A Haunting Halted

Part II of "The Ghost of Ronald Muir", though Ronnie is mostly removed.

There wasn’t supposed to be a part two to this story. I didn’t expect the ghosts to go away, but I figured the story, as I’m telling it, was complete.

That said, a quick update as to where we are:

Some months ago, my grandmother was in a car accident. This came one month after she was in another car accident. She was mostly fine, though at the hospital they identified that she was malnourished upon entry to the hospital. There, they recorded that she bruises easily, is a cancer survivor, has had strokes before, and is paranoid. “This morning patient reports that a man broke into her home and broke her washing machine. She crashed her car when she was going to the store to get a new washer. Per PCP record there was talk of starting medications for the paranoia, but patient never started them.”

After the accident, it took me two weeks to get out to Syracuse. At the hospital, the conversations carried on as: “When can I go home? I want to go home!” “They said I can’t drive. When do you think I’ll be able to again? Is there a test I need to take?” “Ronnie called the hospital, he was looking for me.” “Your aunt doesn’t believe me. Can you believe that?” “My sister always hated me. Dad liked me the most. She was jealous. That’s why she told everyone I slept with that doctor. She told people I was molested by him!” And on and on and on. Her latest idea was to invest in a gate around the back of the house to prevent Ronnie from breaking in.

In between her disconnected meanderings, I’d give a “hmm” or “right!” to suggest I was listening, but I was trying to ignore her while also not dissociating, since that’s been generally unhealthy and the type of thing that I really struggle to get out of. So instead I stared at the football game on the television in her room.

My uncle called and she said “Oh, look?” and handed me the phone. I realized that she thought that I was calling her somehow. I answered and talked to him for a few minutes about the game, then handed her the phone. She said “[uncle’s name] is here right now”, referring to me. She does this often. Once, my aunt called the housephone to make sure it rang. My grandmother answered the phone, and when my aunt said “it’s me, [aunt’s name]”, my grandmother handed her the phone - to talk to herself.

At the hospital, she confused my aunt with Patti, her older sister. Things she alleges Patti said, she told me my aunt said. I can almost understand - Patti was the oldest of two girls when she grew up, my aunt was the oldest of two girls when she grew up. Trauma informs and begets trauma.

My coworker recalled a time when a client of his asked, “Is schizophrenia contagious?” He laughed, but the guy was serious. He’d spent enough time around schizophrenics that his grip on reality was loosening. The infectiousness of delusions is hard to shake when you can’t escape it. There is a term for this: folie à deux. It’s when one person picks up someone else’s psychosis, often someone they’re very close to, and spend a lot of time with. This has not happened with my grandmother. I blame genetics and trauma for my own shit.

My grandmother was transferred to a rehabilitation facility from the hospital. I wasn’t exactly sure why. I sympathized, and explained that, because she’s a ‘fall risk’, she can’t be alone right now. She continued to explain that she’s been alone for over a decade with no issue, why is this suddenly a concern? When we got off the phone, she called me right back. I didn’t answer, so she called again. I answered, and it was much the same, though she centered her frustrations on my aunt, who has been handling most of this, since she’s unemployed and the oldest child. My grandmother said my aunt had told the hospital staff something, though I’m not sure what. “She doesn’t believe me about Ronnie. Why would I make this up?” I explained no one thinks she’s making anything up. She was also frustrated about not knowing what year it was when the nurse asked. I told her a story about my psychiatrist, who doesn’t ask that question anymore, after an elderly patient responded, “I am ninety-one years old, I don’t need to know what the year is”. My grandmother loved that.

The facility called me around midnight, but I didn’t answer. They had called my aunt earlier and said she was shouting and being disruptive. My aunt asked, ‘what do you usually do in these instances?’ The nurse responded, “well, they’re usually in wheelchairs”.

…

My aunt visited my grandmother the next morning. My grandmother refused to talk to her, giving her the silent treatment. Eventually, my aunt said, “if you’re not going to talk to me I can’t help you”, and my grandmother exploded. As though she was possessed, she snapped into action, suddenly mobile, punching my aunt in the chest multiple times. Because she’s frail, my aunt took the heat, letting her get out some steam. Eventually, she slapped my aunt across the face and broke her glasses. My aunt began to respond, defending herself and pushing my grandmother onto the bed. When she bent over to grab her glasses, my grandmother essentially jumped on her back, grabbing a fist-full of her hair and jerking her head back and forth.

My aunt, god bless her, had no idea what to do. She looked over at the maintenance man who was watching the affair and shouted “help!” He went back to whatever he was doing in the ceiling, and she said, “can you at least go get someone to help?” He finally responded to that request, trying to intervene in the wrestling match. He also called for help.

Eventually, trained nurses got involved and separated the two. They put my grandmother into a wheelchair, and had to wheely her out of there as she left kicking and screaming. She took off her shoe and chucked it at my aunt, and actually got her in on the arm. The other shoe ended up down the hall.

The people at the facility asked what they were supposed to do with my grandmother. My aunt asked ‘why the fuck’ they were asking her. Eventually, the staff said “this is going nowhere”, and my aunt agreed. She then had to explain to the police that she wasn’t going to press charges. The police stood there with my grandmother’s stuffed animal dog that she likes to sleep with. My aunt asked if they could take it wherever they were taking my grandmother. I joked, “did you ask them not to shoot it?”

It turns out they sent my grandmother back to the hospital. The hospital didn’t want her, so they sent her back to the facility. She’d been calling my uncle’s work cell phone and leaving voicemails for me. The auto transcription reads, “[my name] this is your mother at [care facility], and I was wondering if there’s any chance you could bring me home. I’d like to be in my own home. The food is terrible and I don’t have anything to eat. Could you please come and get me? I feel fine. I don’t feel bad at all. I feel like I can walk several miles. I spun on the bike for a long time. So please, please do that for me, please. I love you. You’re all I have. All you kids are all I have.”

…

My uncle texted me, asking if I thought my aunt had an agenda. He was frustrated that my aunt was already working on selling the house. He seems to want to see my grandmother go home. I would like this too, but I don’t think it’s practical. He asked if she could Uber Eats her groceries and if we could all commit to visiting. My aunt replied, “If she goes home I’m not helping anymore”. My uncle asked if she could stay with ‘one of us’, before immediately acknowledging she couldn’t stay with him. This was otherwise met with silence in the group chat.

The conversations broke down after some weeks. My aunt was successful in finding a memory care facility for my grandmother, just down the street from the community college that I went to before leaving Syracuse. The facility is sterile and composed of people that struggle to maintain conversation. My grandmother is unfortunately ‘too there’ to be there, but not ‘there enough’ to not - in fact, she seems to mostly be there because she attached my aunt, so they identified her as a unique risk. This facility costs approximately $8,000 per month, and my grandmother has something close to $80,000 in her savings account - meaning she can cover 10 months of residence.

As a result, my aunt has been forced to sell the house, since she has power of attorney. My uncle quickly came around to the idea after finding that my grandmother couldn’t remember any of her children’s birthdays (or even the years or month’s they were born) and didn’t recognize him when he visited for Thanksgiving.

They listed the house for $209,000 and one bid was placed on it by a young couple. There was an inspection that we still haven’t heard the results of. Leading up to the sale, my aunt asked if we should move forward with the bid. My mom thumbs up’d the message, and my uncle said “we should move forward”. I couldn’t compel myself to approve the sale even though I have no alternative suggestions - and so I said nothing.

This whole episode has led to the dissolution of the family, if it was ever much of one to begin with. My uncle told my aunt she was no longer part of the family, before blocking everyone in the family for weeks. My mom and my aunt are no longer speaking, my aunt frustrated with her for not being of any material support, my mom upset with her for not supporting their father when he passed away. My mom and my uncle are also not necessarily on speaking terms, my mom mad that my uncle is such an asshole, my uncle dismayed because my mom is disengaged from this whole process. As for me, I remain the one everyone talks to when they need to complain, strategize, or are just having a bad day. Meanwhile, my grandmother continues to frantically call everyone at all times of the day, trying to find a way to get home.

…

It’s really depressing. For most of my life, my grandmother’s house was the only asset our family had accrued. My aunt bought her home a few years ago, before her divorce. My mom bought her house with the inheritance from my grandfather’s death. There will be no transfer of wealth when my grandmother dies. This is fine, I never expected anything from anyone. We are a working class family, and I was raised to remember that we are poor. But to watch my grandmother’s only asset - which is essentially her life’s work - go toward paying for an assisted living facility that she doesn’t want any part in is pretty sad. Alas, this is how healthcare operates under capitalism.

Last night, I received a text message from my grandmother that read, “If [aunt’s name] has sold my house I will kill take her to jail”. She’s also left voicemails for everyone addressing her anger that my aunt is trying to steal the house. I have no idea what to do, not that there is anything that I can do.

…

If, or when, the house sells, I wonder if the hauntings will continue. Ronnie, my grandmother’s ghost, appears to have left her alone. He no longer comes up in every conversation. My aunt has replaced Ronnie as the topic of all communication, with repetitive frustrations about how my aunt has ruined her life. My belief is that since she’s left the house, there’s no longer a place-based haunting taking place. She may still be haunted, but Ronnie has relented. Will Ronnie bother the new residents? I presume not, but who is to say.