Entry 1 - 10/23/2024

Warnings for heart problems, parent death, grief, and familial issues.

Honestly, I'd hoped that my inspiration for getting this little blog thing up and running would be a good experience. Something bright and happy and fun that I just can't help but share with the world.

No such luck, obviously.

At the start of 2022, my dad had a heart attack. It was sudden and closely followed the heart attack of a cousin who died within 24 hours of his. I'm talking maybe two weeks in between.

It was terrifying. Doubly so, because my mom neglected to tell me until days after it happened. My dad survived, but his health has been suffering ever since.

The near-death experience has made him a kinder man, at the very least. It's a little late, considering how my younger sister hates the man with the force of a thousand suns and the older one simply tolerates him (primarily because she still lives with my parents). Personally, I have a formal but respectful relationship with the man. We're not close. We never have been. At first, that was his choice. Now, it's mine.

You don't get to reap the "benefits" of an adult child with a "good head on their shoulders" after neglecting the youth child for almost thirty years. Sorry, old man.

That doesn't make the news of his impending death any easier to bear.

Last week, my mom told me that he has an optimistic six months. In reality, it's probably less.

His heart's failing. His body can't keep up. He's dying.

I'm... I mean, I'm sad. Obviously. It sucks. On the one hand, I'm mourning the man who's half responsible for my existence. On the other, I'm mourning a man who has never been particularly kind to me. I have the dubious honor of being "his favorite," which is honestly stunning to me. Then again, I suppose if he had to pick a favorite, it'd be the one child he has who's both fully independent and doesn't treat him with outright venom.

(Never mind the fact that I didn't speak more than a handful of words to him for three years after I moved out of his house; I doubt he even noticed.)

For a long time, I just ignored my parents' shortcomings. I can't forgive a lot of it. Much of it was neglect. Some was abuse. All of it left me in desperate need of therapy. But I don't let it rot me from the inside out anymore. I can take pride in being a far better person than either of my parents ever were.

Now, though, I have to mourn the things my dad wasn't. He wasn't a gentle and kind father. He wasn't a good role model for anything but workaholism (which I did, for better or worse, inherit). He wasn't present, and when he was, it was an oppressive presence. He never bothered to get to know me. He didn't know until earlier this year, by way of my mother, that I've been writing a novel.

For context, I've been writing since I was a child. I'm always writing novels. Always. He had no idea.

According to my mom, he's proud of me.

I feel a sort of anticipatory grief. I know that he's going to die, much sooner than I expected him to. I know, and my mom knows, and my older sister knows. The younger one doesn't yet. She's got her own struggles going on, and, again, she hates the man. I'm not going to be the one to tell her, that's for damn sure. I might not feel a lot of positive things for my father, but he's still my dad, you know? I don't think I can handle her shitting all over him (though she's right to) when what I really want is to talk about the complexity of this grief.

My dad is dying.

Good riddance.

I don't want him to go.

I think it would be easier to process if I didn't know for a fact that I'm the Crisis Sibling. I'm best in a pinch. When disaster strikes, I'm the level head in the room. I don't have the luxury of self-destructing.

I will need to manage my own grief, my sisters' complex griefs, and my mom's. Not to mention all of my dad's siblings, our cousins, the extended family... And then his friends, god, his friends. Horrible people. Misogynists and racists and losers, one and all.

I just don't want to deal with it. My instinct when in pain is to retreat into myself. The thing I need most is quiet. Peace, solace. No observers, no responsibilities, no words.

Space.

When he dies, there will be no space. So I have to do this now. I have to process it now. I have to make a plan and be prepared.

If he dies at home, here's the procedure. If he dies in the night all of a sudden, here's what I'll do. If he goes to the hospital to die in hospice, this is the plan.

If, by some miracle, there is a treatment that will extend his life...

I'm not getting my hopes up.

The priority is being ready. Having a bit of experience in elder and estate law helps. I have modern knowledge that my mom doesn't. I'm ensuring she's ready on the legal side. She's done this before, but not in a long while.

This is all I can do.

I pray, please, let it be enough.

By Fate's Hand,

Aese.