Scars to Stars: Reflections of a Dubious Daughter

By Claudine K. Seibert

A unique non-fiction collection of amusing vignettes, Scars to Stars follows the author through an often hilarious childhood up to the day her unconventional parents are buried at sea. Like The Carol Burnett Show, the narrative launches into a rapid-fire succession of farcical eventsall of which really happened.

Scars to Stars sheds light on the significant milestones 76 million baby boomers can expect to face as their parents age and pass away. Greg E. Leach, president of Hospice of Palm Beach County Foundation, endorses Scars to Stars take-home message about how to heal and prosper after participating in the conclusion of the lives of elderly loved ones. With loving satire and just the right dash of practical advice (think David Sedaris meets the Dalai Lama,) Scars to Stars is the first alternately poignant and humorous memoir of its kind.

• Language: English
• Publisher: Balboa Press
• Release date: Mar 4, 2016
• ISBN: 9781504348485

Claudine K. Seibert

Claudine Kennedy Seibert earned a master’s degree in education from Columbia University. She was a Montessori teacher in Manhattan and Connecticut and now thrives as a special education teacher in Florida. The author savors time composing satirical vignettes with just the perfect sprinkling of practical guidance. For more information, please go to www.claudineseibert.com.

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Copyright © 2016 Claudine K. Seibert.

All rights reserved. No part of this book may be used or reproduced by any means, graphic, electronic, or mechanical, including photocopying, recording, taping or by any information storage retrieval system without the written permission of the author except in the case of brief quotations embodied in critical articles and reviews.

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The author of this book does not dispense medical advice or prescribe the use of any technique as a form of treatment for physical, emotional, or medical problems without the advice of a physician, either directly or indirectly. The intent of the author is only to offer information of a general nature to help you in your quest for emotional and spiritual well-being. In the event you use any of the information in this book for yourself, which is your constitutional right, the author and the publisher assume no responsibility for your actions.

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ISBN: 978-1-5043-4769-3 (sc)

ISBN: 978-1-5043-4848-5 (e)

Balboa Press rev. date: 4/15/2016

Contents

Introduction

You're never dealt a hand that you can't play.

Part I: That will never happen to me.

1 There's nothing keeping us here.

How dare you wear falsies!

My medicines are behind the Virgin Mary.

Where's my chocolate and tequila?

I know you've got a poodle in there.

2 You're kidding: Claude, Claudine, and Claudine?

It's March and your Christmas tree is still up!

I love Tea and Honey more than you.

I guess I'm not getting that tiara.

3 More finger paint, please.

Let's go to the circus and have your tonsils removed.

4 He only wants half your net worth.

Stay back ten feet: I'm radioactive.

5 You'll be a social failure if you don't learn how to play bridge.

You could have been a human potato chip!

Don't worry; there won't be that many people at Woodstock.

I love you but I don't like you.

6 I kissed him and turned yellow.

Bean Town or bust!

I succumbed to familial blackmail.

7 Pose as his wife and everything will be fine.

Just stand at the foot of the coffin.

You should never fall in love with a building.

Thank God she died with her rice pudding recipe!

Please take these grapefruits; I'm off to Alaska.

8 We want to go to Cairo instead of Orlando.

Dudley Moore is at the back door!

We've been together for over thirty years; now get the hell out!

Part II: Good Lord, it's happening to me.

9 They're going to fill in the swimming pool?

The State Police are after us!

10 My bottom lip is in a pile of manure.

The ambience is charming except for the smoke.

The stick shift isn't where it's supposed to be.

11 I'd like you to meet Ganesh and Shiva.

We live in The Lost City of Atlantis.

I lost fifteen pounds visiting my parents!

Would you like to sit in the golf cart and have a drink?

12 How about a subscription to Tits and Ass?

There's a reason for twenty years of poor decisions.

Don't bother picking me up.

They didn't shift gears for more than fifty years!

President's Day weekend turned into the rest of my life.

The good news is your folks are broke.

Part III: I can't believe it actually happened to me.

13 I'll kill myself on the bar if you don't seat thirty people right now!

God, no, the rinse cycle!

"Can you sell this mink coat for me?

"Would you care for some extra tanks of oxygen?

Shall we call her Incognito?

I saved your father's life a year ago.

The Pope would be ashamed of you!

14 You've been through so much; I'll give you the urn.

We put the d's in death and dysfunctional.

There's a bomb by the jack-o'-lantern.

My jaw hurts; we've been on the phone for five hours.

Wherever I'm planted, I bloom.

15 Would you consider changing your career?

Minimize the crap.

Pinch me; I've been happy for three days in a row!

I can't believe I'm actually excited to go to Tampa!

I'm definitely going back for more plasma.

I

dedicate SCARS TO STARS to David Sedaris. His brilliant books helped me persevere through the darkest of times. Thank you to Claude, Claudine, Theresa, Muffy, and my forever friends. I want to acknowledge the incomparable Michael Christian for his guidance.

Introduction

You're never dealt a hand that you can't play.

When you're a little kid, you rarely think about taking care of your parents. Even when mom and dad do less than a stellar job, you still look up to them and figure that it's their duty to watch over you. If a single mother or father, relatives, or foster parents raise you, a young imagination doesn't dwell upon what it would be like to have the caretaking roles reversed. Heck, you can be middle-aged and still find it difficult to bear the reality that your folks have reached the stage that they can't fend for themselves anymore.

It's akin to coming down with a bad cold. You're always in a state of denial when the slight achiness begins. Your nose starts running intermittently and the coughing starts. At that viral point, most people continue to blame their blossoming illness on an uncomfortable desk chair or cat dander before they admit that they've been stricken with another case of the sniffles. And so it goes with observing mom and pop getting older, weaker, more forgetful, sickly, and in many cases, totally helpless. You ask yourself, How in the world am I going to deal with this incredibly depressing and time consuming situation?

The first step is to console yourself with the fact that the same scenario has repeated itself since humans inhabited the Earth. If the Neanderthals, ancient Egyptians, and Elizabethans did it, so can you. The belief that no one is ever given a burden that is too heavy to carry is the one thought that kept me going when I parented my folks. I also discovered that the venerable tenet, love never dies, became a solid oak tree that I clung to as the winds of change attempted to sweep me off my feet. Most importantly, whether you are aware of it or not, divine guidance will accompany you every step of the way as you serve your loved ones.

Of course every clan handles the delicate matter of mortality in their own unique fashion. If you have siblings and/or extended family members that are willing to lend a hand, you are fortunate if they can control themselves. The energy and expenses can be divided. Sometimes traditions have to be broken due to financial setbacks. Dad and I had to have mom cremated and her ashes dispersed in the Atlantic Ocean instead of the original plan of a regal burial in New York.

If you are single like me, it is technically easier to leave your home, friends, and job because you don't have to relocate your spouse and children. In my particular case, I simply couldn't continue flying back and forth from New York to Florida after a certain juncture. So I moved down south. Either way, when a family member begins to fade and you initiate changes and make important decisions for them, it is vital to remember to delegate responsibilities whenever possible. You need to take care of your emotional, physical, and intellectual well-being. If not, you won't be able to support the infirm in their greatest time of need.

You may get in some practice beforehand. Perhaps your mom will have a radical hysterectomy or your dad will undergo kidney, prostate, hernia, and spinal surgery such as my parents. Maybe an uncle and grandfather will succumb to cancer or both grandmothers will be taken by congestive heart failure like my relations. Naturally, you will attend wakes and funerals of friends, business associates, long lost cousins, and a variety of loved ones during your lifetime. Somehow nothing compares to burying or cremating the woman who brought you into this world and the man who adored her.

It doesn't matter how you deal with it; an emotional toll is extracted from everyone involved including your parents. Visualize being the former head of a household and your fully grown child confiscates the car keys. Think of how it feels to lose your independence and recognize that it's essential to depend upon a mobile supply of oxygen, a wheelchair, a walker, or the arm of a caretaker to simply transport yourself across a room. Consider becoming incapable of managing your finances or preparing a modest meal. The other side of the coin is the numerous amount of parents who torture their graying offspring because they don't want to become dependent on anyone, downsize to a more manageable home, go to a hospital for the umpteenth time, or utilize lifesaving medical devices. One of my dad's maddening tricks was depositing crucial medication in his pocket the moment I turned my back. How about the parent who continues to smoke like a chimney when his lungs are so destroyed by emphysema that getting out of a chair is a chore? Patience is truly a virtue.

Fast forward; picture watching a cherished family member succumb before your very eyes. How do you deal with conflicting feelings? Yes, it will be a complicated task to carry on without that treasured person. Yet, there is often a distinct sense of relief that a battle has ended. Take heart in the fact that the day will come when you lie down to go to sleep and your pillow won't be dampened with tears. You can come to the realization that you were actually fortunate to have been a part of the completion of a life cycle. The rewards are countless. You will continue to thrive as guardians, guides, and innumerable instances of divine intervention present themselves to you on a daily basis.

When someone dear has moved on to the next plane, embrace your grief and face it head on or it can consume you. I remember breaking down if I glanced at a piece of key lime pie in a restaurant because it was my mother's favorite dessert. Oftentimes I would dissolve in a pool of tears in the supermarket if I glanced at one of dad's favorite soft drinks. The bottom line is, Who really cares if I cry in public? There is absolutely nothing to be ashamed about. If I wept in the soup aisle, I always felt a whole lot better by the time I reached the fruits and vegetables section. Suppressing heartfelt emotions would have encumbered the rest of my experiences that day. Think of what happens when people repress their feelings all of the time. Physical, mental, and spiritual ailments present themselves.

On the other hand, regret is a dismal and useless emotion which should be sidestepped at all costs. Comb through your memory bank as far back as you can. Decipher which recollections will serve you in the future and disregard the rest. Share your history and the knowledge you gained with your pals, kin, acquaintances, and strangers. After your caretaking responsibilities conclude, you have the capability to continue to evolve into a more mature and compassionate person. You will look at life in a completely different manner. Trust that you will eventually pick yourself up off the floor and continue living with a fresh set of eyes and a lighter heart. I did.

SCARS TO STARS was written as a cathartic exercise after the conclusion of my time as a caregiver for my mother and father, Claude and Claudine Seibert. My most memorable experiences with my distinctive mom and dad, their quirky folks, and the growing pains we experienced from my childhood to their demise are the seeds from which this book sprouted. Lively decades soared by until each hour became a series of intense emotional experiences steeped in frailty. The skills and strategies I employed in caring for my parents and the unconditional assistance I received from loyal buddies, Hospice of Palm Beach County, and total strangers constitute the final segments of SCARS TO STARS.

What I lived through with my mother was totally different from the period of time I spent with my father. Hospice helped me to remember that there is no single path for a caregiver and that I was not alone. The Green Team of Hospice became my caregivers too. They taught me that my future depended upon my willingness to heal and a positive outlook. Revisiting my experiences with my family in SCARS TO STARS is one of the many ways I learned to cope with their passing, free myself from the past, and recreate a meaningful life.

Part I: That will never happen to me.

Chapter 1

There's nothing keeping us here.

Watching my folks fade away was a difficult process. When I thought they couldn't hold on much longer, they'd come up for more air and carry on for another few years. The specters of sickness and dwindling funds continually haunted them. They never had an opportunity to save for a rainy day because they were too busy getting swindled or throwing a party.

On a whim my father decided to move from Connecticut to Florida in spite of my mother's poor health. It was bewildering to hear my parents apprise me of the fact that they were moving over one thousand miles away because, There's nothing keeping us here. What a confidence building statement for an only child to hear and such a thoughtful gesture to notify me by phone. Not surprisingly, Claude and Claudine's move to Florida wasn't typical by any means. One would assume that older people such as my folks would take a cab or limousine to a New York airport and fly directly into Palm Beach. No, that would be too easy.

Mom detested flying so she convinced dad to drive to Florida. The only way I know how to get there is Interstate 95. However, my mother felt uncomfortable on I-95 because of the gigantic speeding trucks. She insisted that they take an alternate route. I was terrified as I visualized the possible scenarios which could evolve as my parents weaved their way through the Deep South. A weepy fond farewell was all I had after their departure for three days. In my mind's eye I saw them bludgeoned in the red clay of Georgia, beaten senseless in North Carolina, and drugged and hogtied in Tallahassee.

Imagine my glee when more than seventy-two hours after our initial goodbyes my slightly tipsy mother called. I could barely hear her because of the sound of roaring engines in the background. I calmly inquired as to their location as I envisioned crazed motorcyclists ready to gang bang her as they forced my drooling father to watch. Somehow, someway, I swear to God, they were in a house of ill repute in South Amboy, New Jersey. My mother explained that they drove and drove but couldn't figure out how to get to Florida. They finally decided to rest in a motel. There were no closets in their room. The perimeter of the ceiling was decorated with blinking red cherry lights. The sound of engines was my dad firing up the Jacuzzi. Mom stated that she would never sit in that thing because every disease in the world probably lived in there. I envisioned my dad's testicles shriveling with the most severe STD known to mankind.

As we once more said goodbye, ma gave me their latest travel update. They decided to hire an agent to map out their way to Florida. I simply stated that I loved them and prayed for their safety. Sometimes you just have to give up and hope for something a little less than total disaster.

How dare you wear falsies!

Giving the impression of being wealthy and stylish was the basic tenet of my mother's religion. I often wondered if pickling oneself in vodka, partying until dawn on the weekends, and scarring children for life were the principal elements of Catholic dogma. Forget the fact that I was the only one in the family who confessed my sins once a week and attended 9:00 mass on Sundays. My father was a Republican Protestant. He gave mom free reign concerning the divine beings I would worship and where I would be educated. My very spirit was entrusted to a woman who kept a beige plastic Infant Jesus of Prague next to her bed. A flesh colored Johnson's Band-Aid secured a dollar bill that was stuffed in its base. This meager offering was supposedly an inexpensive insurance policy against all incarnations of evil.

Ma delegated the salvation of my soul and psyche to the Dominican and Ursuline nuns. It is a testimony to my stamina that I survived those thirteen long years of parochial instruction after being teased with the prospect of being taught by a lay person in kindergarten. Naturally, I encountered a few genuinely devoted, intelligent, and compassionate women of God during my formative years. However, the vast majority of them needed unlimited amounts of Valium. My second grade teacher looked like a quarterback in drag. My third grade teacher beat the crap out of us. I clearly remember how a large lipped lad named Jimmy made the deadly mistake of positioning one paper upside down in the stack of spelling tests he had collected from his quivering classmates. Sister Frances looked in horror at the misplaced examination and flung all of the quizzes into the air. It was like watching a movie in slow motion. My fellow students and I witnessed her throw Jimmy to the floor and repeatedly kick him in the stomach as the exams floated to the ground. She didn't even perspire after her brutal exertion. We thought our victimized comrade had perished from a punctured colon. A bleary-eyed lad eventually arose, carefully collected the papers again, and gingerly handed them into the claws of Satan's sibling.

The entire class damn near died on our first day in fourth grade. Over the summer Sister Frances had been reassigned to our classroom.