my dog died in september. it might have been august. this whole summer was blurry and i dont really pay attention to the day of the week, so you will have to forgive me. he lived 15 years. pretty good if you ask me. no one did.
my dad, who cannot walk, because he has MS, has cancer again. thats a doozy of a sentence. feels fun in the throat.
cancer.
again.
and this time they dont know where because he already doesnt have a prostate. 58 year old grown man. been in a scooter for over a decade. wont use a chair because hes proud. can barely stand on his own now. in the mornings i have to put his diaper on. sometimes he shits himself and i have to clean it up. thats not what i signed up for.
he wipes my ass, and i have to put him in the ground. thats the deal. thats the contract. thats how it is supposed to be. thats what God fucking said. except for me he didnt. for me God has other plans. terrible horrible awful plans that He reveals to me everyday.
39 rounds of radiation. 39 trips to a hospital where i wasnt allowed inside at first. 39 trips to a hospital that accepted a fake vax card without a second glance. 39 trips to make zero progress and still not know. fun summer eh?
the other day i was talking to him about Max. my dead dog. i said, “15 years. thats more than you can ask for really…”
my father said “15 years and 2 weeks too long”
the 2 weeks where he couldnt eat on his own? the 2 weeks where he couldnt walk? was shitting himself? those 2 weeks were too long?
thats why i hate.
