Not For the Faint of Heart

So, this story is horrifying. But yet, in a darkly funny way. If you have doubts whether or not you'll be uncomfortable, turn back. Turn back now.

Firstly, I was not raised by the Cleavers. Even I, as a young child, watched the Cleavers and thought "Yeah. Right. That family exists." Yes, I was a cynical child.

We do not have the Hallmark family. We have the, hmmm, Simpson family but on a less communicative level. Think of us as Irish Catholic Bundys from Married with Children.

And, as I've mentioned previously: my dad is ill. He has terminal cancer. Now, before you "oh" in that breathy, sympathetic way, know that Absent is the best word I can find to describe my dad. Actually, you can use a few word beginning with "A", use your imagination.
This is not Ward dying, this is Ed Bundy.

My dad is undergoing chemo and we don't know why. It's keeping the cancer at bay but not curing it and making him sick. He is a HORRIBLE patient that won't follow doctor's orders AT ALL. This has resulted in quite a few stays in the hospital, the most recently nearly became his last.

I am the errant, yet dutiful daughter that calls every few days. Any more communication and you will find me atop a clock tower with a high powered rifle.

Our conversations usually go like this:
Me: "Whatcha doing?"
Dad: "Watching television" (or "Talking to some kid" His version of kindliness)
Me: "How's it going? How're you feeling?"
Dad: Usually something vague but usually also inclusive of bowel movements. I have actually heard the words: "I shit my pants going into the drug store." Heart warming, I know.
Me: Usually offering some sort of sympathy/support.
Dad: "Want to talk to your mother?"

This conversation lasts three minutes, tops.

So, the other day I call while walking to get the mail. The preceding occurs and then my mother comes on the telephone.

She's been in tattling mode lately. "Your DAD won't listen to the DOCTOR and he's not feeling well." bladda, bladda, bladda.
Finally, I said "Mom, this is just what he does. It sucks but it's just how it's going to be."

There's a pause, a small pause. Just long enough to make me wonder when she says:

((In a loud voice, in a small house...seriously, it's like 900 square feet))

"Well, if he's going to DROP DEAD, I Don't Want Him Doing It HERE!"

I warned you, Horrifying.

What did I do? BUSTED OUT LAUGHING. I mean, seriously, what else can you do? It was just so absurd.

And all I could picture was my dad either eye-rolling her or flipping her off. (I'm sure it was the eye-roll but the finger is so much more funny)

I ended the conversation shortly thereafter. Where could it have possibly gone after that?

MG was properly horrified and said "You Did Not start laughing!?!?!??!"
Oh yeah. Yeah, I did.

I felt a little badly after that, having realized it maybe wasn't the proper response. So, I called Brother Dear and related the story. What did he do?
HE LAUGHED.

I haven't called for a few days, today is the day I should. I'll let you know how it goes.