Glamorous Women Having Nervous Breakdowns
In Veronica Beard and Lake Pajamas
In the words of Troy Dire in what is arguably the penultimate scene in Reality Bites,
“So the thing is - that my dad died.”
On October 2nd, my sweet dad caught sepsis in the hospital and died, just like that. I had talked to him for nearly an hour the night before and again for twenty minutes or so that morning. His spirits were good and it was the shock of my life to receive a phone call from a doctor in the ICU asking me if Dad had a do-not-resuscitate-order.
“I’m sorry, who is this?” I said, certain they had the wrong person.
In the moment I had no idea if he had a DNR (he did) and as I scrunched into a ball on the floor of my office in very dramatic fashion - wearing a black Veronica Beard dress and Tibi sandals that I wish to never ever wear again (Just the dress actually) (I’ll keep wearing the sandals thankyouverymuch), all I could think of was that the whole situation seemed impossible and I needed to get to my dad in person (1,000 miles away) and my next thought was that I needed to phone a friend.
How do we all have cell phones but in a true emergency you can’t get anyone.
My brother had his phone on Do Not Disturb, my husband works in a place where he cannot have a phone and claims that there is not an office number he can give me, even for emergencies. I think he believes that I would classify lost car keys or the dog throwing up as an emergency but THIS WAS AN ACTUAL EMERGENCY AND I COULDN’T GET ANYONE.
My mom was not available because she was in the midst of her own medical situation - also in the hospital.
I called the ICU back and asked if they could keep him alive - even if it was only via artificial means - until my brother and I could get to Florida to see him and hold his hand an inhale his scent (old spice and tobacco, but in a good way) and I was dissuaded of that. I asked the doctor to make him as comfortable as possible through the end which was a little after 4pm that afternoon. Even as I’m writing, this does not seem real and I cannot believe he is gone.
Turns out that it is real and there has barely been a moment to think about Dad because Mom is not well. In the chaos of Dad dying, Mom had fallen at home and been rushed to the hospital. She has since been discharged from the hospital to a physical rehabilitation facility where they are working on her mobility and- dare I say - her mood. Let’s just say that mom has come to expect certain comforts in life that include every television streaming service, excellent grocery delivery from Publix, a husband who adored her and permitted her to boss him around to her heart’s content, and the thrill of daily deliveries from QVC, Chico’s, and lunch ordered in from Papa’s Tapas (chef’s kiss).
It seemed that in her mind skilled nursing care would be more of a Canyon Ranch situation than One of Those Places You Never Want to Be. As Mom was being discharged from the hospital, she sent me to her house to pick up a pantsuit she had just ordered from Chico’s so she would have something decent to wear to dinner as well as her Lake pajamas that I sent her for Mother’s Day last year. A lifetime of watching Days of Our Lives leads one to believe that being fully made up in the hospital is A Thing.
“Mom, I don’t think you need a pantsuit for dinner. Most of these folks are in wheelchairs like you because they need physical therapy.”
She rolled her eyes at me, “I know about these things - I’m not going to look a mess - bring me the pantsuit but iron in first - it just came in the mail last week. Also, I need my lipstick from my makeup bag - either the Nars or the Lancome and my powder compact. Oh and my perfume - the Opium.”
She doesn’t know that I don’t know how to iron.
Reality set in quickly for poor mom and after one attempt at bingo and eating in the “dining room,” she has decided that she will not leave her room except for the required physical therapy and trips to the in house beauty salon. Also, the food is not up to her standards. Furthermore, daily laundry service is not included which required an immediate order with overnight shipping of six (!) more pairs of Lake pajamas.
“The gowns not the pants.”
“Three quarter length sleeves not short sleeves. “
“Size up, for crying out loud so I’m not flashing everyone in sight.”
I frantically scribbled down her orders in the manner of an Anna Wintour assistant.
“Jesus,” my brother said when he saw the price of the pajama order.
While she may be stuck with a sub par egg salad sandwich for lunch (“They don’t make it like I do,”) (and damn, she is right. Mom makes amazing egg salad) she does now have access to a beauty salon that is open every Tuesday and Thursday. On her second day in residence she waved off the physical therapist and the pulmonologist so that she could get her hair cut and colored. I was directed to run out to Walgreens to purchase L'Oreal Paris Superior Preference Fade-Defying Shine Permanent Hair Color, 7LA Lightest Auburn - “let me write that down for you, you will forget” because she didn’t trust the salon colorist. Two days later she was booked for nails,
“What color do you think I should get?”
“Red might be a pick me up.”
She looked down at my nails, which were painted Big Apple Red, “Women who wear red nail polish are just looking for attention.”
My brother and I sat at her bedside for 7 days, twelve hours a day. We fetched ice tea, we fluffed her pillows, we watched nonstop coverage of Hurricane Milton which was headed right towards us, and in between storm coverage we watched campaign commercials that were giving Hunger Games. We stocked mom up with her favorite snacks and we tried to engage her in discussions on our next steps - dad’s funeral, a potential move to assisted living, locating the hurricane shutters so that we could board up her house before the storm, selecting dad’s urn, but to no avail. The only thing she wanted to talk about was going home.
And so, dear readers, I find myself in this place that I know so many other Gen Xers are in and it’s disorienting to say the least. In the month of October, I’ve lost my dad, my husband turned 50, my daughter turned 18, my two daughters applied to college, and my college aged daughter requested a meal money advance from her “senior trip” to Las Vegas. Oh, and my sweet French bulldog was diagnosed with cancer. WTH.
Because I am my mother’s daughter and trained in the ways of southern women, I have made an attempt to keep up appearances. The world might be ending, but for God’s sake the least you can do is put your face on before you leave the house. Also, it goes without saying that the worse I feel, the more I self soothe with clothing.
Here is my three layer travel outfit for travel from Northern Virginia to West Palm Beach.
Not pictured: The outfits I wore while sitting with mom in skilled nursing for a week which featured Tibi bermuda shorts, Mary Marshmallow culottes, and hot pink J.Crew linen pants on repeat. Mom and I may have looked like a million bucks but with our squabbles over nail polish and dad’s urn (mom wanted to order something custom because none of the options at the funeral home were good enough and I lost my temper because I couldn’t stand thinking of him in a cardboard box while we were messing around with this decision), we were not our best selves. Meanwhile my sweet brother stood vigil in his B.F. Skinner t-shirt mumbling about hurricane shutters and where mom’s checkbook might be and looking like he had the the weight of the world on his shoulders.
I’m back home and back to work trying to 1) plan dad’s funeral scheduled for late November 2) answer mom’s hourly calls asking when she gets to go home and where I put her eye serum 3) research the best possible assisted living facilities 4) look like I’m fine, everything is fine, it’s all fine. The weather is finally getting cooler but the last few days have been seventy degrees so I’ve had to be creative.
I keep seeing layered looks and I tried it with the gingham skirt that I can’t seem to quit.
I’ve been playing with color combos as well - like purple and red and mint.
And when in doubt, I just shamelessly copy Amy Smilovic.
Post Scripts
I need a dress for dad’s funeral. I thought about ordering this Buru x Mary Orton dress but I don’t know if it will make it on time. I kind of don’t want to wear black but I feel like I have to. It will be warm in South Florida and I never want to wear black when I’m there. Now that I’m writing this, I’m thinking I need to find something for my mom to wear as well. Any ideas?
Has anyone had any luck with face taping? I am being heavily marketed to by the wrinkles shminkles geniuses and it all just sounds too good to be true. Gwyneth also really wants me to buy her products. I’ve been on a good run with my prescription retinol, a few The Ordinary serums/acids (the price is right), and my LED mask, but I’m always open to the next best thing.
My hot take from the nail salon this past weekend is that OPI Complimentary Wine is the color you want to be wearing starting NOW. It’s darker than Malaga Wine but not as dark as Lincoln Park after Dark which I like to wear we finally settle into winter.
Dad’s obituary, if you are interested.
I hope your fall has been filled with pumpkins and mums and little people is costumes and all the fun things! Thanks for being here - I’ve missed my cozy Substack family.
XOXO,
Tara
Sorry for your loss, and my condolences to your family ❤️.
I remember when my mum died suddenly 6 years ago, my two sisters and I argued about what type of hearse and flowers to get for her wake and funeral and it was actually a nice break from full-on crying. As was planning what to wear.
Oh Tara I’m sorry to hear about the hand that October dealt. Sending you wishes for strength (and hopefully some Tibi pieces to wear as armor for the days and weeks ahead.)