Pat has become very ill. Phillip lets the girls stay in the
house with her to
keep her company. The other night she
fell and the girls called Phillip and he called an
ambulance.
She was taken
to the hospital
and diagnosed with
Parkinson’s and low-grade
dementia. Nancy, myself, and
the girls are pitching in to take care of her, which is
turning
out to not
be easy. She is
losing her ability
to walk and
cannot go to the bathroom by herself. I am
allowed in the
main front house
to take my
shift with her. Nancy
started sleeping
in the house to be near her at night, and
the girls are
sleeping in the
blue building which
I have
always called “next door.” I
am sleeping in my tent out back.
Every few years I get
a new tent because tents don’t last
forever. This one is going to last me a little longer than
the
others because a month prior
to putting it up, Phillip had
built an elevated floor for it and it helps to keep it dry.
Phillip
is sleeping in the house on the couch or in the spare room
with Nancy
seen quite a bit by his parole officer. I t makes
it harder to
go on outings now.
A few months later, Phillip was suddenly informed that he
has another new
parole officer and
needs to report
in.
When his parole agent would come over in the
beginning,
Phillip would tell
us that we
needed to stay
in the back.
Eventually he started
to get mad at the system and
didn’t
care if we were in the
house or not. He now lets the kids
sleep in the house. One time a parole agent paid a surprise
visit on Phillip and saw one of the girls sleeping in one of
the spare rooms. I
was told of this later by the girls because
they were
scared. Phillip told me
the next time a parole
agent came to the house, I
was to ask if he was the one that
went into my daughter’s room.
After that Phillip was informed he was getting yet another
new parole officer. One day when I was in the house taking
care of his mother, this new parole agent came and I asked
him if he
was the agent
who walked into my
daughter’s
bedroom. He answered no and
I proceeded to wheel Pat
back to her room. He
took Phillip’s urine sample and
left.
More and more frequent visits are occurring at the house,
and Phillip is
becoming more and
more frustrated and
paranoid. In his
mind he is
doing nothing wrong.
I t’s
preventing him from
doing this effectively
with all the
monitoring. He wants to get a lawyer and get off of parole.
There is a washer and
dryer in
the house, but the dryer
doesn’t work and
neither does the
washer, but we
desperately need a washer.
The printing business
is not
doing so well and we don’t have a lot of money, especially
for going to
the Laundromat and washing clothes. Phillip
has finally fixed the washer. In order to use it, though, it
has
to be outside
because the drainage
in the house
is not
working. So we moved the washer outside. I t was incredibly
heavy and took
all of our
strength to move it
out to the
middle of the
yard under a
pine tree. Once he
got it all
hooked up, it was so nice being able to do the laundry and
not waiting for it to pile up on us. Especially since Pat
has
gotten sick and has had a
lot of bed wetting and pooping
accidents and we would have to wash her sheets a lot.
I t seems like the house has started to fall apart since Pat
got sick. Nancy
the house and
when Phillip went
under to check
it out
discovered the pipes were
rotting. The downstairs
porch
sink was always
backed up with
water and Phillip
has
showed us how to drain it with a siphon hose. I t has to be
done at least three times a day or the sink tub will
overflow
and then we’d
have to clean
up the floor.
I t’s already
happened a few times and is a pain to soak up all the water
on the floor. The water that backs up from the drain is
black
and gray—it’s so disgusting! I hate the job of draining. But I
hate my shift with his mom even more. She is getting really
demented and the only one she is nice to is her darling son
who could never do anything wrong. She says really mean
things when I have to
take her to the bathroom or walk her
or exercise her. She hates everything except Phillip. Nancy
has a hard time with her, too, but sometimes can get her to
listen. I feel
like she deep
down hates me,
though, and
knows what I
represent even though we have never told her,
I think she
knows I represent
a side of
her son that
she
doesn’t want to acknowledge exists.
Before she fell I had
only seen her a couple of times. She
knew me as
Allissa, the sister
of the girls
that Nancy
brought over from down the street, which was the story that
Phillip told her.
Sometimes I think he would say these are
your grandkids, too. I
’m not
sure what she
thought. She
didn’t do much after
she retired; just watched
TV all day
and sometimes went
shopping with her
sister Celia, the
one Phillip gave my cat
to. After Pat’s fall, Celia died
and
others she didn’t. The Parkinson’s was eating her body and
the dementia was eating her mind. I t’s a sad thing. Maybe
it’s better that she will never truly know that her son did
such
an evil thing.
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