3WW (Hassle, Inject, Wealth): Morally Bankrupt

Not to be outdone in her apparent concern for our ailing mother, my sister had opted for the more expensive morning flight from Missouri to Portland. I met her in the hospital lobby, her oafish husband Brian lumbering beside her. Based on her general lack of wealth, I knew she had used mom’s credit card. Her logic that the old lady was going to kick the bucket anyway didn’t seem quite right to me. But I also wasn’t in charge of mom’s finances, so I kept my mouth shut and played along.

When we entered the stuffy room, I noticed mom’s eyes first; a pale yellow circled her normally vibrant blue eyes. She was so thin, almost skeletal. And drugged. I understood that she just didn’t want to feel the pain anymore, but by the looks of her swaying in that bed, I thought the doctor’s were probably administering too many drugs. Yet I could see the vibrancy beneath the mask of failing flesh. She whispered a few words, but thought better of speaking. Instead, she smiled at us with her thin lips and high cheekbones.

I had visited Portland a few times. I brought the wife and kids to see my mother. My mother was always a good grandmother. She spoiled my kids, sent them back with sugar highs and stories of water slides and the like. After my wife and I divorced, I visited less often. Once when the kids were in high school, but they weren’t really interested in being spoiled by then. They wanted to see the sights. And my mother wasn’t the type. So, I went alone, mostly. Not often. But enough.

My sister, on the other hand, visited all the time. But always for something. For my father’s car after he passed. To stay at the house while Brian wasn’t working. To borrow some money for a much needed vacation. ‘It’s never a hassle’ my mother would say to me about my sister’s visits, ‘that’s what family’s for.’ I couldn’t adequately argue the point since my mother was an enabler, but I knew better about my sister. In fact, I was concerned about her trip this time when I learned that she was on the verge of foreclosure and bankruptcy. Still, I could do nothing about the fact that my sister controlled everything. All I could do was watch.

After spending about an hour, I said good night to my mother and sister and ventured back to my hotel room. I called my girlfriend and chatted a bit before falling asleep.

The next morning, I arrived at the hospital and looked into my mother’s room. Except she wasn’t there. I stared at an empty room. A nurse came up behind me and offered her condolences. When she saw the shock of my face, her eyes narrowed. She asked me if I had known that my mother was scheduled to be put to sleep. She used those exact words, as if my mother were a dog. I couldn’t speak. She explained that it was peaceful and that my sister had requested that the doctors to inject our mother with enough drugs that she would never again wake up. And she never again did.

I asked if my sister was in the hospital. The nurse told me she had gone to make funeral arrangements, but I knew better. I sped across a number of bridges to the office I’d seen only once. When I passed the stunned receptionist and into the office of my mother’s lawyer, I saw my sister and her useless husband sitting in plush leather chairs conferring with the lawyer about the value of our mother’s life insurance policy. I know what I should have done. But I was so angry that I thought I might be capable of taking another life. So, I walked out of that office and left Portland. I’ve never returned. And I’ve never spoken to my sister again.

Based on rumors through the grapevine, she never did go bankrupt.