Dear obnoxious close family members,

I can't tell you this in person for obvious reasons, but it still has to be said somewhere: you didn't have the stroke and this is not about you.

Let me repeat that, this whole serious thing that we're involved in together is not about you. Stop making it about you, stop dominating conversations about how this effects your life, or how it's tearing you up inside, or talk incessantly about how dad never wanted to be a vegetable -- trailing off like it's a hint that the right thing to do would be to smother him with a pillow...

Feel concern, feel love, be scared -- by all means --but don't turn this into a play where you're the lead character. Be a fucking real person, this is no time to pretend to be someone on TV. This goes for all three of you, what the fuck are you thinking?

Love,
Mike


* * *

You know, I think I make these people in my life to be more sympathetic than they really are. You can almost imagine that they're acting this way because everyone deals with grief in different ways. As an example, my sister called me yesterday night and repeatedly changed the subject away from dad's condition, then talked about how she's been unable to sleep, and then, hold on -- "I ordered a number 4... yeah... yeah... okay" -- and then she mentioned how short her fucking arms were and how hard it was to reach the drive-thru window.

"I have to go, Amanda. Thanks for the update on dad's condition." (click)

She's just one of the three that are being melodramatic.