The week between the day my mother entered hospice care and the day she died is easily the longest and worst week of my life. This week (oddly enough, very nearly the same set of days six years later) comes in at a very close second.
Earlier this month our condo building was deemed uninhabitable by the village due to the absence of running water. Mind you, we've been existing without hot water for months prior to this new designation; a fact the village was maybe not so blissfully unaware.
The water shut-off is due to polar vortex-induced busted pipes leading to water spilling about the village street. Something they frown upon.
The times, they have been hard.
Over the past several days I (we) have been furiously endeavoring to relocate before the village takes the next step, whatever that is upon a domicile being deemed uninhabitable. How many more days will they allow? I don't know. I can't afford to care. Particularly since the association is broke in every conceivable way. It. Is. Time. To. Go.
Thanks to the very fine and furiously expedited help of two local social service agencies and a very good friend, relocation is mere hours and some heft away for the daughter and me. The son is making his own arrangements, finding his own way. Happy Birthday to him, by the way.
The anniversary of my son's birth not-with-standing, I can say with fervent candor that February is doing its damnedest to earn the position of my least favorite month.
But then again, maybe this move, these series of events, will prove a very positive turning point in our lives.
We'll see. March On!
Earlier this month our condo building was deemed uninhabitable by the village due to the absence of running water. Mind you, we've been existing without hot water for months prior to this new designation; a fact the village was maybe not so blissfully unaware.
The water shut-off is due to polar vortex-induced busted pipes leading to water spilling about the village street. Something they frown upon.
The times, they have been hard.
Over the past several days I (we) have been furiously endeavoring to relocate before the village takes the next step, whatever that is upon a domicile being deemed uninhabitable. How many more days will they allow? I don't know. I can't afford to care. Particularly since the association is broke in every conceivable way. It. Is. Time. To. Go.
Thanks to the very fine and furiously expedited help of two local social service agencies and a very good friend, relocation is mere hours and some heft away for the daughter and me. The son is making his own arrangements, finding his own way. Happy Birthday to him, by the way.
The anniversary of my son's birth not-with-standing, I can say with fervent candor that February is doing its damnedest to earn the position of my least favorite month.
But then again, maybe this move, these series of events, will prove a very positive turning point in our lives.
We'll see. March On!
