Strange questions were bouncing off the wall when I said goodbye to Dad. As I lay, the phone down, my intuition was flexing its head like a water moccasin. I sensed a myriad of harsh realities lurking like monsters in dense fog. It was a simple lung biopsy, and they had stabilized his blood pressure, so why weren’t my parents listening? The week at the VA hospital was a preventative measure because Dad had two inoperable brain aneurysms.
Mom insisted I come even though I told her I didn’t have the money for the ticket. So, I borrowed it and would see Dad early the next afternoon. This would be my first visit with them since their two-year sobriety. A dreadful feeling began to cover me like a blanket of red bricks.
Aunt Marie met me at the airport. She looked much older, and I could tell she had been crying. She held me so tight, like a lid on a mason jar, when we made a stop to pee. Her weeping was competing with the Dog-day cicadas. “What is it, Auntie?”
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