The Watchers

I'm flying out to Baton Rouge tomorrow. The nurses have told Stepmom that she needs to call me and Sport and let us know that it's time to come home. He's still alive, but his kidneys have completely stopped working. So I have a one-way ticket and I'm leaving kiddo here - she'll stay with her dad while I'm gone. At some point, Ex and kiddo will drive my car down to Baton Rouge and then we'll all drive back up to Austin together.

I need to take a second to talk about how incredibly helpful and supportive Ex has been. His dad died of cancer before Ex and I ever met. When he was diagnosed, the cancer had spread through pretty much his entire body - the story is they diagnosed him with stomach cancer and sent him in for a surgery that usually takes a couple of hours. Forty minutes later, the surgeons walked out with the statement that the cancer was in his diaphragm and his lungs and his stomach and there was no way they could cut it out. They gave him six months. He lived for a little over two years, going through chemo and radiation and finally getting sent home to die, because there was"nothing else they could do." So when Ex says "I know how you feel", I know it's not just hollow bullshit - he really does. The only real variation here is the type of cancer.

There are two funny stories about Ex's dad - one is that when he was diagnosed, he asked the doctor, "Guess I should stop smoking, huh?" and the doctor looked at him and said, "Why? You've got six months - might as well have fun." A doctor after my own heart. The other story involves Ex and his dad shopping for suits - one for Ex to wear to the funeral and, well one for his dad to wear to the same event. Ex says he doesn't remember much about the trip, except for his dad saying, "Whatever you do, don't bury me in brown socks." I don't know why, but those stories make me laugh every time I think about them. They tell me a lot about a guy that I wish I'd gotten to meet - even now. And if anybody is sitting there thinking, "Hm...talking about Ex's dad - way to distract yourself from your own dad, Laura." I have two words for you: Fuckin' DUH.

Anyway, last week, I spent an evening at Ex's house, drinking red wine and laughing and crying and remembering how we used to be best friends, and taking full advantage of the fact that Ex knows me so well. The next morning I felt 5 pounds lighter. Ex paid for tomorrow's plane ticket and the driving thing was his idea. He's also made it very clear that I don't *have* to accept anything that makes me uncomfortable; he knows I'm not terribly good at accepting emotional generosities.

LIttle side note - depression and stress are fun - I'm watching "Point of no Return" and fucking CRYING at the part where Maggie asks "will you help me?" and gah! Somebody save me from myself.

Other than watching silly spy girl movies, I'm also drinking some beer, typing this and doing everything I can to avoid getting ready for tomorrow's trip - the catbox might even get cleaned. I want to be there, in the arms of my family and with my brothers and my step-mother (and Sweet Jesus, that woman is a fucking rock) and my grandparents and I want to hear that south Louisiana accent and sit in the recliner at my dad's house and I want to go. But I know that once I get there, my dad won't come out to greet me, won't come out in the living room, and with the way things are going, he may not even know I'm there. I won't see sick dad, I'll see dying dad. I'm going to Louisiana to watch my dad die. Getting up in a big ol' hurry and packing for that just doesn't seem all that pressing, especially not when there are two more cold Negra Modelos in the fridge, and Bridget Fonda and Gabriel Byrne are denying their sexual chemistry on my TV. Reality can wait another 45 minutes.