Eating Downers Like Candy
Whatever comes from my fingers is sure to be disjunct. I don’t know how to organize my news. I suppose a list always works well:
I’m not one to preach or tell people how to live. At least I hope I’m not. But I would like to say, to anyone who happens to read this profusion of family trauma, that choosing to smoke is an offensively selfish decision. My father’s lung cancer is the leading cause of my mother’s destruction. I blame him. Tonight he’s eating organic beef and searching for alternative cures. He is willing to do anything for a chance at continuing his life because he’s caught in violent throws of desperation. But for the last 38 years he never bothered to quit smoking.
Good night and good luck.
- My dad called me last night to let me know that the latest reports show four new tumors, that he’s been turned over to a doctor who specializes in cancer in its final stages, and that he’s going to call hospice today. He followed his declarations with a request for me to research alternative medicine options.
- I moved out of the house twelve years ago and to the best of my knowledge, before last night, my father has never called me. He’s never called for Christmas or my birthday; that I know for sure. And through the years when my mother called on the holidays he never took a turn on the phone to send me well wishes. I have never missed calling him on his birthday or Father’s Day.
- My brother’s testicular cancer has spread to his lymph nodes and he will start chemo next week.
- He has taken to punching holes in the wall of his new home, which, I’ll admit, is better than punching his new fiancé.
- His friends moved his bachelor party up to Saturday night because chemo gets in the way of drinking. I told him, under the circumstances, he’s sure to get double the strippers for his party and he laughed a real laugh from his guts. I hope I’m right.
- On the phone my dad mentioned that my mom has been eating downers like candy and sleeping her days away. Today my brother told me she’s on Zoloft. When she visited two or three months ago I was surprised that she uncharacteristically avoided alcohol and was uncomfortably silent. Now it makes sense: she’s on The Loft. I believe that drugs can help desperate situations. I also believe that Zoloft is highly addictive and that most doctors won’t shy away from over-prescribing pills to a woman who is facing the death of her husband and son at the same time.
- My new Chief for Det Cuba threatened yesterday to take away my approved leave, which is scheduled during an open leave period, because I return too close to our deployment date. I am prepared to request Captain’s Mast and plead my case to the skipper. Should that fail, I’m prepared to take leave anyway and suffer the consequences when I return. However, after explaining the situation to my chief, I have some faith that my leave request will be begrudgingly honored.
- Through it all my brother’s fiancé is most concerned with gifts: she asked my brother to lobby me for an extra shower. My family is dieing; she needs to get over the presents.
- I’m having yards of aqua polyester altered tomorrow because the bust is, of course, much too roomy.
I’m not one to preach or tell people how to live. At least I hope I’m not. But I would like to say, to anyone who happens to read this profusion of family trauma, that choosing to smoke is an offensively selfish decision. My father’s lung cancer is the leading cause of my mother’s destruction. I blame him. Tonight he’s eating organic beef and searching for alternative cures. He is willing to do anything for a chance at continuing his life because he’s caught in violent throws of desperation. But for the last 38 years he never bothered to quit smoking.
Good night and good luck.
posted by Jessica at 22:01
2 Comments:
after our Trader Joe's adventure today I found myself thinking about your soon to be bitchter-in-law. and (because I have to, it's genetic) I wondered if there was an actual good reason for this bridal shower fiasco. The only thing I could come up with was that this might be how she copes. like, if she has all of the normal stuff, then things just might be normal.
but then I thought,
I'm giving her too much credit. she did, afterall, pick out aqua dresses. and I bet if I met her, I would still hate her.
this is as close to a 3 page e-mail as I get. Love ya, mean it!
Okay, I’m going to preach because I have to. It’s in the bylaws, trust me.
When my husband had testicular cancer his mother popped pills left and right. She told me it was the only way she could put on a strong front for him, because the last thing a mother can face is the loss of a child.
And a spouse and at the same time is unfathomable. I would want to escape too if my waking life were a nightmare.
And yes, for those of us who don’t smoke, smoking is a selfish act. My father smoked and died from emphysema. God, I can still hear that cough. He basically drowned on the fluid in his own lungs. My mother left him because he wouldn’t stop drinking. Ironically cigarettes were never the issue.
Towards the end he would ride his little rascal, because he could no longer walk and pull an oxygen tank at the same time, to the store for Pall Mall non-filter cigarettes and a bottle of wild turkey. Strangely, my children have the fondest memories of their grandfather riding them on that little rascal. I can’t believe I exposed them to such an explosive environment. Literally!
To this day I don’t understand why he did what he did to himself. I don’t know if it was a cowardly long drawn out suicide attempt or an innocent experiment gone awry from when he started smoking as a youth. All I know is that the choice he made was wrong.
Strangely, I never thought to ask him if he had a choice.
Just remember not all of our choices our clearly thought out and sometimes by making a choice we give up our ability to choose again.
Post a Comment
<< Home