ALL OF US AT THE SAME TIME
©Jo Dereske 2014Chapter 19
Legalities
Susan counseled Ray through the weeks of filing for Mike’s guardianship. Years earlier, when Louise had designated Ray as her legal representative and given him power of attorney, it had been a simple move on her part. She asked Ray, he said yes, and she made the arrangements with her lawyer. Ray had hardly thought of it again, considering it a precaution on her part, and its implementation a distant future, at best.
When it was necessary for Ray to step in for Louise, the legalities were in place. It was a seamless transition.
Now we learned how time-consuming, tedious, and hoop-filled the same process was when the person in question was no longer able make his own decisions. The measures existed to protect people like Mike, we understood that, yet dealing with courts, lawyers, social workers and reams of paperwork left an ashy taste, as if the whole process had gone from a loving family’s concerns to a legal three-ring circus where we were being charged with proving our innocence.
The guardianship included a hearing, testimonies as to Ray’s good intent and our “care plans,” court appearances and a court-appointed guardian, as well as critical competency tests. We were grateful Susan was able to do some of the testing and paperwork with a minimum of disturbance for Mike.
On the day the attorney representing Mike came to the farm to assess Mike’s competency, Kipling took Louise out for ice cream, a treat she couldn’t resist. The attorney, who I remembered being three years ahead of me in high school, interviewed Mike in the kitchen. I stayed to assist Mike if I were needed, keeping out of sight in the living room where I blatantly listened to their exchange.
The lawyer explained the legalities of the guardianship process to Mike and the upcoming hearing. At each of the attorney’s pauses, Mike repeatedly responded, “Well, I don’t know about that.” He was calm, polite.
“I saw your niece outside,” the lawyer gently tested Mike. “Is her name Jo or Jo Anne?”
“I don’t know what her name is.”
“She called you Uncle Mike.”
“Everybody calls me Uncle Mike.”
After more questions that Mike evaded or simply repeated back to him, the attorney told Mike he was “a gentleman,” and Mike said, “Well, what can you do?”
Another factor of the guardianship process was that Mike needed a physical examination. Barbara, who had a deft touch with Mike and as Ray’s wife, would also be one of his legal guardians, decided to take him.
On the morning of his appointment, I carefully explained the plan to Mike. It was one time when he understood me perfectly. He banged his fist on the table and stood up. “No. No doctors. I’m not going.”
I dropped the subject and poured him another cup of coffee, taking the cowardly route to keep peace, prattling about whether it might rain. He needed a bath and clean clothes, an undertaking Kipling usually tackled.
Ten minutes after returning to the little house, Mike flung open our screen door, stepped inside, and growled, “I’m not going!”
Kipling walked Mike back to the house. He was there a half hour and returned looking exhausted. “Aside from tackling him and throwing him bodily into the bathtub, this isn’t going to work. And Louise defends him every time I try to persuade him.”
I tried to phone Barbara to warn her of our failure, but she was already on her way to pick up Mike.
I was at the house when Barbara drove up at the prearranged time. Mike smelled horrible; the front of his pants were sodden. He sat rigidly on the edge of his bed on the sleeping porch, his mouth and hands clenched.
“Mike’s not going anywhere with you,” Louise told Barbara.
Barbara picked up Mike’s clean clothes and shoved them into a paper bag, then cheerfully said to Mike, “Okay, let’s go.”
And, as Louise commented from the table where she sat watching, Mike stood up and went with Barbara, “sputtering all the way out the door.”
Later, Barbara told us she’d helped Mike change his wet clothes in the doctor’s restroom. Mike was physically healthy, the doctor reported, vigorous even. His incontinence would only get worse, as would his mental condition. Mike amiably agreed with the doctor that he’d wear disposable briefs but we all knew that’s all he was being: amiable.
“That girl could talk the devil into heaven,” Louise said of Barbara.
When Barbara heard that, a puzzled look crossed her face. “Why can I convince a demented old man to do what I want but not a five-year-old?”
As the legalities began to grind through the court system, we heard from Mike’s daughter. She agreed that Ray should become her father’s guardian and drove for three days from Florida to Michigan to attend the hearing and visit her father. Although her connections to Mike in her adult years had been tenuous, the hearing signified a painful loss to her, a wrenching finality. Their history was vague to us, consigned to a world “before Louise,” but the grief that remained was evident. She was a gentle woman, a gifted artist, who longed to reach out to her father before it was too late.
Mike was uncertain of her identity, and treated her as he would a kind stranger. She sat beside him on the patio in the warm evening, reminding him of a car trip the family had embarked on when she was a child, how he’d taken her to the Park Dairy for ice cream cones and taught her to ride a bicycle. He responded as he had to the attorney assessing his competence, saying either “Yup,” or “Well, I don’t know about that.” Polite, friendly, and vague.
It was a sad and powerful reminder of the fragility of our connections.
1931 I received the letter from Bill that I’ve been dreading and fearing. Yes, dear Lord, he lied to me. I suspected as much but he even lied when I asked him to his face. I’m so blue and broken hearted. Lies can kill love, I’m convinced.
We were relieved when the hearings were over and the judge granted guardianship to Ray, not only because the legal machinations were behind us but because Mike’s care could now be assured, and yes, even that we’d have guidance and back-up from the court system.
Ray was armed with record-keeping protocols, scheduled meetings with the court, detailed orders of what he – and we – could and couldn’t do for Mike, and crucial warnings as to his accountability.
“I’ll come out and explain the guardianship to your aunt,” Susan told us.
“She’ll be confused,” I warned her.
“Yes, she will be,” Susan agreed, “But Mike’s her husband and legally and morally she has to be told. If I tell her, it may leave a more lasting impression.”
We meticulously planned Susan’s announcement, anticipating that Louise would be agitated. On the appointed date, a cool rainy August day that threatened thunderstorms, Ray waited in the little house with me so he could talk to Louise after Susan explained the guardianship. Louise instinctively turned to Ray when she was confused about anything legal or financial, even personal. Kipling had taken Mike to the creek to look for fish.
We nervously sat drinking coffee and waiting while Susan spent a half an hour with Louise. When she finished, Susan stepped through the front door of the little house, her eyes moist. " I've rarely seen such compassion and love for a husband like your aunt has for your uncle."
She had explained the guardianship to Louise several times in as simple terms as possible. "Your aunt claims she understands what I’m telling her, but I don't think she'll express her real fears to me," she told Ray. "You'll probably bear the brunt of that."
Next, Ray walked over to the main house and talked to Louise, repeating all that Susan had said: that Uncle Mike needed someone to be legally responsible for him, to help with his social security checks and to be able to authorize care if he became ill.
Ray reported that Louise claimed several times, "That woman's too young," referring to Susan, but he believed she’d accepted the need for a legal guardian. We were all relieved by how easily it had transpired.
After Ray left, I let a half hour elapse before I joined Louise and Mike. Louise immediately asked me, "Did that little nurse come over and talk to you?"
"Yes, she did."
"Well, what do you think about it all?"
"I think it's a good idea."
Louise was stricken. Her eyes filled and she rocked anxiously in her chair, raising her hands to her mouth. "You mean you believe Mike should go into the nursing home?"
I was so shocked I responded far more forcefully than necessary.
"Uncle Mike's not going into a nursing home. No one is taking him to a nursing home. This will make it easier for him to stay here with you."
"I thought that was why that little nurse was here," Louise said, frowning, "to put him in a nursing home."
I grabbed Mike's arm and nearly shouted in an attempt to make a point she would remember. "No, they're not taking Uncle Mike to a nursing home, definitely not."
"They wouldn't want me, anyway," Mike mumbled.
"I'll lie down in the driveway if anyone tries to take Uncle Mike away," I said and they both laughed. It was an image that tickled them, especially Mike.
As if they'd had a small dose of electric shock, the room glowed with tenderness. If they could hold onto the preciousness of their feelings toward one another and their current awareness of the joy at being able to stay in their home together, I felt with sudden ebullience that I could help them indefinitely.
"If I die, Mikey," Louise asked, “will you go out looking for a younger woman?"
"I don't know."
"I might get someone else," Louise told him, miffed he hadn't outright rejected the idea of finding a younger woman. "I'd have to go out looking."
"Well, if you want to go out looking," I told Louise, "we'd have to load you in the car and drive you around."
Louise laughed and Mike joined in, shaking his finger.
“Remember when we took the Studebaker . . .” she began and stopped, realizing she was relating a memory about her first husband, not Mike. “I’ve had so many husbands I don’t remember them all.”
“Shit.” Mike said.
“Well, later I’ll make a list so I don’t forget.”
“So many husbands. God oh God.”
‘You’ll be at the top of the list, Mikey. Would you like that?”
“No. I want to be at the bottom. Last.”
The low rumble of thunder was audible in the distance and Louise looked up at the darkening sky, suddenly sobering. “Are the windows closed?”
“They are,” I assured her. “All of them.”
"I'm terrified of thunder and lightning," she said. "Once we had company from Chicago and a terrible storm blew in. A tornado came across the field so we ran to the basement. We were all huddled in the corner when we realized Mike wasn't with us. I thought he'd been killed.”
“Hah,” Mike interrupted.
“But afterward,” Louise continued, motioning him to be quiet, “there Mike was, sopping wet, standing out in the garden, with a big smile on his face. 'You missed a good one,' he told me."
“Yup,” Mike said.
“Gary Cooper,” she teased him.
1931 A letter from Bill asking me to forgive him. I can’t yet. I don’t sleep very well at night. It would be better if he’d slept with a woman instead. What if he’s hurt or killed or-- ? Picked beans but the crops are poor due to not enough rain.
Next Tuesday, Chapter 20: Relapse