Fran was on a mission, and I followed with the Book of Fran to facilitate the process of obtaining her Michigan ID. Besides, her hearing was so poor even with her hearing aids, I needed to translate.
As our number was called, we dutifully went to the counter, and Fran was asked what she needed. She had the deer-in-the-headlight look, so I attempted to intervene when Fran finally loudly exclaimed she wanted her state ID because she needed to change her address.
I opened The Book of Fran and began laying out everything I had to expedite the process and move on. I had carefully procured her birth certificate (the only one she had), a marriage license to my Dad, their divorce papers, her marriage license to Red, their divorce papers, and finally her marriage license (the only one she had) to John and his death certificate.
I also knew she had her Florida ID with her, her old driver’s license, and insurance cards. It should be a simple process, or so I thought.
As the clerk reviewed the documents, she hesitated at Fran’s “birth certificate,” which was merely a celebratory one given at the hospital. I knew that it might not fly, but in light of Fran’s hurry to get her address change, I thought I might have a shot.
The clerk carefully sidelines the “birth certificate” and continues to pursue the remaining documents. All along, she is nodding, confirming her first marriage, divorce, second marriage, and divorce decree until she gets to the third marriage to John, her deceased husband.
She notes that the last marriage certificate might not be acceptable either and calmly passes the documents back to me clipped together, in order. Fran wants to know what is going on as I try to explain to her that her birth certificate was not acceptable and we needed to come back.
In a nanosecond, she begins to berate me and the clerk for cancelling her life and heads for the door. Did I mention her voice is always loud because she is hard of hearing? I could have heard a pin drop as I exited behind her.
As we get in the car, Fran proceeds to tell me what a nice job I did. Confused, for a moment, I thought she was actually complimenting me.
Fran went full sprint to the fantasy that I had created a fake SOS , had all my friends “act” like real clerks, and I had almost fooled her.
In her fantasy, I had set it all up to make certain she could not get a state ID and change her address. It was my grand plan to take over her life and steal her money.
I wanted to crack up laughing; it was so crazy it was hilarious until I realized she believed it. Imagine her giving me credit for setting up such an elaborate scam!
I tried to reason with her and explain I just needed to order her real birth certificate, and we would go back to SOS and get her ID.
The silent ride back to her apartment was typical of her behavior now. I broached the subject that perhaps we should see someone to help manage her anger, and so my search began for a geriatric shrink.
I ultimately obtained the real birth certificate, and once again, we drove silently to the SOS with Fran and The Book of Fran.
Fran was determined that she would speak with the clerk, and I was to sit down and be quiet. I dropped the paperwork in front of the clerk and took a seat.
Suddenly, Fran is off the rails and upset. I scurry to the window, and the clerk explains that while all is in order, she has to speak with her supervisor about the celebratory marriage license from her last husband, who is deceased. Crap.
I walk her through the logic that Fran could not have changed
her name without proof she was married 45 years ago. Couldn’t they show grace to a 93-year-old? She had a valid ID from Florida with that name; surely that could count.
It worked! She was camera-ready, and we would be on our way. I took my seat as Fran completed the rest of the information for her ID. Or so I thought.
We left with her temporary ID stapled to her Florida ID, and we headed straight for the post office….again. With The Book of Fran , her temporary ID, we were ready to change her address.
Mission accomplished, she received a validation that indeed her address change would be processed. Fran may have smiled, but I think I missed it.
I thought the worst was behind us, but that’s what I get for thinking.
Fran began complaining that she was not getting her mail. She instinctively knew I had something to do with it. As it turned out, she had given the SOS the wrong apartment number, and her mail was being put in a mailbox for an apartment that was not occupied.
She was hysterical and blamed me. It got worse when I reminded her that I was seated when she handled the information for her state ID, like her address. Since it was never her fault, the clerk must have made the mistake.
Once again, I had to schedule another appointment to get her address changed on her state ID. In the meantime, she was so angry about everything that I dreaded the drive to her apartment.
I had scheduled some time to go shopping for whatever she needed, but when I arrived at her apartment, she was clearly agitated.
As I opened the door, she started screeching that she hated her apartment and she wanted to go back to Florida. She had not slept all night because there was a mariachi band playing in the parking lot below her bedroom window all night long.
On top of that, my daughter was in a car shining a light into her bedroom, keeping her awake as well. I did not know how to respond other than to tell her we needed to go to the hospital.
She was not making any sense, and I continued to beg her to let me take her to the hospital. She needed urgent help, and I had nowhere to turn.
She engaged in crazy thoughts and told me she knew I had orchestrated all the things she imagined so I could drive her crazy. The whole Michigan family was in on it.
She casually mentioned that she was going to report me to the police, and I told her I would welcome it! Moments later, as I was sitting at the table in her kitchenette trying to sort out what was happening, there was a rap at the door.
I rolled the chair over to answer the door only to be greeted by 4 police officers who wanted to know where Mrs. Fran M. was.
Fran had called the police before I even arrived that morning. She was talking nonsense so they came to conduct a wellness check.
Fran immediately chirped in and told the officers I was harassing her, stealing her money, and she wanted me to leave.
I was so stunned, I barely uttered my name and why I was there. I was so overwhelmed I was asked to step into the hallway while they spoke with Fran. I was pretty sure I was going to be arrested!
While I was being questioned outside, Fran was screaming at the officers inside that no one should listen to me, I was a liar, and I was trying to kill her. She referred to me in bold, unflattering terms that I think shocked the cops, coming from such an elderly woman.
She claimed I had mixed up her meds and she would not take them because they were the wrong color; she was certain I was poisoning her.
The paramedic came in and convinced Fran that perhaps she should go to the hospital as a precaution. As they tested her vitals, they were concerned her blood pressure was too high, and she agreed to go.
Before they took her out, she had the presence of mind to go to her bathroom; later, I discovered it was to get to her stash of Tramadol before she left, not to use the restroom.
The ambulance left, and I followed in my car trying to sort out what had happened.
Next up: Tramadol, ER room, and a shrink