My mother is a Saint. Saint Patricia Catherine. Well, actually, it would be Saint Catherine Patricia because the orphanage in which she grew up failed to look closely at her birth certificate when she and her sisters were rescued from her alcoholic parents.
She grew up thinking her name was Patricia Catherine until she went to register to get married and found out it was actually the other way around. I guess at that point, she figured it was too late to change anything so she stuck with Patricia.
So, back to her sainthood.
Mom doesn’t have to go through all the steps that other saints went through. She doesn’t have to lead the French army to major victories like Saint Joan of Arc. She doesn’t have to drive the snakes out of Ireland like St. Patrick. She doesn’t even have to lead God’s armies against Satan’s forces as St. Michael the Archangel did…although, I know for a fact, she would give Satan’s forces one hell of a run for their money.
All she has to do is continue to live with my father.
Mom called this morning and I knew right away by the suppressed panic in her voice that something was wrong. Apparently, Dad ran out of his Ativan on Monday. He takes three a day. She called the Dr. for a refill and the nurse refused to refill it because the Dr. was out and it is a controlled substance and my mom probably has to call her A ZILLION TIMES EVERY YEAR.
Two days later, the Dr. finally called in the refill and the pharmacy was going to deliver the meds to her apartment this afternoon. Well, my father is now in complete withdraw – wide-eyed, heavy breathing, bugs crawling on the wall, “gonna throw myself off the balcony” withdraw.
Hence the panicked phone calls at 12:00, 12:01, 12:03 which I responded to by leaving work, running to the pharmacy and then delivering the meds to my mom immediately. Dad should be stoned and sound asleep by now. Mom is probably sitting up in her chair, clutching her rosary beads and praying to the Patron Saint of patience…whoever that may be.
Born into addicted parents and she’ll end up living the rest of his life with an addict. They say God has a plan, but I’m not seeing it.