Bus Error, Core Dump

 

“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?”