That boy ain't right

Over the past couple of days, the following has happened:

1. I finally made contact with my dad. The worst hadn't happened like I'd feared -- he hadn't wrapped a car around a pole or anything -- he'd simply fat-fingered my cell number, or at least that's the reason he gave. As always, he's affable and charming, but I got a bit of a rude shock:

   "How are the cats, Dad?"
   "Oh, they're fine... I check in on them, and when I was last there I found a big bag of expensive cat food, so they're all right, although there's only one cat now. Puss -- I don't know what exactly happened, but I think Puss ran away, so there's only the one."
   "Well, Dad, don't you think we should find out about whether this cat can be adopted by someone?"
   *chuckle* "Oh, that's not my job."

   Dear God. Now it's become our job, I guess. At least the other cat got some sense and ran away before our cratering family dragged it down. Nothing like poor defenseless creatures being caught up in endless family drama.

   That was sort of the extent of our conversation, other than my dad getting Mom's cell number from me and the address of her assisted living facility. He said he checks in on her every day, but I don't really understand how he can do that if he doesn't have the information. It's to the point where I really don't want to know the truth, whatever it is, because I know it's bad. I think my relationship with my father has to be one of meaningless affable small talk punctuated by my desires to talk brass tacks: how he's set himself up for medical emergencies, whether he can give me or my sister power of attorney, how his health is, and so on. I'd rather keep a little bit of illusion about him for whatever time he's got left.

   Having your image of your own father completely upended in the space of a week or two kinda does things to you. It also puts your own life choices and the company you like to keep in some sharp perspective.



2. LM has decided to make this The Week He Will Wake Up At All Hours and Scream At His Gate, Demanding Mommy or Daddy Sleep With Him Which Results in No Sleep for Anyone (a working title). This has happened almost all week, except for one night he let us sleep until 4:30 in the morning instead of the traditional 2 or 3:30. Today, Friday, he woke us all up at 2:30 and screamed bloody murder. After a week of this, M is close to a nervous breakdown and I've had several. Tonight, after I finish vomiting up all this pain, I'll go to bed myself, after having tried something different first: taking a catnap on the floor next to his bed until he was fast asleep.

   The worst part is going to bed not knowing how much sleep you're going to get. Our therapist said it best: there's one word for sleep deprivation on this scale -- torture. I hope this works tonight, because something has to work.



3. Speaking of work, tomorrow will be the second weekend in a row that I've worked on a Saturday. It may not let up even after that -- there've been noises about something like "four weeks". The only obvious upside is the extra money since I'm a contractor, but the obvious downside is the crying jag I secretly had in the parking lot today at simply being overwhelmed by it all.

   There's a nice cafe nearby, manned by tattooed and pierced college women, or grad student women, where I walked for solace -- I simply had to get out. As I sat there, having my berry bread pudding alone at a table listening to the Neil Young they were playing, they offered free large lattes to all 2 of us customers that happened to be in the place at 3:30 Friday afternoon.

   This simple act of human kindness overwhelmed me again with waves of grief. I told them they were great, and left in a hurry lest I just lose it over a goddamn cup of coffee.

Oh, I know that this too shall pass... it's passing too fucking slowly for my taste.