fuck fuck fuck

Got an email from my mom yesterday, one of those "just checking to see if you're still alive" emails because I'd neglected my duty to call for too long. Emailed back, promised to call. Forgot.

Called tonight. Very little recrimination, which was nice. But then she tells me Daddy got a job at the new SuperfuckingWalmart in town. Full time. Graveyard shift. Doing "maintenance." He's 73 fucking years old! What the fuck? It's unreal. She acknowledged that the extra money is nice. Now there's a guilt trip. But the issue is bigger than guilt over their finances. I don't want my Daddy to work. I want him to rest. And play. And live. The cancer thing scared the crap out of me. He's older now. He's acknowledged he's weaker. WHY are they doing this? What can we do?

Gotta call brothers, find out how much of a toll it's taking on him. Jesus, I don't even know if I have their phone numbers. This makes me want to run home and take care of my dad.

I wonder if she nags him when dozes off in his chair, the way she did ALL MY FUCKING LIFE until he retired?

There's gotta be something we can do. Mike and Scott and I. If we all chipped in, maybe Daddy would quit. Hell, I don't even know what their financial situation is.

I'll never forgive her if he keels over in the SuperFuckingWalmart.

Please, please don't let that happen. He's a good man. He deserves so much more than this. Goddamnit, it hurts.