On Saturday morning it was raining, and as I hauled my pathetic body to the bathroom to do my business, I noticed something strange; there was no water in the toilet.
I peeked my head out the backdoor to the shed and I could here the pump running, and then realized it had been running all night- the pump had a clog.

I went into the other house to tell my Dad of the problem, but I should have just handled it myself. Clogged pump lines are remarkably easy to clean, and had I known how difficult it would be to get my Father to agree to let me run some water through the lines, I would have waited until he left for the post office and never told him.
Instead, my desire to fix the problem was met with indifference, and derision. Not only did he tell me to "Stay the hell away" from the well lines, he advised I take the next flight back to Los Angeles where I belong.
I was stunned and hurt, and went back into the neigboring trailer feeling dejected.
My mother came in shortly after to tell me she had heard it all, and Dad was sorry for acting like a grouch. I accepted this until later when I could hear him through the window, barking at my mother about what a useless piece of crap I was, how I use people to get what I want, and a lot of other non-truths that infuriated me to hear.
Like an idiot I walked over there to see what all the shouting was about .
"You're still here?" he said to me, face red, eyes piercing me over the tops of his glasses. "I thought I gave you your walking papers?"
"I came over to ask you what your problem is", I said, trying to hold my ground.
"I'll show you what my problem is!" he said, and got up off his chair and walked to the glass doors. He peered up through the glass and pointed a finger at the eves overhead. "You see that?" he said, pointing to two spots on the eves where no paint had been applied. I suddenly remembered two years ago, spending a month here painting these two buildings, and in that place, the two spots represent where the ladder leaned against the eves. It seems of all the work I did that summer for him, these two spots are all he can remember.
"That's my Problem!" he barked "You never finish what you start!"
My dad was in a foul mood today, and maybe because of his generation, he would never consider asking why, or looking to some outside reason as to what it is that's infuriating him so, he instead looks for a target to aim his guns at. This Morning he found me, and fired away.
I had no idea what I had done to deserve this, but I was not going to stick around and find out. I quickly exited the house, and slammed the door.
My mother on the other hand, called 911, and before I could get my luggage into my borrowed car a State trooper was in the yard talking to her.
"Essentially, I can't arrest somone for being an asshole" he said, "But I can help you talk him into visiting his doctor, or to go to the Emergency room"
Within an hour, Mom and Dad were sitting at the Carthage Area Hospital, and I was lugging my suitcases back into the house. He's been there two days now for observation, Doc says his sugar diabetes got the best of him( a change in sugar levels can make a diabetic extremely beligerant and cranky), he had a reading of over 400(150 is normal) and needed 2 shots of insulin to stabilize him.
Michelle saw him in the Hospital that day and he was crying. The poor man is on an emotional rollercoaster and there's no one at the controls. It has two stops, Anger and despair, and it's shredding all of us emotionally.
Our family defiantely did not need this to hapen so soon after MC's death, but alas, it's par for the course. Life goes on, even for those that have suffered a great loss, and diabetes wont wait until your feeling better to do it's thing.

Close this window