So my dad's stopped w/ the whole drug shtick and he's given up on his old ways. Well, then how come he's dying this time? Drugs are the cause of death right? Wrong.

He's hooked up to this annoying oxygen machine and he's hacking up blood. I can't even count how many times the docs have said he was gonna die before, b/c frankly, I was educated in Florida's Public School System. Anyhoe, I normally just barrel through it like it's just the way things are. Now, I look at him w/ this unbearable sense of pity. Like he's some poor broken creature that needs to be put out of his misery.

He's been diagnosed w/ bacterial pneumonia, pancreatic cancer, spinal cancer, Hep C, bone marrow cancer, and God knows what else ('cause I sure can't remember).

I feel horrible... not b/c my dad's dying, but b/c I don't know how my mom could continue w/out him. He's the bipolar glue that holds us, trembling in fear, together. That's a really selfish thing to say, which makes me feel more  horrible. I know I'm a rotten person and all, but I don't know how to go on w/out him. Everything in my life has always revolved around him. I come to admit I've got a rather cordial relationship w/ my mother. I don't think I could continue living here alone w/ her, and I don't think she could live alone at all.

The whole reason we moved to Washington was so that my dad could be closer to his family. The guy's not even 50! I guess I'm stuck counting down for now.