Pimping through Christmas

The holidays have been mostly about eating. This has probably always been the case, but now, my heart isn't in it as much as usual. Maybe it's because I now, at 5'2", probably outweigh my 6'5" dad.

I have always hated the holidays, altogether. Too much money for gifts I can't afford, receiving gifts that I know the givers can't afford, and always dreading the New Year's Day stuff. That day is forever welded with the date of my brother's death.

It was with great relief and excitement that I embraced the thought of leaving every year for a vacation with Robert this time of year. This year, the escape was short-lived, but at least we got out of here for a week.

I just canceled Dad's oncologist appoint on the 4th. They'd have to bring him in on a gurney, and I don't think I've ever seen anyone there in that condition. Too much stress on Dad. I also put the kibosh on the weekly weighings -- can you imagine how that must be for a man who can hardly even bear to have the head of his bed raised?

They told me yesterday that in his condition, he could last a long time. I sure hope not. He's been telling the nurses he's dying, but not me. He only tells me he loves me and that I'm a good daughter.

Pam asked me last night "where's the woman who was over there in that bed?" gesturing towards Dad's bed. "That's Dad's bed, Pam." "Ohhh, yeaahhh. Dad's bed," she repeated, not believing a word of what she was saying. I don't think she knows who her husband is most of the time, but she seems to accept with a shrug that whomever he is, it's okay with her.

In normal times, I'd ask to borrow the pimp hat that Pam received from Tommy, a great nurse that we all love to joke with. It's a fuzzy red fedora, trimmed with white fake fur. Put that together with set of gold grilz for my teeth, and I'd have a wonderful holiday laugh here in da hood.

I wonder how my neighbors would take that?