Let it suffice to say that my relations with my few remaining blood kin are strained, at the very least. I have a Father, Mother and a Sister.
Without getting in to the gory details lets just say childhood wasn't pretty. I like to think that I am nothing like either of my parents. Actually one of my life-long goals has been to set my own path...as far from them as possible.
That said, when one of them is in peril of some sort, like having quintuple coronary bypass surgery, I am concerned.
I don't speak with my parents much. Dad after the divorce (Jesus, has it really been 23 years ago?) made himself a new family and pretty much forgot about me, Mother and my sister. My Mom and Sister remained in contact via requests for financial assistance to him...but me being me...I'd rather drill a hole in each testicle than ask for help, especially from him.
I did the dutiful son token call on birthdays and holidays, and he did the token fatherly card on birthdays and Hickory Farms Sampler on Christmas. Very quaint. He never called without being prompted, and I never did more than I had to.
Mom went kind of nuts, cycle of violence and all that. Dirtbag boyfriend/ husband after dirtbag boyfriend/ husband. Married a guy in prison once. Her and I didn't talk for 5-6 years. She lives in her own reality now.
Sister? Clinical sociopath. Use anyone to get what she wants. Lives off people. Her kids are a paycheck. Fat, lazy and violently abusive towards anyone. Can't trust a word she says.
When I speak of "choosing my family" I really do mean it. I don't know these people anymore...and I really have no desire to. They live a couple thousand miles away. Maybe it is selfish, but I really don't want to be drawn in to their drama anymore. Kay and I fought tooth and nail for years to get Ryan (my nephew) away from my sister's abuse, and it ultimately became a partial success as he became my Mother's ward (but she does this for largely selfish reasons). It's better than being with my sister...that's my condolence.
Add to this my slightly skewed fatalistic view of death and I may seem like a cold fish.
Maybe I am.
I *AM* concerned about my father. I want him to recover. I don't have much sympathy for him. He's been a lifelong smoker and needing psychological help for stress and anxiety his whole life. He's chosen not to get it or to quit smoking. He did change his diet, but it's too little too late. He can't walk 20 feet without needing nitro...but goddamn he needs a smoke!
In my mind he's made his choice.
I had a dream night before last about reading his eulogy. I was a bit upset but not weepy or distraught or anything. I spoke the truth without delving in to anything caustic, or revealing any "secrets". The skeletons stayed in the closet. But I didn't sugarcoat that "he was a great man" either. Have a drink, raise a glass, savor the good memories and learn from the bad. Take something positive from his presence, his existence and make it all worth something. I pissed a lot of people off. Fuck um.
I dunno. He's recovering and I hope he continues to do so. I have no ill will towards anyone. I'm just not wired that way. I hope he heals up and lives another 20 years. Good for him!
Somehow, in my head I'm already prepared for the worst.