A final conversation with
mom
(... got it all on tape,
brother)
The month before my mom died, I moved out to California to
spend some time with her before she checked out. I gave her pills,
water, what little food she would eat and morphine. Lots and
lots of morphine.
Most of all, I kept her company. Unfortunately, she suffered
from either dementia or Alzheimer's. The doctors weren't sure
which, but whatever the specifics, she was a raving lunatic at
the end.
She's also the last person on this planet ever to call me
Michael without getting a right cross to the jaw.
Two weeks into my visit, I bought a handheld cassette player
so I could tape some of our conversations. As whacked out as
she was, she could answer questions about her past lucidly --
especially the years she spent in Manhattan during her twenties.
Here's a partial result of these taped conversations:
- Mom: (Calling from her room.) Michael.... Michael... please...
please... Michael...
- MJ: (Entering the room after yet another cigarette break
on the patio) Yeah, mom.
- Mom: We need some kind of bell. Usually these places have
a bell.
- MJ: What places?
- Mom: You know... I forget the name... homes... hospitals...
nursing thingamabobs.. Ha! You know... whatever this place is.
- MJ: Mom... you're home. This is your home.
- Mom: Oh. That's right. (Laughs.) You keep telling me that,
don't you? Well, I have to admit you've made a nice duplicate
here. That must of been so much trouble for you guys to go through.
- MJ: Do you need anything, Mom?
- Mom: Yes, I do. You need to get on the horn to everybody.
We're going to have a meeting. I've only handled meetings as
a secretary, but I'm sure you've done this before, so if you
could just make the calls and get everyone together, we should
be set-up for... well... it all has to be done in secret, of
course. And I'll need something to write on. Please.
- MJ: Mom. It's three in the morning.
- Mom: It is? (Pause.) Okay. Okay. We can do this tomorrow,
I suppose.
- MJ: (Moves tape recorder closer.) Mom. Is anybody in the
family gay?
- Mom: Hmmm. Only the ones in France. I can't remember if your
grandmother was or not. You understand, we all had a few hidden
away, like any family. But I'm not sure about your grandmother.
- MJ: Uh-huh. Is anybody in the family adopted?
- Mom: Yes. Your brother Danny was adopted. But I think he's
the only one.
- MJ: When you were a singer in New York, where did you sing?
On Broadway?
- Mom: No. I never sang on Broadway. I used to sing at Radio
City Music Hall. I was a fill-in singer, so if a band -- and
they had big bands in those days, you know. Not like the ones
now... anyway, if a band, say, was coming in from Chicago, but
the bus broke down or... whatever... then I'd be asked to sing.
There were several of us who worked there on a fill-in basis.
- MJ: And you once worked for Bella Abzug?
- Mom: Yes... Ha!... she would walk in -- I was a legal secretary
then in Manhattan. So I worked for her and two other lawyers.
She always wore these big hats and when she walked through the
door, she'd let out a big sigh and just stare at me. She was
a riot.
- MJ: Was she gay?
- Mom: Hmmmm. You know, I never thought about that. But now
that you mention it, she did wear those big hats, so maybe she
was.
- MJ: What do you think of Michael?
- Mom: Ha! I was just going to say that you look a lot like
him.
- MJ: I am Michael.
- Mom: (Laughs.) Yes, you do look a lot like him, I'll say
that for you.
- MJ: (Leaves room, then returns with baseball cap on his head.)
Hi, mom!
- Mom: Danny! How long have you been here?
- MJ: I just got in. How are you feeling?
- Mom: Oh, much better. They take such good care... well...
I could have a buzzer or something, that would be nice, but do
you see how they made the room look so much like home, with the
flowers and the butterflies and the big to-do. (Pause.) Danny,
could you get Michael for a minute? Please.
- MJ: Sure, mom. (Leaves room, then returns without the baseball
cap.) Hi, mom. What's up?
- Mom: You know what Michael? (Pause.) I don't think Danny
was adopted after all.
I have to ask: Who's the real lunatic here? The woman suffering
from dementia? Or the asshole with the tape recorder asking all
the stupid questions?
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