Thinking about Death makes me want to drink a gallon of vodka.

It's a gloomy, wet morning here. All I want to do is get back in bed with my book and some hot tea and stay there for the rest of the day. Unfortunately, that conflicts with Getting Shit Done. Which I've neglected to do the past few days. I will allow myself plenty of book time, but I also need to finish wrapping up CHRISTMAS packages to go out on Monday. Yes, I am that lame.

Brian's dad is a pessimistic fellow most of the time. His worldview is decidedly fatalistc, which makes for interesting family get-togethers. He has a habit of pulling Brian and his brother aside almost every time he sees them to tell them that he might not have much longer and will they please take care of their mother? Je-sus. After years of hearing this, Brian and his brother are somewhat immune and have mastered the art of not listening when the old man pulls this stunt. He's self-diagnosed so many illnesses and conditions over the years, that it's hard not to roll one's eyes when he pulls out a new one.

Well. Apparently I am finally officially part of the W clan now: two days before Christmas, my father-in-law pulled me aside to ask me some rather pointed questions about powers of attorney and whatnot. I was somewhat taken aback and asked what was going on. He has a flair for the melodramatic and whispered something about the VA hospital and tests and 'something' not being right. Ooo-kay. I nodded and didn't have to act concerned, as I really was. When I let Brian know about this later, he laughed and slapped me on the back- "welcome to the fold, babe!"

All eye-rolling aside, and there's been a lot of it over the years with this man, it looks like the proverbial shit might actually hit the fan this time. Enlarged prostate and bowel/colon malfunctions serious enough to require a specialist's attention (of course, this being the VA, he can't get an appointment for a colonoscopy until fucking MARCH). The tests on his prostate should come back next week and while an enlarged (or extremely so in his case, apparently) prostate is not uncommon in older men, it has freaked my FIL out, especially in conjunction with his bowel/colon issues. I think it's because he's cried Wolf so many damn times that it's come back to bit him in the ass. Um, literally.

I am going with the assumption that he is okay and it's nothing that a pill or two won't manage. Brian, on the other hand, has had a difficult time since we found out about all of this. It's not easy confronting mortality in your parents. Not at all. I come from a woman who has a propensity to get into serious car accidents and spends more time in the ER than anyone else I know. She's had at least three serious bouts with MRSA and that shit can kill in a heartbeat and she's had too many other health scares to list. But it scares the crap out of me to think that one of these days something will get the better of her. Brian is feeling that right now. He's had a love-hate relationship with his old man over the years and things are finally on an even keel for the two of them. It's been amazing to see the transformation over the past five+ years.

Oh, I don't know where I'm going with this. My heart hurts when I see my husband fearful for his parents. I want to throw out platitudes, but those aren't worth much at all. I hope that my father-in-law is just having another one of his flights of fancy (deathly illness) and that he will be around to annoy the hell out of his kids for a few more years.

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