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.