Tentacles of crazy

3 08 2015

When my dad retired I am sure that he pictured lazy scrabble games with my mum over an anti-pasto plate soaking up the Mediterranean sun on their latest sojourn. When the toughest thing to worry about would be what to order for dinner.  Instead my dad had become my full-time protector and logistics manager.  He fielded all calls, requests and harassments from Mort.

At this stage mum was still in a state of disbelief that the son-in-law that she had been so very fond of had become this wreck of a being.  If she happened to answer the phone when he called their house she would compassionately try and appeal to rationale and coax Mort to that point of “oh my god, what the fuck have I done”. He was still too busy with denial and “this is everyone else’s fault” to get to that point of accountability. She carried a hefty load of sadness about this and what the possible future consequences of this would be for the girls. This was yet another reason for me to loathe and despise him.

My dad had a conversation with Mort’s dad about the ‘what now’.  While his dad had been willing to fund Mort’s rehab, he was not willing to cushion him with any finances.  His exact comment was “give him just enough to drink himself to death.” How easy it was for him to wash his hands.  The Mort maelstrom was not threatening him.

Mort was angry and desperate for money. Not money to start a new life and find a place to live (that was never mentioned), it was going to be drunk, snorted and abused (this wasn’t mentioned either but we all knew it). He was drip-fed money from our savings with regular weekly instalments into his bank account. We viewed this money as a temporary gate, a barrier.  We hoped it was a barrier of steel but it felt like straw.  As long as the money kept coming he seemed to stay away, physically at least, the phone calls on the other hand were relentless.

During this time Mort started targeting more people to rant at.  He called his old employer and told them that he had enjoyed a nice holiday, was back at home with his family and was ready to start work.  When the reply was clearly wary befuddlement he became aggressive and hurled abuse.  He called them 10-15 times a day for a week. That doesn’t mean that we had a week of peace, his crazy just grew extra tentacles.










Dollars and sense

15 07 2013

Over that weekend I discovered two things.

1) A friend of my mom’s has a phone number that is the same as mine except with 2 numbers transposed. Poor poor Mrs Winterville was also receiving countless phone calls from an incoherent Mort as his vodka infused finger would misdial. Usually he would hang up upon her answering, or if she didn’t answer he would just leave a message of laboured breathing with my name and a few expletives thrown in. Apologies Mrs Winterville.

2) Astoundingly up to this point Mort was still earning an income, really not sure how as he was clearly not going to work. I noticed that the credit card bills and cash withdrawals had escalated to a staggering point. Even if he had stayed at five-star hotels, sucked the mini-bars dry and eaten Kobe steak three times a day he couldn’t spend what he was going through. Over the next couple of days I started to unravel things financially. Separate bank accounts, credit cards, etc. I was careful to put a ring around what was mine and what was his. Given I was a stay at home mom, I also calculated what child support payments I would be entitled to. That was a waste of time.