Three and a half years after the FBI called

Those awful events of 2004 are far behind me now. But for a long time, falling asleep each night, I was haunted by ghostly visions of my diminutive mother pacing in dark corners of my bedroom. She was always wearing her bathrobe and talking on the phone with her head bent over as if trying to keep me from hearing. With time, the nocturnal images have faded, and I dwell on those days less and less.

In the first 18 months or so of the crisis, there were places I couldn’t let my mind go. There were frauds too painful to investigate, bank statements I couldn't bring myself to view, checks that broke my heart. The distance created by the passing of time and the perspective that retirement has bestowed have blunted the pain and revulsion, allowing me to reflect upon those days and write about them with less angst.

Mother is crazier now, but safely ensconced in a retirement home since December 2004. Scam artists haven't bothered with her in a couple of years (she has no money to give them), and she seldom thinks of the lotteries and "investments" and banks unless somebody reminds her. When that happens, she justs tells everybody that Bank of America stole all her money.

Elder scams don’t seem to be in the news so much lately, but I don't doubt their continued proliferation. Watching a Dateline expose a couple of weeks ago gave me chills – the lonely, vulnerable victims, the international base of operation, the elusive perpetrators. They're still out there.

Yesterday, I found a 14 minute phone call to a porn 800-number -- foxy ladies -- in Mother's cell phone records. I suspect that she stumbled on the number by accident, fooling around with her new cell phone. Interesting, however, that she listened for 14 minutes. I had AT&T disable internet access and text messaging and cancel the MediaClub subscription that had mysteriously appeared on her bill.