Remember when I talked about Gramps?
He's been in the hospital since the day after I left New Brunswick on my last visit (since May 16th). And tonight my dad called to say that the tests came back and Gramps has cancer in his bowel. He's 91 and he's ready for the end. He's outlived a lot of his friends and he told my great-aunt that he's tired, very tired. I just wish it could have been the easy way. Cancer is a bastard. A real effing bastard.
I feel awful for my father because, although he has experienced the death of a spouse, my mom, he hasn't had to suffer the loss of a parent. It's like some strange role reversal for us. I've lost a parent and he hasn't. My dad is 65. Not many 65-year-olds have both of their parents. And since my mom died, my dad has become a real softie. He was pretty choked up on the phone with me tonight. I wanted to hop in my car and drive the 5 hours home just to give him a big hug.
Sorry to dump this on you guys. I might be going home in the next week or so for a visit, so don't be concerned about me if I don't post in a bit, ok?