Dave Barry (16:21)
No, it was traumatic. But I was, like, in my 40s. I had become a successful humor columnist at this point. My dad died, and my mom just was not dealing with it well. And we went through this phase. And, like, if you have older parents and then a lot of people know what this phase is, where the dynamic starts to shift from they're your parent till, like, you're both neutral, sort of. Then you become sort of there. So my mom had this house in Armagh, New York, that my dad and she. That my dad built with his hands, that I grew up in. And she, you know, we all told her, you can't keep the house because it's in the middle of the woods and it's too big and you need to sell your house and move on with your life. And so she sold the house, and then she didn't know where to go. And she would come to Florida, live with me for a while. Then she would go out to California where both my brothers lived and lived with one live with. Just couldn't. And so I vividly remember the last time I saw her. She called me up and said she wanted to go to Connecticut and look at this community in Connecticut that some friends of hers had lived in. So I said, okay, your mom's your mom. So I fly up and meet her in Hartford, Connecticut, rent a car, we drive to this place. And all the way there, I'm like. She's telling me, you know, stuff about she misses, dad, she misses. And I'm like, mom, you gotta. You gotta look ahead. You gotta. You know, you still have friends. You have money because you sold the house. And, you know, we. You know, and she's, like, sad, and I'm, like, pushing her, like, mom, you gotta do that. You gotta do, like, I know what she's going through, right? So we finally. We get to, I think it was Essex, Connecticut or whatever. And immediately, I can see, you know, that she doesn't want to be there. That's not really where she went. What she wants to be is, like, a couple of years ago, earlier, back in Armwich with my dad, which will never happen. You know, he's gone, But I'm like, mom, you gotta. And so, like, the next morning, we have this really tense breakfast in the motel. And I'm like, mom, you have to. You have to make a decision. This is ridiculous. You can't keep moving from, you know, the brother to brother. Just. You stay with us if you want, but you gotta pick. You gotta pick what you want to do, you gotta do. Because I know now, you know, I'm 40 and I'm a successful columnist, and you don't know what you're doing anyway. And I bought her a map. I'll never forgive myself for this. A map of the United States. Like, pick a place. I'll take you there. We'll figure it out, okay? And I, you know, and so she hugs me goodbye. Put her on the plane. She's going back out to one of my brothers in Sunnyvale, California, which she also hates, to try to figure out what she wants to do next. And then A couple weeks later, my brothers and I all got birthday cards from her. You know, happy birthday, I love you. And it wasn't our birthdays, but she's just, you know, telling us she loved us. And the next thing I know, I get a phone call from my brother. My mom's in the hospital. She's taking an overdose of Valium and vodka, and she's on life support, and her brain has ceased functioning and. Can we. Do they have permission to unplug my mom? So the lesson which still stings me is don't ever think you know what your parents are going through, or don't ever think you know what anybody's going through, especially don't think you know what an older person is going through at the end of life. And the last thing I did is borrow a fucking map just so I can't remember what question you asked me. But that was just. That was the low point for me of being her son. Now, since that time, I've made, you know, I understood she wasn't blaming me, and I wasn't the cause of why she committed suicide at all. But I will forever blame me for not at least being a little more aware of. Of what was going on.
