I put on my dad’s sweater, his t-shirts.

One of my favorite things about being ill prepared for winter at home in NY is borrowing my dad’s clothes. They usually swim on me.

Now they actually fit.

I like them.

They are my daddy’s.

On Friday the 27th, we went to the city for dad’s pet scan. This will tell us if the cancer spread to more of his vital organs.

I drove the Searle mobile.

Dad snapped at me the whole time.

I would like to say it’s the cancer, but he just snaps. He gets angry, at my mom at me, at everything.

And I know he’s nervous.

So today, I will let it be the cancer talking and not take it personally.

I drive alone all day in LA.

My dad drives in NY all day. I would think we’d be a little more connected on this level, but alas, I have five lives in my hands, which are at 10 and 2, eyes on the road and not a moment do I reach for the coffee cooling at my side.

We sit in the waiting room for 15 hours which in real time is just two hours, playing hang man, mom reading the ‘Jon and Kate Plus Eight Book’ and Kathy texting away at the myriad of suitors she is currently balancing on her plate.

~~~
New Year’s eve.

Dad’s second chemo treatment.

I refused being separated for this treatment like we were on Christmas Eve.

We all went down together.

I drove.

Nice.

Still some snaps and I can’t remember the way down to the city again.

Nerves.

It starts to snow.

FDR, merging. At least New Yorkers use their blinkers, and then flip you off.

We drop my mom and dad off at Chemoland.

My sisters and I stay in the car. What do we do?

New Year’s Eve.

Yearly tradition, lobster and champagne.

I thought we threw traditions out the window this year?

Well, I guess not.

We have three hours.

Karin wanted to do the midnight run. I was prepared for that. I wasn’t properly dressed to be out walking casually and
especially out in the snow. No coat.

What the fuck is wrong with me?

We decide to walk 80 blocks to my sister’s apartment in Chelsea.

It was like Ferris Bueller’s day off. We wandered the streets. Shopped at novelty shops, picked up some clothes and make-up, took pictures in front of the Sanrio sculptures on the east side.

What are we doing?

Kathy insists we go look at the Rockefeller tree, visit St. Patrick’s Cathedral, light a candle and say a prayer.

In the church, we are the quietest we have been the last two weeks.

We light candles for dad and mom. We kneel and say prayers. We sit in the pews and look forward for what feels like an eternity.

Kathy, always making jokes to ease pain even if its uncomfortable, tells us that she loves us.

She says she loves me sometimes but today, I feel it.

We look at the St. Elizabeth Seton Shrine, a beautiful sculpture of a woman enveloping a child. I say to Karin, that’s mom!

I left all of my snacks with my mother. My family has this remarkable ability to not eat for hours on end. Not me.
I’m starving and am walking the streets of Manhattan on New Year’s Eve with no coat.

We get to Kathy’s apartment. She does some business, lends me a coat that when I button, puckers between each one making me look like a black down marshmallow or someone that just ate too much over the holidays. She’s a small girl.

We go to the fish market downtown and pick up some lobster and fish, take the subway back, buy coffee beans from my new favorite coffee place, Oren’s.

We get back to Chemoville and drive home.

My mom cracks open the wine and starts dinner.

She’s drunk before dinner is on the table. So am I for that matter. So is my sister.

Dinner is amazing. We all eat beyond our capacity.

My dad tries to stay up but can’t.

My mom gets whiney drunk and sad at 10.

Paul, my sister’s ex-boyfriend who’s still in the picture an almost adopted member of the family, shows up at 11. Surprise!

He suggests my mom smoke some pot. He lights a small cigarette.

She inhales. Hmmm.

She’s quite good at it. I’m impressed and disturbed at the same time.

She only takes two hits and insists she’s not high.

She giggles too much and I know she is.

Countdown.

It’s a new year.

I still feel the same.

We all do.

Except my mom is talking incessantly in nonsequiturs.

I like high mom.

I like new traditions.

Happy New Year!