My father-in-law passed away this morning. What a crazy and turbulent chain of events over the last two weeks. In January, he had started to fall and faint with increased frequency. Doctors diagnosed him with CMML, a kind of leukemia. The recommendation was to undergo a “mild” form of chemo and then emerge with two years of good quality of life. As the daughter of a doctor, I always entrust medical professionals with our care. J’s father had qualms about chemo given his advanced age (83 y/o) as well as his pre-existing Parkinson’s disease. I thought he was being resistant. The family discussed their concerns with the oncologist, who reassured them of the mildness and tolerance, so they proceeded. Unfortunately, from that point on, my FIL just never really recovered: there were blood transfusions, complications with his Parkinson’s, problems with his liver, this and that. After chemo, he moved to physical therapy and rehab and there the level of care was totally mismatched and inadequate. He developed a fever then pneumonia and the rehab people were like arguing with the fam about giving him Tylenol to control the fever! Understandably, his level of care was way beyond their realm, but still! After two days there, he was moved to hospice down the road from the family home. They gave him morphine and finally, he was comfortable and at peace. He passed away this morning.

The way I am, there is always someone who has to be accountable. I am upset that the primary care physician and the oncologist weren’t on the same page. I’m upset by the apparent disconnect and siloing of his medical records. WTF happened? Sure, on one hand, he was 83. He wasn’t exactly a healthy person: he ate crap, he didn’t exercise, he wasn’t active. Yes, all those things were true. But somewhere along the way over the past two weeks, there wasn’t adequate followup. The oncologist never visited him after chemo. Just yesterday, he even told the family the blood work looked good, and it was my sister-in-law who insisted that death was imminent. I also have so many feelings about my parent-in-laws. Why didn’t they live healthier? Why didn’t they have a better social support system?

And then I realized that none of this thinking and processing helps. He’s gone and however he chose to live his life was his call and his choice. These are the moments when I realize I am still someone who struggles with the basics of acceptance– acceptance for myself and of those I love. Isn’t feminism ultimately about honoring the choices women (and men) make for themselves?

Earlier yesterday, my father called me from Taiwan and he gave me a rundown of properties that are pending sale. In truth, they have been “pending” for at least two years now– commercial property and land transactions take for fucking ever. As a Realtor, I have heard this and know this. He wanted me to handle a different property that’s a residential lease. And another property, a residential rental, is up for lease renewal. He told me he was going to renew the lease, and I. went. ballistic. What have we been talking about, esp all last year with the eldercare of my grandparents and the now tenuous situation with my mom? Are you fucking downsizing or NOT? I was so livid. All he keeps saying is, don’t worry about my business. I will handle it. Well, you’re not going to handle it when your wife gets sick and you are too damn old. The decline happens fast. Jesus fucking Christ. Enough is enough.

After I got off the phone with him, I started doing my thing: why can’t my parents be fucking normal. Why are they retarded and difficult. Why is my brother a useless fucking moron? Argh!!!

Yesterday afternoon, when I spoke with Ellen and she told me the end was definitely near, she said she wished they hadn’t had so many arguments and discussions about cleaning out the family home and getting it prepped for the market. So much time and energy was spent arguing and trying to persuade the parents to let go of their stuff… in the end, the decline happens fast and the kids ultimately make the call anyway. What she said kinda stuck with me. Like her, I’m a planner. I want to know where my parents will live. Where they will obtain care. I want to know those details and plan as much ahead as possible. But maybe Ellen is right: the time together is finite; don’t fill it with frustration and contempt and blame.

John has always been an amazing son. He isn’t very vocal or sentimental, but his actions and his patience and clarity in prioritizing the relationship above all else is something to admire and appreciate. Even as his father declined and I asked all kinds of angry questions about why this happened and who failed us, he knew to focus attention and energy on moving forward, on getting his dad more comfortable. None of that other stuff mattered, bc it couldn’t be changed. This is how life is: shit happens and rather than finding the culprit or scapegoat to explain how something like this came to be, it happened. We are here now. Adapt and figure out the next critical step.

RIP, Dad E. You and your wife raised a big family and instilled in them so much of what is good and right in this world: character, integrity, responsibility, family, and love. Thank you for this enduring legacy.