Matt

This is a very difficult blog to write: Michael has four siblings, the youngest being Matt. Michael and I were dating and the first time I met him was when I was invited to sing at the wedding of their oldest sister Anna in 1972. He was fourteen-years old and sitting in a chair in front of the TV with a beer in his hands. That shocked me at the time.

Matt lived with us for a short time after we got married. Michael got him a job but he missed work due to drinking. After he vomited in Michael’s car, he threw him out and sent him home to mom.

After a brief stint in the army, he eventually wed, had a difficult marriage, two children and a divorce. Instead of staying in the area where his children were being raised, he ran home to mom. He also never had a relationship with his children who are now in their early 20s.

Mary used to say that she would always “be there” for her children. (My parents, on the other hand, said to get an education, get a job and jump into life. Once we were gone, we were gone.) All but Michael and the twin returned to her care as adults at one time or another. Matt would work, hand his paycheck to her, have her pay bills and give him money for beer and cigarettes and gas. He never left home. He never left her again. All my memories of him have him sitting in a chair in front of the TV with a beer in his hands. For decades.

Many years ago, when Mary returned to Illinois to live with her sister for a couple of years, he followed. He never got a job. We visited and Michael was appalled that he was living on a cot in their basement. He left me at the hotel the next morning as he went back to talk with his mom and Matt. He asked Matt, “Have you no pride as a man?” Even though she didn’t need him at that point, his excuse was that he had given his life to take care of mom. But in reality, it was safe, nothing was expected of him, he was lazy and scared of life.

He was also drinking a lot.

Michael and I visited their apartment in Las Vegas at the end of our last cross-country trip almost two years ago. We brought food and were shocked to discover that they were in their pajamas and hadn’t been out of the house in weeks. We also noticed that Matt’s feet were swollen and red.

A year later, his feet had become very red and very swollen. I encouraged them to contact the local VA as he had only worked four out of the thirteen-years they had lived in Las Vegas. He refused. He didn’t want to go to any doctors. It finally got so bad and so painful that he went to a private hospital emergency room where they treated him for cellulites and sent a large bill for which is he now being sued.

I still encouraged them to contact the VA. For the past ten years, when it became clear that he was incapable of working, I also encouraged them to have him apply for Social Security Disability for depression. I believe that he had been clinically depressed his entire life. He would get angry with me if I brought up the subject. In the meantime, Mary is in total debt trying to support the two of them on her small Social Security income.

What I didn’t realize and his sisters didn’t realize and his brothers didn’t realize was that he had been drinking heavily for many years. Vodka. Mary never told anyone.

Matt finally went to the VA when his feet and legs became so swollen that he couldn’t walk and also was experiencing nerve damage. He never allowed anyone to go with him. He never mentioned to the doctors that he drinks. They tested him for a lot, discovered he had Hepatitis B and sent him home. He never pushed for additional help or asked for an advocate to work with him and really didn’t want to hear from me.

Finally when it became so painful, he went into the hospital, they diagnosed him with alcoholic cirrhosis, which was the cause of the swollen legs. They sent him home to detoxify. That was where we were just before Christmas. He was vomiting and had massive diarrhea everywhere he hobbled or crawled. His bed was a mess, Mary was cleaning up poop throughout the house and he was in full detox mode. He was shaking, cold and out of his mind. (Mary is being checked for Hepatitis B today.) He also refused to go to the hospital.

While this was happening, Mary got a notice in the mail that Matt would be arrested if he didn’t pay $150.00 in child support payments. He had not paid any child support for many years, as he never had a job. Instead of letting them come to see him in his bed, she put the $150.00 on her ever-increasing credit card bill. This is the dance that they have done since he was a child. She always rescued him. Always.

Something happened when she and Michael were on the phone together two days ago. She was telling him how hard it was to clean up all the poop and he reminded her how strong she was, she had cleaned up for husband and mother before they died. It clicked. She realized that she was strong enough to take control, walked into Matt’s room, said she couldn’t help him anymore and she was calling 911.

The paramedics came, took one look at his shriveled arms and his distended trunk of his body and rushed him to the hospital. Apparently, he was hours from death. They drained 6 liters of fluid from his body, he is currently on morphine and we really don’t expect him to live. He told Mary that he wants to die. His body is shutting down.

He is 56-years old.

Michael and Anna spoke together last night and confided in each other that they believe that if he doesn’t die today, he will next week or next month. He will not survive this.

During all this drama, we got a phone call last night from Michael’s bio dad Grant. (Search “Grant” in this blog for our three contacts with him.) Mary had phoned him to let him know how ill Matt was and that he was in the hospital. Grant and Michael talked and Michael was able to answer a lot of their questions. He and his wife also realized that Matt would probably not recover. But, Mary phone yesterday and told me she is getting his room ready for him to maybe come home on the weekend. What could I say?

Lots of sadness. A charming, adorable kid. A handsome hunk of a man. A lost soul.