My Mother's Wine

I'm visiting my folks in Western NY. I have been here for four days and I am exhausted. My mother is 70, heavily affected by osteoporosis and unable to walk more than a couple steps assisted by a walker. She is also legally blind. Normally she is the most positive person you could meet even with all her health issues. She often replies, "there are people worse off than me," when I say, "my poor mama." She works for TAP (Telephone Assistance Program) where she calls shut in a couple times per week. Her big high light it so go to BINGO on Tuesdays with my dad and sister-in-law. Aside from doctor appointments it is her only chance to get out. She reads Guidepost and can quote from Dr Norman Vincent Peale. She says she can do anything if she wants to if she puts her mind to it. I once joked with her that she just might have a problem getting into the space program. "My books also tell me I shouldn't be around people who are so negative," she gruffs at me.

Mom has always liked her alcohol. She's not a drunk but I could rely stories from my childhood where alcohol played a big role in my life. Last night, Dad and I got back from visiting my brother. Mom was invited but decided she wasn't up to going. When we returned it was blatantly obvious she had gotten into the wine. I was not in the room where dad was making up a plate of food that we brought home for her but when I entered the room, dad was fuming, "How many glasses of wine did you have!" Mom went quiet which is not a good thing because you know the wheels, lubricated by the wine, are turning around in her head faster than normal. She sits in her wheelchair, behind her big thick Pre-80s style glasses, randomly sticking her fork into the left over baked beans and potato salad on her plate. After a few mouthfuls she not too forcefully throws her fork into the plate and gushes, "I can't believe you father reprimand me just because I had a little wine." By now she is crying.

My father has escaped to the livingroom after his assault where the TV volume level is set to 75 year old ears. I have traveled 1200 miles to witness this scenario no doubt a repeat of my last visit. I am mad at dad for bringing this up. Even I know you don't confront a drinking spouse about her drinking while her head is swimming. Now, I'm in this position to make everything right again. I have not deluded myself into thinking this is ever possible, but I have a need to try. I convince mom to go to bed. She agrees to that as she rolls away in a huff. I get the kitchen somewhat organized and go into her bedroom. She is halfway dressed; her exposed flesh making me gasp. My heart is breaking to see her so frail, so thin....her last weight reading was 89 lbs. This is a woman who averaged throughout her adult life around 140 lbs. I leave her to changing herself because I am not comfortable with helping her and she is by no means, even in her slightly inebriated state about to welcome my help. I return a few minutes later. She is in laying in bed, in a heap of arm, shoulder, back bones. The osteoposis is so advanced her neck extends her head down to her chest which was pigeoned chested since birth making the bone heap higher. She senses my presense. "I can not do the things you all can do," she declares between tears. "I can not go bowling, I can not drive, I can not walk much. Why does he have to make me feel bad for having a little wine?"

I sit on the edge of the bed, touch her thin arm, notice the veins therewith. "Mom, it is just so bad for you," I say softly.

"Bad for me? He smokes!"

"That's bad for him too, but wine can make you dizzy and you can not afford to take another fall," I have had this conversation before.

We go back and forth. She's not buying it. I finally say, "I don't know what more to tell you. It is just bad for you and we are never going to agree on this."

I let her go to sleep. My father should not smoke but at 75, I don't think it would make a big difference in his health if he stopped. It would make the house smell better though. I see his ice cream in the freezer and think to complain to him that there is too much fat in it but I think, "at this point, why bother?"

I can see mom's point. I don't discourage dad from his vices but I do mom. She can not see the harm...even after all the surgeries, the confidements, the pain she has entured over the past 18 years. I wish I could offer an alternative but I have no idea. It breaks my heart.