What I Pondered While Painting

Dear Henry,

For the last couple of weeks, I've been painting. 

I was blessed when I moved to our home in Salem, Virginia. The former owner really loved her home, and she was also a "blue" person. I was able to move in and feel right at home. Consequently, I've not done a lot of home improvement.  

That period of leisure has come to an end. It was past time to paint the porch and the deck. It had been a couple of years since we moved in, and after the massive amounts of rain during Helene, painting was more than due.

Physical labor couldn't have come at a more welcome time.

My mother has dementia and balance issues due to a lifetime of opiate, benzodiazepine, and alcohol abuse. Some months ago, she had a terrible fall, and it became clear that we were going to need to place her in some type of care facility. However,  because of the challenging dynamics in my family, my uncles took over the care of my mother. My youngest sister and I were assured that my mother was taken care of and in a place where someone was checking in on her.

Only that wasn't true.

A couple of days ago, my youngest sister and I were notified by one of my uncles that my mother had fallen again and had been lying in her filth for nearly 24 hours before she was found. This is when we learned that our mother was, in fact, not in assisted living but had been in a retirement home that "was going to check on her from time to time."  

Now, after the latest fall, my mother's dementia has progressed to the point that even my uncles agree she needs around-the-clock care, which has added a different dimension to the problem.   

You see, my middle sister is like my mother and has also succumbed to the demon of addiction. She has been living in my mother's house for years, rent-free, with her adult children, her husband, his children, and approximately 13 dogs. That my mother will use all her savings (and most likely her house) for her care is beyond question, and very shortly, we will have to evict her from the house to sell it to pay for my mother's care. Unfortunately, because I volunteer to restore a defunct cemetery, I know exactly what the "addicted and homeless" look like, and I'm so upset by the anticipated trajectory of this situation that I can hardly think straight. In fact, I'm angry about the entire situation. It shouldn't have been like this. It is wrong, and there is no justification for any of it.

Speaking of the cemetery.

There has been a development with that project that I'm also really struggling with. I volunteered to help write a narrative about the cemetery's history for an interpretive sign, which was a great process. I learned so much about the history of Roanoke City, even beyond the graveyard. It was enlightening, and I highly recommend learning about a city's history by reading the minutes of historical city council meetings. It is such a great look into the past.  

Anyway, I crafted what I felt was a fair and valid narrative. Unfortunately, a local historical society also thought that they needed input and changed it, adding what I solidly believe is incorrect information based on the physical dimensions of the current cemetery. It appears that the board governing this decision has decided to go with the historical society's version. I am so beyond hurt. There are several members of the board with whom I have worked side by side for months, people who knew I was working on this and who chose the narrative of the historical society without even talking to me. This decision has taken the wind out of my sails.

I'm struggling to remind myself that this is just ego and that my reason for being at the cemetery was not to write a narrative for an interpretive sign but to care for the dead. Still, this has been a bitter pill to swallow, and I might not be a big enough person to do so.

I'm so frustrated and don't know what to do about either problem. Fortunately, there is painting to do.

My house is bluish-grey, and the porch wood has been painted light blue. The back deck had been water-sealed but left to a natural finish. After the hurricane, both needed care. Before now, I haven't changed much because I liked the former owner's color scheme, but I think it's time to make this home my own. I chose a deep navy "wood correct" type stain. There is a lot of wood, and it's been quite therapeutic to paint during my angst. I'm excited to see what it looks like when it's finished.  

I also have other home improvements in mind, and perhaps now it's time to withdraw into my own space and work on my home and other, more personal projects.  

Stay tuned for pictures!

xoxo a.d. elliott

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a.d. elliott is a wanderer, photographer, and storyteller living in Salem, Virginia. 

In addition to the travel writings at www.takethebackroads.com, you can also read her book reviews at www.riteoffancy.com and US military biographies at www.everydaypatriot.com

Her online photography gallery can be found at shop.takethebackroads.com

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