream," I think she said. She was very calm in a resigned sort of way, but I think I know how she's really feeling: terrified and bitter.
I would be too. In fact, I sort of am terrified and bitter now.
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