Building a case for the destruction of Mom

On their penultimate visit, they didn't shout. That was ominous. I didn't know what to do with it, but it was conspicuous. Jeff and Doug had been yelling at me every weekend since Dad died, for more than three years.

In the summer of 2021, Jeff sent a swatting-style visit by the Department of Human Services. They found his claims unsubtantiated. But there are no consequences for lying to DHS. When Mom went to the hospital in December, he filed a complaint with Adult Protective Services. This would "complicate" her chances of returning home, according to the head doctor.

When St. Charles moved her from the Bend to the Redmond hospital, I spent most of every third day with her - the pattern being a result of Covid visitor restrictions; one of us per day. The hospitalist there said she didn't think there was any reason Mom couldn't go back home.

Jeff and Doug steered every conversation away from that idea. A social worker suggested we talk in a mediation setting. I tried to arrange that. Doug shouted at me for being unable. Ultimately the social worker rescinded the offer, claiming to have made a mistake by suggesting it. The social workers were in the tank. One time when I was on the phone to Mom, she cried. A member of hospital staff interrupted our conversation and scolded me. The supervision had been turned against me. Jeff and Doug got me barred from visiting Mom.

On Friday before MLK weekend, the week after they hadn't shouted at me, my brothers came over to Mom's property and instigated a frame-up. Jeff acted it out, even with nobody else watching, and lured me outside pretending to be afraid of me. They locked me out. I went to a neighbor's place to watch for the deputies to arrive.

Mom died miserable and lonely in one of those understaffed care facilities. Jeff and Doug had won.