My dad is...sick. He's always suffered from multiple mental and physical ailments, and he doesn't have a lot.
He's my world and he drives me nuts and challenges me to be a better artist and person, and I can't imagine my life without him. On Thursday, he had a lacuner stroke (which basically means that there are seven or eight small holes in his brain that are leaking fluid into his brain), and then another on Friday morning. He had and emergency quadruple bypass in May of 2009, and as I write this, they are putting a balloon in his heart in order to try and salvage his organs. Unfortunately, I'm not a doctor and I don't know exactly what all of this means, but I've been told by the doctor that at this point, he'll have some time left, but not much.
I love my dad. I have memories (not as many as I'd like, but I've got them). My little brother's ten. His life's just starting out. He's not going to get to look out into the stadium and see my dad's face when he plays his first football game. That fucking sucks more than anything, but it's true and it breaks my heart.