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Oct. 4th, 2009 05:46 pm![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
kittydesadeSo it goes.
The upshot is, my grandfather has an appointment with the clinic on the 19th. My aunt B thinks he's having some pretty serious memory problems. My aunt E doesn't think my aunt B is the best judge of memory problems, seeing as she tends to be a bit scattered herself, not because of memory problems just because she tends to be flappy and scattered. My Mom just finished moving from the four-bedroom two-level condo in which I grew up and into a small house near my aunt B, so she is exhausted and not entirely coherent. Which. I do think the move was a good thing. Mom probably wasn't comfortable rattling around in that place; I know I wouldn't have been. It's a big place for one person.
The grandfather thing... I don't know. I know he's been, was, something, planning on giving all the kids and grandkids some money. Not a really huge amount, but an amount that could help a lot. Especially since we need to buy a new car before mine throws a piston through the hood. I know he's been seeing an estate lawyer, and the strange part is, that doesn't bother me. He's eighty*coughmumble*. Seeing an estate lawyer when you own two houses (and an apartment?) and god knows how much in stocks and bonds, other assets... I don't even know. Land in Virginia amounting to 90 or so acres. An estate lawyer would be a good thing.
It's the memory thing that's bugging me. It's like it's putting him on notice. Putting us on notice. You have this much time and no more. I don't want to have this much time and no more, I want my grandpa. I want my grandpa who tells weird and semi-comprehensible stories about economists, bad lightbulb jokes that suddenly make a lot more sense after the Market collapsed, stories about blue jeans in Russia, trying to teach me (at sixteen! I was not interested in this!) about the economics of rebuilding Kazakhstan. Or Uzbekistan. Or the Ukraine. Who sat down with me and went over all the paperwork for my college loans with me, so that I would understand. Who collected the spare change in the house every day for nearly eighteen years, and took me to the bank to deposit it sometimes, so I could go to college without getting into too much debt. I want my grandpa, dammit. For lots longer.
But since I apparently can't have that, I want a really big bottle of rum. And Blood Ties, and Season 1 of The Mentalist. *pokes Amazon*
I want not to feel as crappy as I do right now.
The upshot is, my grandfather has an appointment with the clinic on the 19th. My aunt B thinks he's having some pretty serious memory problems. My aunt E doesn't think my aunt B is the best judge of memory problems, seeing as she tends to be a bit scattered herself, not because of memory problems just because she tends to be flappy and scattered. My Mom just finished moving from the four-bedroom two-level condo in which I grew up and into a small house near my aunt B, so she is exhausted and not entirely coherent. Which. I do think the move was a good thing. Mom probably wasn't comfortable rattling around in that place; I know I wouldn't have been. It's a big place for one person.
The grandfather thing... I don't know. I know he's been, was, something, planning on giving all the kids and grandkids some money. Not a really huge amount, but an amount that could help a lot. Especially since we need to buy a new car before mine throws a piston through the hood. I know he's been seeing an estate lawyer, and the strange part is, that doesn't bother me. He's eighty*coughmumble*. Seeing an estate lawyer when you own two houses (and an apartment?) and god knows how much in stocks and bonds, other assets... I don't even know. Land in Virginia amounting to 90 or so acres. An estate lawyer would be a good thing.
It's the memory thing that's bugging me. It's like it's putting him on notice. Putting us on notice. You have this much time and no more. I don't want to have this much time and no more, I want my grandpa. I want my grandpa who tells weird and semi-comprehensible stories about economists, bad lightbulb jokes that suddenly make a lot more sense after the Market collapsed, stories about blue jeans in Russia, trying to teach me (at sixteen! I was not interested in this!) about the economics of rebuilding Kazakhstan. Or Uzbekistan. Or the Ukraine. Who sat down with me and went over all the paperwork for my college loans with me, so that I would understand. Who collected the spare change in the house every day for nearly eighteen years, and took me to the bank to deposit it sometimes, so I could go to college without getting into too much debt. I want my grandpa, dammit. For lots longer.
But since I apparently can't have that, I want a really big bottle of rum. And Blood Ties, and Season 1 of The Mentalist. *pokes Amazon*
I want not to feel as crappy as I do right now.