Unprepared

The bar was noisy, filled with people watching Monday night football.  But there really wasn't anything to be done for it, so Jonah told Jack, "There's something you should know.  It’s about Mom.”

Still watching the monitor over Jonah's head, Jack said, “What about her?  Did she burn another pot roast on Sunday?”

“Yeah.  And she’s got a brain tumor.”

Jack whipped his head back toward Jonah.  “A what?”

“A brain tumor.  They can’t operate on it.  Dad says she’s got a few months.”

“To live?”

“Yeah.”

Jack sat back in the booth.  He looked as if someone had just hit him in the stomach with an empty beer pitcher.  “Holy shit,” he finally said.  “How long have you known?”

“Since yesterday.”

"Why didn’t anyone tell me?”

“Well…you know how they are."

Jack snorted.  “Do I ever.  But only a few months…really?” 

Jonah nodded.

“But she still has all of her hair and whatever!”

“They’re not going to do chemo.  It won’t help, so Mom doesn’t want it.”

“What about Dad?”

“He said it’s up to her.”

“Oh, great.  He’s leaving critical life-or-death decisions up to the biggest ditz on the face of the planet,” Jack said, and grabbed his coat.  “I’m going over there.  Someone has to talk some sense into her, and it seems like I’m the only one in this family willing to do it.  I’ll see you later.”