We heard a series of frantic ringing at the door. I thought my 'Rents were going to get it, but the frantic ringing turned into frantic knocking. Who the fuck could that be?
I see this big, burly guy standing next to Grandmother. He was wearing police gear.
According to the officer, she had to picked up by the police not once but twice.
I don't want her to go into a nursing home, but when she involves the cops, even if it is an overreaction (I don't know all the facts), it's hard not to think she might need some help. That's partly why I immediately filled out the series of forms that set up Grandmother's move into this old folks' home.
Today, I told her I needed her insurance and identification cards to fill out the rest of the forms. She refused, then left the house for the day. No, I didn't press the issue.
Grandmother thinks she can run away from this. She probably can't. But you know what? I understand. Good for her!
(Now I'll get home and My Fucking Father will be there telling me to do something I don't want to do, or that somehow he got the information and we're moving her out. Fuck me.)
No comments:
Post a Comment