by Leila Hoffpauir
Well, Dad got the call. His liver is officially cancer-free, so put down the vase, Karen. You’re not gonna get it this time. Mom, stop putting those pink post-its all over the artwork. You wanna know why? Because Dad’s gonna live, okay? So quit calling dibs on the antiques!
We’ve all seen you ogling the armoire in the sitting room, Mom. It doesn’t matter if you put a sign on it that says “Reserved.” It’s still dad’s until he officially croaks, which according to the oncologist won’t be for “a long long time, he is a very healthy man, and your family is extremely lucky.” I know we were all hoping to get some money and nice candlesticks out of this. I mean, I know it really would’ve helped me through the difficulty of losing him, but I guess now we get to have a dad? Which is also cool.
God Karen, do you think I don’t get it? You think I wasn’t getting my hopes up about Grandma’s china? Well, I was. It’s a bummer! But we have to be big about this. There’s Dad to think about, and we’re gonna have to think about him for a long time. I mean, we’ll probably end up having to sell all this crap anyway to pay for his nursing home because that man’s gonna live FOR-EV-ER.
The nurse told me he was already up and walking this morning. Before we know it he’ll be back and that means get the damn post-its off the artwork, mom! I can hear you ripping more off from the other room. Maybe he gave you the Waterford in the will, Karen, but we won’t know that anytime soon now will we?
For now we just need to focus on Dad, which means put the measuring tape down, Mom. You’re not getting the loveseat!