Father, father, father.
Sometimes, my parents are just....ugh...
They waited until tonight, in the middle of the party, to tell me that my father is having his right eye amputated. In my weak effort to justify their....annoyance...they didn't know for sure until today that it was going to have to happen. The doctor told them the week before they left that it was a 90% chance. Why they couldn't tell me then, I don't know. And, why they had to tell me in the middle of a party, and when I first saw them in a week, I also do not know.
My father has always had health issues, and they've always been terrible at telling us about them, so I really shouldn't be surprised. I had just hoped that they considered me mature enough to handle bad news. Apparently, not.
They never told me that he had a blood disease (if I could remember the name, I'd write it down). I had to figure that one out for myself, as a little kid. Every morning, my father would get up, and give himself a shot in the belly. I have so many memories of there being needles in our refrigerator filled with this medicine.
When I was 12, my father found out that he had bone cancer. My parents didn't tell us until a couple weeks into his chemotherapy. They told us a dinner, too. It was one of the worst dinner's of my life, actually.
Even a couple years ago, my father had some sort of sores that appeared on his back due to a reaction to a steroid the doctor was making him take, they didn't tell us for a while. It was when he was writhing in pain, that we asked if something was wrong.
Their approach is just so childish...and yet, we're the children.
They waited until tonight, in the middle of the party, to tell me that my father is having his right eye amputated. In my weak effort to justify their....annoyance...they didn't know for sure until today that it was going to have to happen. The doctor told them the week before they left that it was a 90% chance. Why they couldn't tell me then, I don't know. And, why they had to tell me in the middle of a party, and when I first saw them in a week, I also do not know.
My father has always had health issues, and they've always been terrible at telling us about them, so I really shouldn't be surprised. I had just hoped that they considered me mature enough to handle bad news. Apparently, not.
They never told me that he had a blood disease (if I could remember the name, I'd write it down). I had to figure that one out for myself, as a little kid. Every morning, my father would get up, and give himself a shot in the belly. I have so many memories of there being needles in our refrigerator filled with this medicine.
When I was 12, my father found out that he had bone cancer. My parents didn't tell us until a couple weeks into his chemotherapy. They told us a dinner, too. It was one of the worst dinner's of my life, actually.
Even a couple years ago, my father had some sort of sores that appeared on his back due to a reaction to a steroid the doctor was making him take, they didn't tell us for a while. It was when he was writhing in pain, that we asked if something was wrong.
Their approach is just so childish...and yet, we're the children.