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SURGEON GENERAL'S WARNING:

21 March 2005 - 13:19

I think my father has lung cancer. In fact, I'm pretty sure he does. I'll bet he knows too, that's why he refuses to go to a doctor. I went to go see him last night, and he was coughing in his sleep. Says it's gripa, that it'll go away. But who the fuck is he trying to fool? No me puede picar los ojos. If that were the case, he's had 'gripa' for the past year and a half. Maybe more. He keeps coughing out those jade-green phlems and I can hear his chest rattle beneath his ribcage. He's old. And possibly, dying.

It surprises me sometimes to find out my parents are so old now. Their faces are becoming marked with wrinkles, their skin is becoming soft with the feebleness of age. My mom has patas de gallo around her smiling eyes, my dad's face is pocketed with age and toil, fatigue. They are both so tired all the time now. And their shoulders sag under their own weight, and I can't carry them. I can't help him if he won't let me.

My dad's been smoking ever since... ever since. It's just been eternal, for me. My father's always smelt like smoke when he hugs me. Smoke and booze, that's right. His teeth are too green to be yellow anymore. They're a greenish-gray. Fuck the cavities, I don't think even plaque could live in his mouth anymore. And a while back he had a big ball of pus hanging off the top of his pallate. It was gross: he would squish it with his tongue and the foul liquid would gush out. He would spit a lot, of course. It was all very sick. But even then, he refused to go see a doctor. Not even a dentist.

And then the coughing started. No, it was always there. But it got worse. He got a cold. Except his cold has never gone away. He hacks so hard he can hardly breathe sometimes. And all I can do is pat his creased forehead, squeeze his soft hand, bite back my tongue because I won't be one to nag. My mom will, though. So will my sister. "Ve al doctor," they say to him, but he never does. He never will, until it hurts, and by then it will be too late. He will be too fargone for medicine. Too fargone for me.

It is so hard watching them grow old and wither before me. I feel all alone here, Rosa Isela no esta aqui para ver como se mueren. Como se me mueren... *sigh*

I don't like to cry around them, around anyone, for that matter. But it takes all I have and more to hold back as I watch him waste himself away. And I will never do anything to stop him, never.

�Pero porque?, 'Ama asks me. �Porque no le dices que se cuide? A ti si te hace caso.

No, Ma, he won't listen to me. Not on this. And I respect his decision. Because above all things, lo quiero, and he can choose to die as he deems best. My father is a child, after all, y tiene miedo. He's so afraid of death, and he associates medicine with death. Because if he has to go to the doctor for medication, that means he's old. And if he's old, that means he will die soon. Sooner than he'd like, anyway. Sometimes I think my dad wishes he were immortal. I know I wish he were immortal, sometimes. Because I don't want to see him go. But that is selfish of me.

El caso es que, mi 'Apa would rather avoid age until Death comes for him, so he can go quickly, and his old age will be brief. He wants to die believing he is young. That is why, I believe, he has such a hard time accepting the fact that he's gonna be a grandfather soon. It's not that he doesn't love my sister's unborn child, he does, and he's proud, but he's also afraid. Mi pobre papi... Sometimes I wish I could kill him and save him the misery of his last days. Euthenasia? I would. For him, lo haria. Even though I know my sister would never forgive me for it. But she doesn't know my 'Apa like I do. No one does. I am closer to both my parents than she is. Not that she doesn't love them, she's just more independent of them, farther away. And I know that is why she refuses to come down here to live near us. Because even in a different city, the closer she is to us physically, the closer she is to the pain that is watching them fade. Y si algo saco my hermana de mi padre, it's that. She is such a coward. So she leaves them to me. She says I'm stronger because it's more comfortable for her to believe that. Not that I hold it against her, she has her right. And I chose to stay behind. No los puedo dejar solos ahora. Somehow, I need to find the strength to bear them both, and then my sister's grief as well, when they pass on. When my job is done, I pray that God will take me. I don't care to live... once they are gone...

But I will live. I have to. Because I got that from my mother. We are not cowards. We will face life head on, battling against its fury with all we've got. Until we're old, and spent... and we will proudly flaunt las patas de gallo around our laughing eyes.

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