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it's been said before...

so... yesterday, before we left tried to leave for Toledo, I got a call from my dad. "Call your grandmother".

we talked a bit more, and i asked whether she was spending christmas with my uncle, as is usual now, since my parents are in florida.

"probably not. she's got a cold and he isn't well."

"not well? what do you mean?"

"he's dying"

um. er. ok.

this is getting all too fucking familiar, no pun intended.

my dad's only surviving brother is dying. lung cancer related to asbestosis. the docs have given up on chemo. it isnt working. he's just on medicine for the pain now, which makes him a little fuzzy on the speech. he's also turned yellow.

"does gram know he's dying?"

"he hasnt said anything, but she knows. she's seen it before, with your grandfather. once he turned yellow, it was the end."

i was trying very hard not to cry. not because i know the man, but because i felt so horrible for my grandmother, and this was all compounded on top of my Harrington-level mood swing from earlier that day.

So... based on this pattern... my dad has another 2 years or so.
Or maybe, he caught his health problems in time.

Horrible genes. Damn them!

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