I Didn't See It Coming...

We're all so narcissistic. We think everything is about us. In three readings now, I got that fucking Tower card. Always right in front of me. Right on the edge of it. And I thought it was about me. I thought it meant something for me. I wanted it to be positive. I thought it was about my trip, because that trip was all about me. But sitting in Las Vegas, I looked around, happy and content and thought, "This isn't it." Remember back last month, I told you my Dad had been having chest pains but we knew it wasn't his heart? We suspected however that it had to do with his lungs because of his asbestosis and silicosis? My dad thought it might be a couple of slipped discs in his neck pinching a nerve. Right. I said I was afraid some more terrible had taken a hold of him? How about the x-ray showing a spot on his lung bigger than a 50 cent piece? I know what you're thinking... "*gasp* Ohhh... that doesn't sound good..." But what you're going to say is... "Inanna, really, it might not be that." And I'm gonna say, "Sure... you're exactly right! All that wheezing, coughing, trouble breathing, chest pain, fatigue, and weakness... not to mention that spot... eh... could be... something else." Anyway, people survive lung cancer all the time. We can cross our fingers and hope that IF it is lung cancer that its not the real nasty kind, like mesothelioma, or even small cell. We'll hope its localized and hasn't spread anywhere. All that went through my head, maybe more. My dad had just asked me if I had finished paying for the my tires yet, the tires I got for my trip to NOLA/Houston. I was like, yeah, I payed for them when I got them. But my dad pulls out his wallet and he fishes out a $100 bill and he hands it to me (my Mom was in the bathroom) and says, "Well, I want to help pay for them." "Thanks Dad." "I'm going to pick up J2 on Monday if JMom will let me. I have to go back to C-burg on Friday." "Oh, really?" (He goes there all the time) "Yeah, they found a spot on my lung in the chest x-ray," he holds his hand out and circles his fingers in a shape larger than a 50 cent piece. Then, all the stuff I wrote comes to mind. "I'm having a CT scan. I guess I'll know if they want to do a biopsy what it is." He waved his hand in the air, "Hell, we already know, don't we Sis?" A moment of clarity descended on me. Why my mother was emotional about me wanting to move. With my brother gone and the other three grandchildren leaving next weekend, plus the chest x-ray results, she's probably in serious need of a Valium. Or Porzac. Or both. Yet when she returned from the restroom and re-entered the conversation, she deftly avoided saying anything at all. Denial. Denial. Denial. My dad and I looked at each other as stoic as chess pieces. As I've said, my dad is very matter-of-fact about these things but before he dropped his eyes, I saw sadness. That hurt. Done for today, but not over.