No, This Won't Become the Death Blog, But...

The visit today with my dad.

It was fine. It was weird, but it was fine. It was much longer than I'd planned it would be, but I was ok with that. Some thoughts, in no particular order:

• My theories about how far my father's illness had progressed vs. what he was communicating were pretty much dead on. If you didn't know it was him and that he was ill, you wouldn't recognize him. He looks about 20 years older than he is. He's lost a huge amount of weight - indeed, looks skeletal in the face, and his hands and feet are swollen like Mickey Mouse hands and feet. He is in a wheel chair. He cannot walk stairs, and so sleeps in a hospital bed in the "great room." He needs a walker and one of those chair thingies in order to use the bathroom. (I actually had to put the chair thingie in place for him this afternoon when my stepmom went to the grocery store, which had to be humiliating for him. Luckily, I was familiar with the equipment from when my grandmother - who was 80 at the time - was dying about five years ago. Lucky. Yeah right.) In weird news, his massive change in appearance displayed to me that I have his exact nose.
  
• The thing that's weirdest for me about seeing my father and his family is how polite everything is. I'm not sure whether that's for my benefit or for the benefit of my half-brothers or whether they're just weirdo non-honest, non-straight-forward polite people. But the elephant in the room is that my father is fucking dying. Nobody seems to want to discuss this, really.
• It's like my dad was living for this visit with me. That was weird. He also wants me to come again in like three weeks. I get the feeling that this is another thing he'll be living for. I don't want to go (because I'm an asshole) but of course I will (because I'm really not), but I wish that he understood - and I have tried to make him understand - that we have no unfinished business. Though, perhaps, the fact that I think we don't doesn't mean that his business with me is finished. It's hard to figure this out what with the politeness.
• I told my stepmother that she needs to take care of herself and she broke down. That was uncomfortable. We don't have a crying sort of relationship. I hugged her and left quickly.
• My oldest younger brother, who is 14, is totally taller than me (and I'm no petite flower, I'm 5'8") and like man-sized (with muscles and things) and has hairy legs and a changed voice. He also loves basketball. He shall either end up LeBron James-sized or Sasquatch. It's too soon to tell. But totally insane!
• My youngest younger brother is still my favorite, although I know that is wrong.
• The thing that was most awful for me is the fact that my father is so filled with regret. He is so consumed with the mistakes that he has made in his life (related to me, but also related to other things). This makes me hurt for him more than the fact that he has cancer. Especially because he doesn't seem really to be able to talk about any of this in real ways. He did say a couple of things, but we spent the bulk of our alone time together watching a crappy movie.
• I feel like my father is afraid of me. I feel like he doesn't know what to say to me, and like he really doesn't understand me at all. I also kind of feel like my stepmom is this way as well. How grateful they were that I came was just totally bizarre to me, because if they understood me at all they never would have felt so grateful. Of course I'd come. There was never any question. Except, apparently, there was. Because they don't understand or know me, and I'm not really part of their family.
• I ate a pot roast cooked with a "recipe" that involved cooking the meat on the stovetop for three hours in Catalina salad dressing. The side dishes were microwaved frozen corn and instant mashed potatoes. When I go back in a few weeks, I will be bringing boatloads of actual food that is easily freezable. Both because it's nice, and because what I ate today was a crime against food. And yes, I'm shallow for judging in this way, but god as my witness, if I can do nothing else for these polite people, I can feed them in a way that actually provides nutrition.
• I am so sad that my brothers will never know my father as I have known him. I hope that as they get older they seek me out so that I can give them that part of my dad that will be gone before they get there. The dad who takes them to see B.B. King and Buddy Guy, the dad who gives them all of the leftover liquor from their grandma's retirement party when they're in college, the dad who sings Sympathy for the Devil with them as he moves them home for the summer from college. No, that's not the best parent-dad in the world, but that's my dad. My dad is a dad who gets the Led out. They are only 12 and 14. They don't know that dad.
• I wish he understood, and maybe even that my stepmother understood too, that whatever wrongs have been done, I'm actually ok. I'll never forget those things, and those things still affect me, but GOD there are more important things. There is no reason for them to dwell on those things. It doesn't change anything, and it doesn't make me feel better for them to feel shitty about them.
  

In other news, FB is really most fabulous in all ways. You can all feel free to give him props for dealing with my emotions in this troubling time and for being insightful and wonderful and awesome. Note: he will be horrified that I wrote this about him, and horrified if you do give him props. But he deserves MASSIVE recognition.

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