Written half in January, half in August 2008.
My dad's poor lungs just can't catch a break. When he was a child he landed in the hospital for two weeks with pneumonia. He got it again when he was 21, and then just a few months later, he was nearly drowned in a lake. A third bout of pneumonia two years later really nearly killed him, and he was in the hospital for a month, at least. In his mid-thirties he was treated for a mysterious case of acute lung injury, which he speculates was brought on by damage from all the previous years. Today, he has what sounds distinctly like a smoker's hack, although I don't think he's ever touched a cigarette.
He told me recently that if he were to come down with some new lung disease one of these days, and die from it, it would be an appropriate end. His eyes twinkled when he said it, almost as if he hoped it would really happen. That's so like my dad, to think that death will come appropriately and painfully and be romantic and desirable. That time he almost drowned in a lake, see, was because he was trying to kill himself. He couldn't swim. His own dad jumped in to save him once he realized what was happening.
For my dad, everything comes in extremes. He either hates things, or loves them. He is either jubilant or depressed. But I don't actually remember ever seeing him jubilant. I can only tell from the pictures, and his writing. My dad is a fiercely passionate man. My step-dad is the opposite; always cool and even and reasonable. My dad literally spat on my step-dad once, and my step-dad pulled out a handkerchief, wiped off his face, and calmly told my dad that he wished they could express how they felt using words only.
I know why my mom married my step-dad. I have no idea why she married my dad. I hated my dad for a long time, and I hated her for ever marrying him, even though it's the only reason I exist. I've learned to forgive them, though; or maybe I just grew out of it. I turned 21 recently and it's amazing to look back and see how all the vivid emotion of a teenager, the pain and joy, frustration and betrayal, heartbreak, exhilaration... just drains away. Like someone turned down the volume to a safe and reasonable level. The storm of hormones settles down, and you live the rest of your life in mild weather.
It's sad, really. But I'm not about to go throw myself in a lake over it.