The grass has been mowed (mown?)
The two enormous pots of red geraniums have been brought round to the front of the house to frame the door.
The 50 miles of phone lines snaking around Peg's Quarters has been untangled and dispensed with.
The highly unattractive fake wood accordion doors on all the archways downstairs have been removed.
The equally unattractive track lighting Peg had installed on every other beam in the house has been removed.
The especially unattractive blue curtains which appeared throughout the house one summer a few years back, on every door or window, and even when there wasn't a door or window, such as midway across the kitchen, like a stage curtain--have been removed, along with rods.
The framed 4 X 5 ft Rand McNally laminated map of the world which has hung in the den since 1970 has been removed and in fact is now cut up and been jammed into the garbage. (12 Hefty bags today)
The furnace has been turned off. Bob asked me why it was on. (Why is the world round? Why is the sun hot?) Who the fuck knows. "Um, because it heats the hot water?" No. Seems we have an electric water heater. Seems we've been paying for a furnace burning oil in 90 degree weather for God knows how long.
Bob would like to buy the electronic Yamaha keyboard for his son. The arrangement is that it stays where it is in case Alex or DK come over this summer, after which Bob can buy it for half of what it cost--or we do a trade: his time for the piano.
I have missed Bob.
I have been in touch with Maple Grove Cemetery in Minnesota. All sorted. I inherited two graves from Peg's mother Frances when I was 11. I figure one for Peg and Odd's ashes and maybe I'll just lie down in the other for a minute. Starting to be tired.
Sent a prelim enquiry to MN historical society re Lynch/Renning artifacts from the 1800s, currently in a trunk upstairs, stuff like my great grandmother Lydia's wedding gown (mustard coloured baize with crown suede fringe) which am fairly sure is nothing Alex cares to inherit. Or wear.
Louise (which I keep typing Lousie, which couldn't be further from the truth) has already put a few items on ebay. 1st Edition of Alcott's Little Men and some vintage Fiesta Ware. I love Louise. I loge Lousie I love Louise I love Louiose.
I emptied the safety deposit box. Unlike Peg, I have no intention of losing the contents.
I went to the lawyer's. Probate wheels are starting to crank.
I got a parking ticket, while at the lawyers, for parking in the wrong direction on the street. Apparently you can't do that here. Who knew. Another reason not to live in Pittsfield.
I went to Guidos for food for dinner tonight (at a friend's), tomorrow's lunch and tomorrow's dinner. People coming. Nice people. Looking forward to it. Bonnie made up all the beds. Put grocery bags in trunk (boot). Got home. Boot wouldn't open. Clicked everything 100 times. Crawled over back seat to unload groceries into house. (NOTE TO TORY KIND GENEROUS SUBARU OWNER: it's now working. Twas me, not car. I am an idiot.)
Drove on "empty" for miles until I suddenly saw the flashing light and got gas. And there you were thinking life wasn't exciting here in the Berkshires.
Friend of Peg's arrived to commiserate just as I was flying around the kitchen preparing marinade for London Broil for tomorrow night and I was well aware I wasn't acting particularly devastated by loss of mother but couldn't do anything about it, I was late and needed to go. The woman, despite her grief, managed to let me know that Peg had promised her a little upholstered stool. Would you believe. They can't resist, can they. This makes about the fourth person to come round crying gimme gimme. I knew exactly the stool she meant, too. Had to tell her that unfortunately I couldn't give it to her because she was a cunt. (Sadly, no, I didn't just said I wanted it, it has been mine as a child, not strictly true, but PLEASE.)
HIGHLIGHT OF DAY BY FAR (not counting he discovery that I love vodka and tonics). I heard from my god daughter. A lovely lovely note that made me cry.
Friday, July 31, 2015
Wednesday, July 29, 2015
BOOKS AND MORE BOOKS
Just when I think we're done I turn around and see another bookcase. She had 12, yes, 12, standing bookcases in her quarters. 7 now empty. The local library has turned their noses up at anything that isn't current and a hardcover. Which lets about nine thousand of them out. All in the car at present. Perhaps will drop one in everyone's mailbox tomorrow between here and Pittsfield when I drive into town to meet the lawyer.
The More-Than-Capable Louise spent the day with me, helping big time. She's extra fabulous at stuff that defeats me and matters I have no patience in, such as getting my USA cell reactivated and putting minutes on it. Figuring out what to do with 3 IBM Selectric typewriters, only 1 of them working (we have a plan!). Finding and putting the screens on the doors in Peg's dressing room so we don't pass out from carpet full of old dog pee (will have Outside Bob rip it up). Finding and speaking to the right Salvation Army depot that WILL take mattresses (NY, not Massachusetts apparently). Getting quotes on renting a skip (dumpster) for the drive, for my upcoming Dump-It Party (followed by Freezer Party, menu I predict will be an, er, eclectic one). Sourcing an international shippers. Then, the best, loading her car with a dozen items to put on eBay for me, plus researching and doing the write-ups. Giving her 25%. On top of which I unloaded a lot of stuff from here that SHE wanted, being a Peg fan since 1970, among the treasured items being an 8" Pyrex glass casserole dish that Peg always made a braunschweiger or however you spell it--pate in. Louise's favorite. And a confirmed vegetarian save for Peg's Pate. I photographed the recipe for her.
Meanwhile, I have worked my way through 7 boxes on the dining table here and filled an equal number of garbage bags. Plastic bins now line the counter here, labeled Peg Archive, Peg Fan/Personal, Astrid SAVE nostalgia, To ANSWER..and so on. Almost done, except for 6 (big) boxes of fan letters dating back to the early 60s. The University of Oregon where The Peg Lynch Papers are, will want them. Just need to sort. Peg was desperate to find the letter Herman Hupfeld sent her (he wrote As Time Goes By), she obsessed over it for about a year so will see if it's buried anywhere. She'd like that. I guess. Anyhow I'm doing it.
I rang 6 cousins of hers and four friends, suddenly thinking they maybe hadn't heard, which they hadn't. Been going through her address book and ringing anyone who's name rings a bell. One person had died. Also spoke to Alan Bunce's grandson, long chat, have a few things here he might want. And on Facebook I got a message from my first friend when I was 3. Fun. Kind of.
All in all a pretty good day, not counting some stick-on-sole texture pork chops I found in the back freezer, and which I fried up with some leftover baked potatoes about 10pm. I have never cooked pork chops for myself before. How very peculiar it felt. Normally when on my own I just eat easy stuff bout am determined to not let anything go to waste. Plus found some little plastic mini tubs of Odd and Peg applesauce, the kind you put in kids' lunch boxes. Thus was my meal complete. Oh, and with a Blue Moon brand wheat beer I found behind the watermelon pickles in the bar fridge.
And also not counting this morning when I couldn't find my watch which I had JUST SET DOWN ON THE BUREAU five minutes before. Looked everywhere, even downstairs. Finally burst into tears saying "Peg??? If you think this is funny, KNOCK IT OFF!" and I swear, in that instant, I turned around and went straight to the blue velvet chaise in my bedroom and there it was, in plain sight. Hm. Anyhow, the day got better after that. Plus the DISH satellite man came and removed the one they'd placed in the rose bed like a giant grey sunflower last March when Peg insisted on having the Italian Channel (which she never once put on) because Tina the hairdresser said it was great (Tina's Italian). Seems it was the only place they could get a signal what with all the trees. He also removed 2 dead dishes from the side of the house along with a mess of black cords which attached to the old TV antennas on the roof and looped down like spaghetti into pretty much every upstairs window on that side of the house (pretty).
Now ready for bed. (Fucking real estate agent told me yesterday how her house up the road was robbed in broad daylight so she now locks everything up tight as a drum and sleeps with a big strong English billyclub next to the bed, just what I need to hear.)
The More-Than-Capable Louise spent the day with me, helping big time. She's extra fabulous at stuff that defeats me and matters I have no patience in, such as getting my USA cell reactivated and putting minutes on it. Figuring out what to do with 3 IBM Selectric typewriters, only 1 of them working (we have a plan!). Finding and putting the screens on the doors in Peg's dressing room so we don't pass out from carpet full of old dog pee (will have Outside Bob rip it up). Finding and speaking to the right Salvation Army depot that WILL take mattresses (NY, not Massachusetts apparently). Getting quotes on renting a skip (dumpster) for the drive, for my upcoming Dump-It Party (followed by Freezer Party, menu I predict will be an, er, eclectic one). Sourcing an international shippers. Then, the best, loading her car with a dozen items to put on eBay for me, plus researching and doing the write-ups. Giving her 25%. On top of which I unloaded a lot of stuff from here that SHE wanted, being a Peg fan since 1970, among the treasured items being an 8" Pyrex glass casserole dish that Peg always made a braunschweiger or however you spell it--pate in. Louise's favorite. And a confirmed vegetarian save for Peg's Pate. I photographed the recipe for her.
Meanwhile, I have worked my way through 7 boxes on the dining table here and filled an equal number of garbage bags. Plastic bins now line the counter here, labeled Peg Archive, Peg Fan/Personal, Astrid SAVE nostalgia, To ANSWER..and so on. Almost done, except for 6 (big) boxes of fan letters dating back to the early 60s. The University of Oregon where The Peg Lynch Papers are, will want them. Just need to sort. Peg was desperate to find the letter Herman Hupfeld sent her (he wrote As Time Goes By), she obsessed over it for about a year so will see if it's buried anywhere. She'd like that. I guess. Anyhow I'm doing it.
I rang 6 cousins of hers and four friends, suddenly thinking they maybe hadn't heard, which they hadn't. Been going through her address book and ringing anyone who's name rings a bell. One person had died. Also spoke to Alan Bunce's grandson, long chat, have a few things here he might want. And on Facebook I got a message from my first friend when I was 3. Fun. Kind of.
All in all a pretty good day, not counting some stick-on-sole texture pork chops I found in the back freezer, and which I fried up with some leftover baked potatoes about 10pm. I have never cooked pork chops for myself before. How very peculiar it felt. Normally when on my own I just eat easy stuff bout am determined to not let anything go to waste. Plus found some little plastic mini tubs of Odd and Peg applesauce, the kind you put in kids' lunch boxes. Thus was my meal complete. Oh, and with a Blue Moon brand wheat beer I found behind the watermelon pickles in the bar fridge.
And also not counting this morning when I couldn't find my watch which I had JUST SET DOWN ON THE BUREAU five minutes before. Looked everywhere, even downstairs. Finally burst into tears saying "Peg??? If you think this is funny, KNOCK IT OFF!" and I swear, in that instant, I turned around and went straight to the blue velvet chaise in my bedroom and there it was, in plain sight. Hm. Anyhow, the day got better after that. Plus the DISH satellite man came and removed the one they'd placed in the rose bed like a giant grey sunflower last March when Peg insisted on having the Italian Channel (which she never once put on) because Tina the hairdresser said it was great (Tina's Italian). Seems it was the only place they could get a signal what with all the trees. He also removed 2 dead dishes from the side of the house along with a mess of black cords which attached to the old TV antennas on the roof and looped down like spaghetti into pretty much every upstairs window on that side of the house (pretty).
Now ready for bed. (Fucking real estate agent told me yesterday how her house up the road was robbed in broad daylight so she now locks everything up tight as a drum and sleeps with a big strong English billyclub next to the bed, just what I need to hear.)
Tuesday, July 28, 2015
A TRYING DAY
As in trying to get things accomplished.
- returned Becket Post Cane (which Peg was presented with last year as the town's oldest resident) to Town Hall before it got mixed in with all the medical stuff and deposited at the Cystic Fibrosis depot or whatever it is
- mailed box full of Collie-related objects (stuffed collie, needlework collie, collie Xmas tree ornament etc) to collie woman in NY state
- attacked 99% of books with Terri. She embossed and I decided which pile: Berkshire Place or library or fuck knows. We have 11 banana boxes full. All that's left now are Peg's vintage personal ones (about 100) and the radio & TV ones (30).
- Bonnie cancelled Link to Life; Sirius SX or FX of whatever the hell it is radio; Nationa Geographic Magazine; Mayo Clinic Bulletin; about 15 others; got the DISH Satellite people to come back and reposition the dish they put in last March IN THE ROSE BED, thank you, and to remove the two dead ones attached to the house; got the internet moved to the normal house phone line and the second phone line cancelled; wrote and signed cheques for staff and house tax ($1450.00). More. Can't remember.
- Threw out dead boxes of cereal which I believe must date from Odd (making them year old)
- Got pile for Goodwill for Terri to drop off: hangers; shower stool; nasty florist vases; nasty stuffed animals from Price Chopper Peg couldn't resist; crappy baskets and so on
- Spoke with 2 more newspapers. LA Times obit today. Incredible tribute by James Lileks in his column for MN Star Tribune. Am still wiping tears. Boston Globe tomorrow I think.
-Answered 15 out of 189 new emails.
- met with Real Estate agent. Have decided am not as crazy for her as I'd thought. She can't market without pics and can;t take pics until I clear 60% of this stuff. I know that. Tax plan at the Town Hall states the value of the property at $450,000. She said that was way out of line, I agreed. She said there were NO comps in the area, this was a one off. I agreed. She said she thinks we should market it in the $750,000 range. I said she was way off base. She said I needed to be realistic, that this is "Becket" (meaning not high end area). I said I didn't want to hear the phrase "but this is Becket" ever again if we were going to get along. So. Who knows. In the meantime, I am putting the word out amongst friends and neighbors that the place is for sale for $1.2 million and see what happens. You never know. And Id save the agent's fee (6% over here).
I don't like people telling me I can't do something. I have proved many of them wrong before, yes? Genworth, for example? Plus I can still hear a friend telling me last year that the NY Times would never do Peg's obit, she's "not famous enough".
So. The worst that can happen is that the place doesn't sell and I drop the price.
Meanwhile, no one is allowed in the house without bringing a cardboard box. We're on a roll here.
That said, I had a meltdown about an hour ago. I read all the obits for the first time. Was putting it off. Now I know it's all real: she's really gone. And the enormity of the task at hand here suddenly hit home. 98 years worth of stuff. That I figure will take me another 98 to clear.
Tomorrow brings Louise from Williamstown for the entire day to talk me through Craigs List and getting stuff shipped in containers to England. Peg's friend Laurie from Ohio due end of next week to help. Jennifer this weekend, plus Jacqueline and Paul for New Jersey. Offers pour in. I am lucky to know so many truly lovely people on both sides of the pond.
And now, for my entree tonight: half a salami sandwich from lunch with a bite out of it and curly sides because I set it in the fridge uncovered. After I call my hero James Lileks in MN to sort out my arrival there with Peg's ashes--dribbled with the last bit of Odd--later this month.
- returned Becket Post Cane (which Peg was presented with last year as the town's oldest resident) to Town Hall before it got mixed in with all the medical stuff and deposited at the Cystic Fibrosis depot or whatever it is
- mailed box full of Collie-related objects (stuffed collie, needlework collie, collie Xmas tree ornament etc) to collie woman in NY state
- attacked 99% of books with Terri. She embossed and I decided which pile: Berkshire Place or library or fuck knows. We have 11 banana boxes full. All that's left now are Peg's vintage personal ones (about 100) and the radio & TV ones (30).
- Bonnie cancelled Link to Life; Sirius SX or FX of whatever the hell it is radio; Nationa Geographic Magazine; Mayo Clinic Bulletin; about 15 others; got the DISH Satellite people to come back and reposition the dish they put in last March IN THE ROSE BED, thank you, and to remove the two dead ones attached to the house; got the internet moved to the normal house phone line and the second phone line cancelled; wrote and signed cheques for staff and house tax ($1450.00). More. Can't remember.
- Threw out dead boxes of cereal which I believe must date from Odd (making them year old)
- Got pile for Goodwill for Terri to drop off: hangers; shower stool; nasty florist vases; nasty stuffed animals from Price Chopper Peg couldn't resist; crappy baskets and so on
- Spoke with 2 more newspapers. LA Times obit today. Incredible tribute by James Lileks in his column for MN Star Tribune. Am still wiping tears. Boston Globe tomorrow I think.
-Answered 15 out of 189 new emails.
- met with Real Estate agent. Have decided am not as crazy for her as I'd thought. She can't market without pics and can;t take pics until I clear 60% of this stuff. I know that. Tax plan at the Town Hall states the value of the property at $450,000. She said that was way out of line, I agreed. She said there were NO comps in the area, this was a one off. I agreed. She said she thinks we should market it in the $750,000 range. I said she was way off base. She said I needed to be realistic, that this is "Becket" (meaning not high end area). I said I didn't want to hear the phrase "but this is Becket" ever again if we were going to get along. So. Who knows. In the meantime, I am putting the word out amongst friends and neighbors that the place is for sale for $1.2 million and see what happens. You never know. And Id save the agent's fee (6% over here).
I don't like people telling me I can't do something. I have proved many of them wrong before, yes? Genworth, for example? Plus I can still hear a friend telling me last year that the NY Times would never do Peg's obit, she's "not famous enough".
So. The worst that can happen is that the place doesn't sell and I drop the price.
Meanwhile, no one is allowed in the house without bringing a cardboard box. We're on a roll here.
That said, I had a meltdown about an hour ago. I read all the obits for the first time. Was putting it off. Now I know it's all real: she's really gone. And the enormity of the task at hand here suddenly hit home. 98 years worth of stuff. That I figure will take me another 98 to clear.
Tomorrow brings Louise from Williamstown for the entire day to talk me through Craigs List and getting stuff shipped in containers to England. Peg's friend Laurie from Ohio due end of next week to help. Jennifer this weekend, plus Jacqueline and Paul for New Jersey. Offers pour in. I am lucky to know so many truly lovely people on both sides of the pond.
And now, for my entree tonight: half a salami sandwich from lunch with a bite out of it and curly sides because I set it in the fridge uncovered. After I call my hero James Lileks in MN to sort out my arrival there with Peg's ashes--dribbled with the last bit of Odd--later this month.
Monday, July 27, 2015
GONE
Well, what can I say. this has been quite a trip so far. Am currently dining on Paul Newman popcorn and a glass of rose and, for the first time since I arrived, have the house to myself. My first night alone here. I feel strangely protected. Which hasn't stopped me from leaping up to shut and lock the doors and windows just now when I heard a rustling in the woods, so am now cooped up in an airless kitchen dying of the heat. There is no one at the butcher block watching Turner Classics movies on TV. No one choking on pills. No one thumping in with a walker to get their fourth banana of the day. No one to go see if they need anything, or if they're still sleeping, or breathing. I went out to the Dreamaway Lodge on Saturday for dinner and for the first time in 3 years didn't have to arrange a parent-sitter.
My mother died in Terri's arms at 5:05 PM last Friday.
I was out getting her more Ativan, which we;d run out of and would need to get her through the night. Dominick had driven me to Lenox, leaving Bonnie and Terri on Peg-duty, then on to my friend Tory's to collect the Subaru she has once again kindly loaned me. Terri had asked me to pick up some Depends with side tapes, like baby diapers, and I had to go to 3 places to find them, finally finding a package at Rite Aid but when I got to the till the cashier said Oh, sorry, these only come in cartons of 10, I can't sell just one package. "Oh please, please!" I said, eyes filling. "My mother is dying! I only need one! Please??" Bless her, she did. And I drove over the mountain. And when I got home, Terri was at the door, waiting.
"I'm so sorry, Lise (my real name). You mother passed half an hour ago. We didn't want to call you while you were driving."
I knew it. I knew that would happen. I'd just spent four hours holding her--alternating with Dominick between Peg-duty and sweeping pine needles off the driveway. And it was hard. really hard. She was moaning and groaning and clearly in distress, letting out these awful sounds. We gave her Ativan every 4 hrs and morphine squirted under her tongue every 2, and still, nothing seemed to calm her. I sat and patted and stroked and in a panic said sappy stuff like "Mama, Mama, it's ok. Let go. Don't be scared, We're all coming. We're all right behind you, I swear, hopefully not too soon, but we're coming, honest, you're not alone" and so on. Then Terri arrives and we discover all the wails were due to gas pain, not fear of death. Felt like an idiot. I knew had Peg been able to speak she would have told me to shut the fuck up. A major bowel explosion followed, attended by Terri and Dominick. They are in line for sainthood, for sure.
So. I left. Terri was holding a clean Peg, singing an Irish lullaby to her, Peg opened her eyes, closed them, Terri heard the "rattle", Peg took a big breath, then--that was it. Bonnie had just that second got a call from her son so also missed it.
Terri held both my parents as they died. "Privileged and honored" she says. Whereas I feel privileged and honored to know Terri, and Bonnie, and Dominick.
I've never seen a dead person before. I knelt down, held Peg and kissed her, stroked her forehead. Was sure I saw her breathing. Looked for a pulse. Decided it was mine, after all, not hers. Mama felt cold, but then again she spent he life being cold, so in fact she didn't feel all that unusual. But her face! I didn't see Peg there. She had her head turned to the wall, mouth open, no upper teeth in--which always looks weird but now, with no living flesh to hold her lips in place--her top lips drew back in a strange way. And her nose! It wasn't hers at all. It looked hooked, like those pics of pharaohs. I just kept staring, wishing she looked familiar. Almost wondering who this stranger was.
I need that image to fade. Soon. Don't like it.
The Hospice nurse arrived to certify the death. Coincidentally, it was Denise, from up the road, a friend from long ago, a combination Hospice nurse and motorcycle monkey, as she calls, it, where the guy drives and you hang out horizontally from some platform attached to, dressed like Spiderman. Denis who also, as it happens--yet another skill--was the bartender at Den's and my wedding here in the garden in 1984. We all sat around the butcher block. Opened wine. Black bean dip and blue corn chips. Salsa.
The man from the funeral home arrived to get Peg, just suddenly appeared in the kitchen, we hadn't heard him knock. You know Better Call Saul from Breaking Bad? I looked up and there's this guy in a slightly shiny suit and rather loud tie, smiling. "Hi! I'm Billy!" he says, cheerfully, like he's here to wash my car. "I have to tell you, I spent only about 45 minutes with your mom when I came here last year to get your dad, but I could have stayed and listened to her all night--all week--year, I swear!"
We had to find an outfit for Peg. I let Terri choose.
Billy took her away. I think she lay in the freezer until today or maybe tomorrow, when she'll be cremated. Denise says it's a beautiful crematorium, that the walls of the ovens have diamond back something on them---like I'm supposed to get all excited thinking wow! Have we ever chosen the best crematorium for Peg!
Terri and Bonnie stayed overnight with me. Lots of hugging tears. I think I did most of the comforting. Peg's not leaving just one daughter, I realized, but three. At least.
The phone has not stopped.
When last I looked I had 189 new emails in my inbox, half from people I don't even know. Peg fans. I can only assume they get my address from Peg's website.
The NY Times did a grand obit today. He promised he would. And which I still have not read. (Too sad. Too final.) As did the Minneapolis paper, where Peg grew up. The LA Times rang today, was on the phone with them for over an hour. I wrote one for the local paper. They all need photos, and I couldn't seem to find the right ones, this file, that file, I thought I was so organized but feel I've spent half the day emailing picture editors saying no no no, don't use the one I just sent, mistake (me with Mabel on beach), use THIS one...
PEG WOULD HAVE LOVED THIS! THE ATTENTION!
Next on the list is the house. First things first. Bonnie, Terri, Dominick and I have removed all traces of "Medical". Goodbye catheter bags. Wheelchairs. Fixodent. Walkers. Canes. Bunion pads and so on. Next we tackled Peg's personal stuff. Hard, but easier when all here together doing it. Jewellery. I gave Terri Peg's gold Irish Claddagh ring I got Peg in Galway. I gave Bonnie the other one Peg wore all the time, a little diamond band. We did her make-up, handbag, then pictures, photos. Removed the image, saved the frame. Set aside what goes with me to England, what is saved for house clearance (if we have one), what goes into bin.
Clothes went today, too, the Goodwill stuff. High-end Consigment shop stuff saving for another day.
I had an outing today. Dropped off Peg's nine million eyeglasses at the eye place for recycling, returned unopened Depends to Rite Aid and got a refund, stopped at Berkshire Place rehab center where she was last March to confirm they want her book donations (yes), which I will check, you can be sure, before dispensing, for any hidden $20 bills, plus make sure every single one is embossed with the Peg Lynch Library embosser I had made.
Bonnie and I did finances. Enough in the kitty for a few months.
I went to the funeral home and signed all the paperwork.
Estate agent/realtor tomorrow. Lawyer Thursday.
I'm--fine. Maybe. Mostly. Now and then. I heard from a former friend who I didn't think liked me, and that was nice. And, the big news: Outside Bob coming back!
This is a terrible post. Boring. Am running on adrenalin and trying not to get emotional. Apologies.
My mother died in Terri's arms at 5:05 PM last Friday.
I was out getting her more Ativan, which we;d run out of and would need to get her through the night. Dominick had driven me to Lenox, leaving Bonnie and Terri on Peg-duty, then on to my friend Tory's to collect the Subaru she has once again kindly loaned me. Terri had asked me to pick up some Depends with side tapes, like baby diapers, and I had to go to 3 places to find them, finally finding a package at Rite Aid but when I got to the till the cashier said Oh, sorry, these only come in cartons of 10, I can't sell just one package. "Oh please, please!" I said, eyes filling. "My mother is dying! I only need one! Please??" Bless her, she did. And I drove over the mountain. And when I got home, Terri was at the door, waiting.
"I'm so sorry, Lise (my real name). You mother passed half an hour ago. We didn't want to call you while you were driving."
I knew it. I knew that would happen. I'd just spent four hours holding her--alternating with Dominick between Peg-duty and sweeping pine needles off the driveway. And it was hard. really hard. She was moaning and groaning and clearly in distress, letting out these awful sounds. We gave her Ativan every 4 hrs and morphine squirted under her tongue every 2, and still, nothing seemed to calm her. I sat and patted and stroked and in a panic said sappy stuff like "Mama, Mama, it's ok. Let go. Don't be scared, We're all coming. We're all right behind you, I swear, hopefully not too soon, but we're coming, honest, you're not alone" and so on. Then Terri arrives and we discover all the wails were due to gas pain, not fear of death. Felt like an idiot. I knew had Peg been able to speak she would have told me to shut the fuck up. A major bowel explosion followed, attended by Terri and Dominick. They are in line for sainthood, for sure.
So. I left. Terri was holding a clean Peg, singing an Irish lullaby to her, Peg opened her eyes, closed them, Terri heard the "rattle", Peg took a big breath, then--that was it. Bonnie had just that second got a call from her son so also missed it.
Terri held both my parents as they died. "Privileged and honored" she says. Whereas I feel privileged and honored to know Terri, and Bonnie, and Dominick.
I've never seen a dead person before. I knelt down, held Peg and kissed her, stroked her forehead. Was sure I saw her breathing. Looked for a pulse. Decided it was mine, after all, not hers. Mama felt cold, but then again she spent he life being cold, so in fact she didn't feel all that unusual. But her face! I didn't see Peg there. She had her head turned to the wall, mouth open, no upper teeth in--which always looks weird but now, with no living flesh to hold her lips in place--her top lips drew back in a strange way. And her nose! It wasn't hers at all. It looked hooked, like those pics of pharaohs. I just kept staring, wishing she looked familiar. Almost wondering who this stranger was.
I need that image to fade. Soon. Don't like it.
The Hospice nurse arrived to certify the death. Coincidentally, it was Denise, from up the road, a friend from long ago, a combination Hospice nurse and motorcycle monkey, as she calls, it, where the guy drives and you hang out horizontally from some platform attached to, dressed like Spiderman. Denis who also, as it happens--yet another skill--was the bartender at Den's and my wedding here in the garden in 1984. We all sat around the butcher block. Opened wine. Black bean dip and blue corn chips. Salsa.
The man from the funeral home arrived to get Peg, just suddenly appeared in the kitchen, we hadn't heard him knock. You know Better Call Saul from Breaking Bad? I looked up and there's this guy in a slightly shiny suit and rather loud tie, smiling. "Hi! I'm Billy!" he says, cheerfully, like he's here to wash my car. "I have to tell you, I spent only about 45 minutes with your mom when I came here last year to get your dad, but I could have stayed and listened to her all night--all week--year, I swear!"
We had to find an outfit for Peg. I let Terri choose.
Billy took her away. I think she lay in the freezer until today or maybe tomorrow, when she'll be cremated. Denise says it's a beautiful crematorium, that the walls of the ovens have diamond back something on them---like I'm supposed to get all excited thinking wow! Have we ever chosen the best crematorium for Peg!
Terri and Bonnie stayed overnight with me. Lots of hugging tears. I think I did most of the comforting. Peg's not leaving just one daughter, I realized, but three. At least.
The phone has not stopped.
When last I looked I had 189 new emails in my inbox, half from people I don't even know. Peg fans. I can only assume they get my address from Peg's website.
The NY Times did a grand obit today. He promised he would. And which I still have not read. (Too sad. Too final.) As did the Minneapolis paper, where Peg grew up. The LA Times rang today, was on the phone with them for over an hour. I wrote one for the local paper. They all need photos, and I couldn't seem to find the right ones, this file, that file, I thought I was so organized but feel I've spent half the day emailing picture editors saying no no no, don't use the one I just sent, mistake (me with Mabel on beach), use THIS one...
PEG WOULD HAVE LOVED THIS! THE ATTENTION!
Next on the list is the house. First things first. Bonnie, Terri, Dominick and I have removed all traces of "Medical". Goodbye catheter bags. Wheelchairs. Fixodent. Walkers. Canes. Bunion pads and so on. Next we tackled Peg's personal stuff. Hard, but easier when all here together doing it. Jewellery. I gave Terri Peg's gold Irish Claddagh ring I got Peg in Galway. I gave Bonnie the other one Peg wore all the time, a little diamond band. We did her make-up, handbag, then pictures, photos. Removed the image, saved the frame. Set aside what goes with me to England, what is saved for house clearance (if we have one), what goes into bin.
Clothes went today, too, the Goodwill stuff. High-end Consigment shop stuff saving for another day.
I had an outing today. Dropped off Peg's nine million eyeglasses at the eye place for recycling, returned unopened Depends to Rite Aid and got a refund, stopped at Berkshire Place rehab center where she was last March to confirm they want her book donations (yes), which I will check, you can be sure, before dispensing, for any hidden $20 bills, plus make sure every single one is embossed with the Peg Lynch Library embosser I had made.
Bonnie and I did finances. Enough in the kitty for a few months.
I went to the funeral home and signed all the paperwork.
Estate agent/realtor tomorrow. Lawyer Thursday.
I'm--fine. Maybe. Mostly. Now and then. I heard from a former friend who I didn't think liked me, and that was nice. And, the big news: Outside Bob coming back!
This is a terrible post. Boring. Am running on adrenalin and trying not to get emotional. Apologies.
Friday, July 24, 2015
MORNING
Still alive but Dominick reports much distress at 2 and then at 5 AM. I went on duty at 6. I gave her an Ativan ground up in a drop of water, slurped up into a pre-loaded syringe of morphine, then suited it all in the side of her mouth. This seems to have quieted her slightly. Before that she was grabbing my head with both arms and pulling me towards her, kissing the top of my head, then my cheek, and so unbelievably tightly, almost like I was being been mugged. Dominick finally moved the leopard print fleece away from my face when he realized the frantic sounds of someone expiring were mine, not Peg's.
Her fingers are now darkening, turning a bit blue. One of the signs.
I am going to finish my coffee then go back and hold her some more (and remove my hoop earrings). It's my second latte in half an hour, having knocked over the first one on the carpet when she pulled me to her.
Her fingers are now darkening, turning a bit blue. One of the signs.
I am going to finish my coffee then go back and hold her some more (and remove my hoop earrings). It's my second latte in half an hour, having knocked over the first one on the carpet when she pulled me to her.
Thursday, July 23, 2015
THE DAUGHTER HAS LANDED
So. Am here. It's pretty grim, as expected. She's in her bed, in amongst, no exaggeration, 17 pillows. She's such a bag of bones she's almost hard to find in there. When I got here at 8 PM last night she was sleeping. I cuddled her, she didn't seem to understand who I was. Just mumbled. Didn't open her eyes. She's on oxygen, getting Ativan and morphine to ease the breathing and anxiety. She will not be leaving her bed again. This is it.
I sat in the kitchen with Terri and cousin Leah from Boston, sharing a bottle of red wine that Leah had brought. I decided I needed food, had nothing on plane and nothing in fridge, so made popcorn. Burned it. Found another box, set the microwave for less time, undercooked it, plus tasted of "light" fake butter, so pitched it. Found yet another box, this time it came out perfect but discovered to be half sweet half salty, which makes me gag. Pitched it. Terri then produced a box of Skinny Girl brand lime-flavoured popcorn, which sounded disgusting but by this time the only kind left AND I WANTED POPCORN, so cooked it and it was fabulous and need to buy more.
We checked on Peg every 5 minutes or so. At 11 I crawled up next to her in bed and cuddled her. She grabbed my hand and wouldn't let go. Her strength is phenomenal. Vice grip. I held her for about 2 hours or so. She knew it was me, finally, and then said over and over, "I can't believe my baby is here with me" and told me how much she loved me. All a whisper, with no teeth in, so you're straining to hear especially over the noise of the oxygen machine burbling but--at least she was reading the right script.
"It's raining," she said, at one point. Know what it was? My tears dropping onto her face.
I'm actually pretty together, on the whole, except for when someone asks me how I'm doing, or when I'm cuddling her. It must remind me of the little girl I once was and the mother she once was. We take it in turns. Bonnie, Terri, me. Cuddling her and holding her hands.
I went upstairs around 2 AM, unpacked, took half a Zopiclone, went to sleep. Woke at 5. Fretting. Got up.
It's now 9:30 at night and am ready to drop. Answered 101 mails, spoke to realtor, newspaper obit people, Hospice social worker arrived for a "chat", walked to the garage to get some air, having spent the day before in a car or plane and today closed up her in the Becket Tomb. The downstairs is an utter shambles. And guess what's all over the kitchen and den and porch and office? YES! The Blue Book Project. I knew we hadn't seen the last of it. Apparently she dragged it all out when she got home from the hospital--and I do mean "out". All carefully-organized and labeled folders now empty and piles of stuff everywhere, 9 million more copies of everything, from fishers to wedding snaps to reviews of her show. All mixed up. Scattered. Like someone had deliberately messed it all up. Cant think she did this but it sure looks that way. In half an hour I had 4 hefty bags ready for the garbage. Now at least you can sit at the table and eat. On one side of it at least.
I was about to throw out a string of crystal beads--quite long. Pretty. Various shapes and sizes and colors. Looks like handmade. And like a pattern had been begun, then abandoned, then another idea took hold, then...and it's open ended, just long plastic strings needing finishing. Anyhow, asked Bonnie about this (my new tactic for anything I don't recognize, instead of saying : 'Whoa, what the fuck is THIS crap?' and finding out it was something they've given Peg specially...) and it seems it's a necklace that Peg made for me. Made! With Bonnie and Terri's help. Seems they've all been stringing crystal beads since I last saw them. I now adore it and don't care that it's nine miles long.
Today. At one point Peg lets out a horrible cry and tries to sit up. What? What? What? we all say. What's wrong? Are you in pain? What can I get you? What do you want, Mama?
And Peg, loud and clear, in a voice I haven't heard in years, her old voice, says: "LIFE!"
Which pretty much sums it all up. She does not want to leave, she does not want to go, and she is angry, very very angry at whoever to whatever has done this to her body, and is forcing her to do something she clearly does not want to do.
She has told me she loves me, over and over, that she is sorry for anything awful she's ever said to me or done, that she is so proud of me. Whispers almost, spoken quickly between breaths. This morning Terri put on the the audio version of DK's book, which Peg insisted on hearing again. So for 3 hours I had Den at top volume throughout the house. She speaks of Alex constantly, and what a lovely grandson he is.
Her breathing has become shallower this evening. She's sleeping now. Still not eating. Not drinking. This can't go on for too long. Dominick is here, insisting I go to bed and get some sleep, he will sleep in the den and be near her.
Bonnie cried when she left. Terri has rung 6 times. Peg could not be in better hands. They all genuinely love her to pieces. Even her hairdresser. And the support I have had is equally impressive. So so many offers of help. I am quite touched.
A story I heard: Peg last month on a gurney, blue cap on head, en route to her hip operation, being wheeled down the hospital corridor, when asked if she was all right:
"Yes," she said. "We're hoping for a girl."
I sat in the kitchen with Terri and cousin Leah from Boston, sharing a bottle of red wine that Leah had brought. I decided I needed food, had nothing on plane and nothing in fridge, so made popcorn. Burned it. Found another box, set the microwave for less time, undercooked it, plus tasted of "light" fake butter, so pitched it. Found yet another box, this time it came out perfect but discovered to be half sweet half salty, which makes me gag. Pitched it. Terri then produced a box of Skinny Girl brand lime-flavoured popcorn, which sounded disgusting but by this time the only kind left AND I WANTED POPCORN, so cooked it and it was fabulous and need to buy more.
We checked on Peg every 5 minutes or so. At 11 I crawled up next to her in bed and cuddled her. She grabbed my hand and wouldn't let go. Her strength is phenomenal. Vice grip. I held her for about 2 hours or so. She knew it was me, finally, and then said over and over, "I can't believe my baby is here with me" and told me how much she loved me. All a whisper, with no teeth in, so you're straining to hear especially over the noise of the oxygen machine burbling but--at least she was reading the right script.
"It's raining," she said, at one point. Know what it was? My tears dropping onto her face.
I'm actually pretty together, on the whole, except for when someone asks me how I'm doing, or when I'm cuddling her. It must remind me of the little girl I once was and the mother she once was. We take it in turns. Bonnie, Terri, me. Cuddling her and holding her hands.
I went upstairs around 2 AM, unpacked, took half a Zopiclone, went to sleep. Woke at 5. Fretting. Got up.
It's now 9:30 at night and am ready to drop. Answered 101 mails, spoke to realtor, newspaper obit people, Hospice social worker arrived for a "chat", walked to the garage to get some air, having spent the day before in a car or plane and today closed up her in the Becket Tomb. The downstairs is an utter shambles. And guess what's all over the kitchen and den and porch and office? YES! The Blue Book Project. I knew we hadn't seen the last of it. Apparently she dragged it all out when she got home from the hospital--and I do mean "out". All carefully-organized and labeled folders now empty and piles of stuff everywhere, 9 million more copies of everything, from fishers to wedding snaps to reviews of her show. All mixed up. Scattered. Like someone had deliberately messed it all up. Cant think she did this but it sure looks that way. In half an hour I had 4 hefty bags ready for the garbage. Now at least you can sit at the table and eat. On one side of it at least.
I was about to throw out a string of crystal beads--quite long. Pretty. Various shapes and sizes and colors. Looks like handmade. And like a pattern had been begun, then abandoned, then another idea took hold, then...and it's open ended, just long plastic strings needing finishing. Anyhow, asked Bonnie about this (my new tactic for anything I don't recognize, instead of saying : 'Whoa, what the fuck is THIS crap?' and finding out it was something they've given Peg specially...) and it seems it's a necklace that Peg made for me. Made! With Bonnie and Terri's help. Seems they've all been stringing crystal beads since I last saw them. I now adore it and don't care that it's nine miles long.
Today. At one point Peg lets out a horrible cry and tries to sit up. What? What? What? we all say. What's wrong? Are you in pain? What can I get you? What do you want, Mama?
And Peg, loud and clear, in a voice I haven't heard in years, her old voice, says: "LIFE!"
Which pretty much sums it all up. She does not want to leave, she does not want to go, and she is angry, very very angry at whoever to whatever has done this to her body, and is forcing her to do something she clearly does not want to do.
She has told me she loves me, over and over, that she is sorry for anything awful she's ever said to me or done, that she is so proud of me. Whispers almost, spoken quickly between breaths. This morning Terri put on the the audio version of DK's book, which Peg insisted on hearing again. So for 3 hours I had Den at top volume throughout the house. She speaks of Alex constantly, and what a lovely grandson he is.
Her breathing has become shallower this evening. She's sleeping now. Still not eating. Not drinking. This can't go on for too long. Dominick is here, insisting I go to bed and get some sleep, he will sleep in the den and be near her.
Bonnie cried when she left. Terri has rung 6 times. Peg could not be in better hands. They all genuinely love her to pieces. Even her hairdresser. And the support I have had is equally impressive. So so many offers of help. I am quite touched.
A story I heard: Peg last month on a gurney, blue cap on head, en route to her hip operation, being wheeled down the hospital corridor, when asked if she was all right:
"Yes," she said. "We're hoping for a girl."
Monday, July 20, 2015
FLYING
I am due to arrive Becket this Wednesday at about 6pm. Am frantically charging phones and laptops and Kindles. Alex driving me to Heathrow, my dear David collecting me from Logan, my other dear Tory loaning me her Subaru while I'm over there. Have booked for about a month, come what may.
From the way Peg sounds, and from the reports I am getting, I cannot see her lasting even a week. Ativan working and on oxygen but not eating or drinking...
Afterwards? I will walk around that house, quietly, on my own. After the tears, I will go from room to room remembering the happy times and the fairly shitty ones. I will find a home for all Peg's things, archive and personal. I will make that house look as good as it possibly can. I will put the bugger on the market, and hope. Might not be until spring, but I will do it.
I am sad.
I am sad to say goodbye to someone I've known for so long. Growing up? You couldn't fault her in the mother stakes. Later on? Well. Peg is mostly about Peg. But I know I'll still call out for her till I die. Habit.
Part of me keeps thinking hah! I know Peg! I'll arrive, she'll ask for meat loaf and baked potatoes with 6 pounds of butter, wolf it down at the butcherblock and be back deep into the stupid Blue Book Project before I can even clear the plates.
But ain't gonna happen this time. I know this.
From the way Peg sounds, and from the reports I am getting, I cannot see her lasting even a week. Ativan working and on oxygen but not eating or drinking...
Afterwards? I will walk around that house, quietly, on my own. After the tears, I will go from room to room remembering the happy times and the fairly shitty ones. I will find a home for all Peg's things, archive and personal. I will make that house look as good as it possibly can. I will put the bugger on the market, and hope. Might not be until spring, but I will do it.
I am sad.
I am sad to say goodbye to someone I've known for so long. Growing up? You couldn't fault her in the mother stakes. Later on? Well. Peg is mostly about Peg. But I know I'll still call out for her till I die. Habit.
Part of me keeps thinking hah! I know Peg! I'll arrive, she'll ask for meat loaf and baked potatoes with 6 pounds of butter, wolf it down at the butcherblock and be back deep into the stupid Blue Book Project before I can even clear the plates.
But ain't gonna happen this time. I know this.
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