BTW, my dad is doing really well now. He is home and will be going in for surgery on his gall bladder in a few weeks.
*throws hands in the air*
Anyway, back to the story.
I had just said something about trying to find time to go to the damn doctor about the river of bile residing in my stomach, not dissimilar to the bag full that was being pumped from my fathers belly at the time, and perhaps, maybe it was not merely a co-incidence that the doctors were saying it was something to do with his gall bladder and MOTY had just had hers out a few weeks before, when MOTY interjects with her little observation.
A little conversation stopper if you will.
Dad’s good eye rolls to the ceiling, and any other time I would have called for the nurse, worried he was having an epileptic fit or something, but both my eyes had joined his pointing to the same mottled tile above our heads.
Here we go…
‘No really’ she goes on oblivious to our exasperated expressions, and considering the massive painkillers my dad was on was pretty damn impressive on his part, ‘you really have a hard time of it Kelley, I would hate to live your life.’
She chooses NOW to actually acknowledge that my life is difficult? Perhaps to offer a helping hand?
Alas no offer is apparent and a lovely nurse wanders in to empty his bag of bile and up his meds and Dad and I exchange knowing glances and the moment is lost.
She doesn’t even know half of it. No point in telling her anyway.
I understand that sometimes people don’t know what to say when they know someone with a ‘shit life’.
And hey, chances are that that someone is probably fully aware that their life is probably deemed by some as well and truly in the motherfucking crapper, but to have your own MOTHER point it out over the sick and moaning body of your father is a bit, well…
a bit shit.
So, as a Public Service to all of you that know someone like me and you feel the need to point out the glaring obvious about their excrement filled life…
Dont. Trust me, they know.
Give em a smile.
A helping hand.
A fucking casserole.
Offer to look after their kid for the weekend so they can have a holiday for once in their shit life (yeah, I am STILL banging on about that…)
Or buy them a cute umbrella to shield them from the shit shower that the universe rains down on them.
I don’t mean don’t talk about their life and what is going on, having someone to talk to really helps.
Especially someone who just listens. Cause most of the time there is nothing that can be done, but just saying the words out loud to someone makes the world of difference.
And they want to hear about your life too. Seriously, your shit is just as important and fucked up as our shit. It really doesn’t matter how high it is stacked.
It all fucking stinks.
Keep your fucking pity to yourself, along with your thoughtless comments and commentary.
No one wants to be told they have a shit life, unless it is followed with ‘here, have a million dollars’.