Just prior to my returning to California, there had been a frantic series of telephone calls between my father and myself. One very late night, while I slept, my father left me a voicemail message that my sister was in the hospital, that she was dying, and that I had to come home right now. Well, that was not going to happen in a few short hours. I had a lifetime's worth of belongings to pack into a 4-door sedan and drive all the way back to Disneyland. The message was not clear on what was wrong with my sister at all. As soon as I heard the entirety of it, I called my dad back and asked what was going on. He said she was out of surgery and was going to be okay. (Okay, so she is not dying or dead, whew! Thanks be to the Gods and the surgeon and science and stuff) but now he wants me to hurry home because he wants me to get her to stop drinking. (today, I'm a sober alcoholic and so is my sister.) I spent the next several months riding my sister's ass and harassing her into AA meetings, and in spite of my pressure, she managed to get sober. While I was completely distracted by trying to control my sister's life, I didn't notice a lot of what my dad was doing. I was busy and unavailable and that was probably a good thing for all involved.
to be continued... laundry needs doing!
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