This afternoon I finally called my parents to tell them I will be coming home in a couple of months.  It turns out the “lie” I told my school is really true.  My father told me he was in the hospital for four days last week.  They thought he was having congestive heart failure, but it turned out to be something else instead.  I won’t go into the details.  He is going back in for surgery next week.  

This is not good.

And you know what freaked me out the most?  When I told my mother I was coming for a visit she didn’t tell me not to make a fuss, or to save my money.  She just said, ok.  If my mother won’t play the passive-aggressive martyr game it must really be serious.

The thing is…and I wonder if I’m getting too personal here…but the thing is, I’m kind of pissed off at my dad, and have been for more than six months.  Well, actually it’s been many, many years.  It had just gone under the surface for quite a long time.  I’m torn because part of me wants to have it out with the old man before I lose the chance, and the other part thinks I should let all that stuff go and just go home and be the good son, before it’s too late. Since actually coming to terms with each other is extremely unlikely, I seem fated to have to live with regrets of some form or another, no matter how things play out.  

Sorry for not being funny today.  That’s just how it goes sometimes.