Mom just called. Dad is dying. I don't know how much longer they think he has--didn't want to ask. But his mind is starting to go, he can't walk well or feed himself, and they're going to start having hospice nurses in every day. I don't understand how this happened, after the tests showed him cancer-free. It seems like it's the chemo that's killing him.

Oh, honey, I'm so sorry. How much longer does he have on the chemo? Are they stopping it?

Oh, Susan. I'm so so sorry.

Oh, Susan, I'm so sorry. Hugs and prayers.

What Cass and the others said, Susan.

I'm sorry Susan. Peace be with you and your family.

Oh, Susan. I'm so sorry.

Susan, I'm so damn sorry. Punctuation to you and your family.

Susan, I'm so sorry. You, and your family, are in my thoughts and prayers.

Oh Susan, I'm so sorry.

-t, at this point I feel like my being there would be more of an added burden than a comfort at this point--that the everyday routines of existence are a big deal. I am so very glad we went in June, and that I had the gumption to say some things I've always wanted to say about how proud I am to have him for a father.

I'm sad that Annabel won't remember him, and sad that he won't get to read my first book, whenever it happens. And for some reason I'm very upset that he never got to go to Australia. He always wanted to, but somehow it just never happened. I hope there's really a heaven, and that there's some kind of true-Australia-that-lies-beyond there.

I think they've stopped the chemo. I didn't ask for a lot of details like that, but I'm thinking of calling Very Conservative Oldest Brother, since he's the one who lives close and probably has the most accurate perspective on what's going on.