“It’s about Mom," Jonah said.
"What about her?" Jack asked, his eyes still glued to the television. "Did she burn another
pot roast on Sunday?”
“Yeah.
And she’s got a brain tumor.”
Jack whipped his head 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, his expression like someone had just hit him in
the stomach with an empty beer pitcher.
“Holy shit. How long have you
known?”
“Since Sunday.”
“Why didn’t anyone tell me?”
“You know how they are.”
Jack made a rude noise. “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.”
“Dad's going along with that?”
“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 jumped up 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.”
The door slammed behind him.
A couple of hours later Jack stomped back into
Jonah’s living room. “It’s amazing we
were born with any brains in our head, considering the morons who conceived
us,” he said bitterly. “No chemo, no
radiation, no nothing. She’s just giving
up.”
“The doctors said it was
hopeless."
"But even if there's a remote chance
that treatment would work, isn’t a remote chance better than no chance?” Jack
crumpled his jacket into a ball and chucked it across the room. “I just can’t believe
this. I had no idea.”
“She has been acting weird lately, I guess.”
“Who can tell?” Jack shot back. “She’s always acting weird. How was I supposed to know that this week it
meant she had a terminal illness?”
