Family Issues
Earlier today I sent my brother a text message. Now, with normal people this might not be anything earthshaking, but for me it's actually something to note. Not that my brother and I don't get along, it's just that we're two very different people living two very different lives and rarely do we have anything common to discuss and, if you know anything about INTPs, I abhor small talk.
That being said - I sent my brother a text message. It was a simple link to an article I'd recently read that was relevant to his career field. A few short minutes after hitting [send] my phone rang. It was my brother.
A few months ago my brother had informed me our father was sick. He'd already been through kidney failure, some sort of cancer (esophagus, I believe) and a few other things I didn't even know about. This time it was his kidney and the perpetrator was once again cancer.
But, my brother, an RN, said there wasn't anything to really worry about. So, I didn't really worry.
You see, my father and I aren't really that close. Once again it's more about not having anything in common than anything else. My dad is a card-carrying member of #TrumpNation, has a simplistic (read: Republican) view of the world, would rather watch sports than reality and is more a bull-shitter than someone to count on. For whatever reason, my father never really wanted to be a dad. Sure, he loved making kids, but he never really spent any time with the four eldest - myself included - and really played the dad role with our younger sisters.
Anywho, my dad's bladder was acting up again and my brother called to let me know the status. Long story short: best case scenario my dad can have a treatment, be tied to a urine bag for the rest of his life, but he'll be alive. Worst case: well, that's a lot more complicated. He could become septic from the small procedure they're going to perform on Thursday morning and die. They could find the cancerous tumor is worse than they thought and would have to remove his bladder, rectum and [something else]. Or they could put him on a treatment (I can't remember the name of) and he might have a 30% chance of surviving the year - a three percent chance of surviving the next year.
Either way, it looks like I may be bound for Florida sooner or later to see him before he dies. To be honest with you, I could almost care less either way. Like I said, we're not close: he's never called or reached out to me proactively, he's never called or even texted me on my birthday; didn't have anything to say when either of my dogs died, when I lost my house to the recession or when he thought I'd wrecked my motorcycle in Mexico. He lived a life of alcohol, cigarettes, bad food and little exercise. He was never going to die of old age.
I also learned my two siblings - let's call them the Chris's - are also in bad shape. The older one, Chris, has been on an oxygen tank since he was 38 due to a bout of pneumonia and before you get all empathetic, please realize he's a life-long smoker and drinker. He used the damage done to his lungs as an excuse to stop working and live of government subsidies while at the same time being a MAGA-moron wailing against those same subsidies for brown folk.
The other Chris - Kris - is the youngest, smokes, drinks and was in the hospital not too long ago for falling into a coma from drinking and, apparently, a little cocaine. Apparently she checked herself out of rehab again and is out drinking up a storm, apparently trying to slowly kill herself. Our brother, the nurse, guesses she only has a few years to live before she's drunk herself into a coffin.
What's worse, with both of them, no amount of support, guidance, logic, reason or anything else is making a difference. They're both intent of drowning in alcohol and leaving this world for the next. Both are single parents and while Chris has sole custody of his daughter, Kris shares custody. Neither of their children's welfare is enough to get either of them to stop imbibing. Chris' daughter will be 18 in a couple of short years, but Kris' son isn't even 10 yet and his father is already contesting her ability to be a fit mother.
Anywho, family drama is one of the reasons I live so far away.
That being said - I sent my brother a text message. It was a simple link to an article I'd recently read that was relevant to his career field. A few short minutes after hitting [send] my phone rang. It was my brother.
A few months ago my brother had informed me our father was sick. He'd already been through kidney failure, some sort of cancer (esophagus, I believe) and a few other things I didn't even know about. This time it was his kidney and the perpetrator was once again cancer.
But, my brother, an RN, said there wasn't anything to really worry about. So, I didn't really worry.
You see, my father and I aren't really that close. Once again it's more about not having anything in common than anything else. My dad is a card-carrying member of #TrumpNation, has a simplistic (read: Republican) view of the world, would rather watch sports than reality and is more a bull-shitter than someone to count on. For whatever reason, my father never really wanted to be a dad. Sure, he loved making kids, but he never really spent any time with the four eldest - myself included - and really played the dad role with our younger sisters.
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| My Dad, 2013, at My Brother's (not pictured) Wedding |
Either way, it looks like I may be bound for Florida sooner or later to see him before he dies. To be honest with you, I could almost care less either way. Like I said, we're not close: he's never called or reached out to me proactively, he's never called or even texted me on my birthday; didn't have anything to say when either of my dogs died, when I lost my house to the recession or when he thought I'd wrecked my motorcycle in Mexico. He lived a life of alcohol, cigarettes, bad food and little exercise. He was never going to die of old age.
I also learned my two siblings - let's call them the Chris's - are also in bad shape. The older one, Chris, has been on an oxygen tank since he was 38 due to a bout of pneumonia and before you get all empathetic, please realize he's a life-long smoker and drinker. He used the damage done to his lungs as an excuse to stop working and live of government subsidies while at the same time being a MAGA-moron wailing against those same subsidies for brown folk.
The other Chris - Kris - is the youngest, smokes, drinks and was in the hospital not too long ago for falling into a coma from drinking and, apparently, a little cocaine. Apparently she checked herself out of rehab again and is out drinking up a storm, apparently trying to slowly kill herself. Our brother, the nurse, guesses she only has a few years to live before she's drunk herself into a coffin.
 |
| Chris, 2013, Ar Our Brother's (not pictured) Wedding |
What's worse, with both of them, no amount of support, guidance, logic, reason or anything else is making a difference. They're both intent of drowning in alcohol and leaving this world for the next. Both are single parents and while Chris has sole custody of his daughter, Kris shares custody. Neither of their children's welfare is enough to get either of them to stop imbibing. Chris' daughter will be 18 in a couple of short years, but Kris' son isn't even 10 yet and his father is already contesting her ability to be a fit mother.
Anywho, family drama is one of the reasons I live so far away.
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