My uncle Bobo is nearly 98 years old. He's probably going to die soon as he has had several medical issues arise in recent months. He's spent the past two months in a rehab facility; instead of getting better, he's gotten worse. Just today, my aunt told me that he will be returning to their apartment tomorrow after a failed attempt at transitioning him into his great nephew's home. My aunt is upset that he is having to come back to their apartment; I think his urinating on her couch pretty much sealed that deal before he went away to rehab.
You have to understand my aunt and uncle. They have been married for nearly sixty years and were the quintessential "don't call us...we'll call you" kind of couple. Except for the fact that they rarely called you unless they wanted something. I can remember running away to their home from the local grocery store when I was about nine years old. I begged them to let me move in with them as they didn't have any kids of their own and (I figured) had to be a damn sight better than my own parents to live with. Unfortunately, what I remember most about that evening was my uncle pointing to their telephone and ordering my aunt to "Call them now." Did I mention that Uncle Bobo is not my blood relation? After my parents picked me up that night, all I remember was a lot of yelling, screaming, and discipline ala the "board of education" on my backside.
Needless to say, things didn't change much as the years progressed and I made my various attempts at "connecting" with Uncle Bobo. Beyond the language barrier, he made it quite clear on numerous occassions that unless the subject being discussed centered around (1) his native homeland, (2) his family, and/or (3) himself...he wasn't having it. Since my aunt was his willing servant in every way, shape, and form imaginable ("I can't talk to you now, I have to serve Uncle Bobo his coffee!"), they were two very hard nuts to crack. Literally and figuratively.
Flash forward to the present day. Uncle Bobo has been miserable. Since becoming incontinent, immobile, and barely able to speak above a whisper---he is now a man out of control. Without getting into too many gory details, he did a lot to try and ensure his quality of care in advance of his present circumstances. Inotherwords, he made his plans and (as the old saying goes) God laughed. I should also add that his attempts at greasing the palms of his preferred future caregivers resulted in no caregiving at all...and no financial stability on behalf of my aunt's own future.
I don't know if my aunt will ever truly recognize the type of man she was "really" married to for these past several decades; there is a big part of me that hopes she will be successfully deprogrammed once he has moved out of this world and into the next. For you see, my uncle Bobo was an Emperor in his own mind. Unfortunately the empire of dirt he created is crumbling fast in spite of my aunt's attempts to keep shoveling it back into place.
When all is said and done, nobody learns how to comfortably serve others by becoming comfortable with being served by others. Uncle Bobo happens to be one of those people who got way too comfortable---and who is only learning now how paybacks are a---well, you know what they are. And so do I.
Until next time...
