I did her taxes today. Sent by her daughter Betty, stiff knee and all, through the rain, she doesn't see very well and was worried that she'd filled out the form incorrectly.

���� Gwendolyn speaks very much like Betty does -- thoughtfully, with sudden strange blanknesses (as though tiny strokes are constantly bubbling up, popping like penguins from a gently rolling mental surf), in a Caribbean kind of accent -- only she speaks from memory, and with a lot more sadness.

����She wanted me to know that recently, the house was broken into and all her particulars were stolen. That was why she didn't have documentation for her social security benefits -- they broke her door, took many papers, and all her particulars. Her particulars, her door. Can you imagine? She thinks it's someone from her family; one of the young ones. There are a lot of them in the area.

����A few years ago, Gwendolyn's husband was in an accident, and now he's been in several nursing homes. It makes her happy to take care of him every day, though it's been hard since her surgery and the arthritis.

����I did Betty's taxes a few months ago. She's a nurse in a location distant enough that she needs a car to get there. The ignition on her car is broken though, so she rents. Last year she spent several thousand dollars on rental cars. I suggested she get her own car fixed but she's pretty attached to renting, even while knowing its cost.

���� It makes me think of my cat and how his head tilts slightly rightward now, after his ear infection last year. Constant misfortune and financial worry and lack of reason to expect improvement by anything other than stroke of luck takes a real toll on people around here; on many of them it leaves a permanent mark.


0 Comments