Dad, under the impression that Margaret is unjustly persecuting him by kicking him out, goes off in a huff to visit my Mother (his ex-wife). He does try to contact her first but never managed to reach her (she was out) but he goes anyway. It was actually a two-fold visit - he had a car full of stuff that he wanted to store in a friends garage and he said he was going to clear out my Mother's garage for her, to help her move. Both of these things he did no problem. Lord knows what conversation ensued when Mum turned up to find my Dad in the garage. She said he looked awful, I believed her. Anyway, whatever happened, happened and Dad spent Friday night at my Mothers house (in my old bed - there's a reason for me mentioning that in a minute). Mum had already arranged to go out and she was worried that Dad was going to go round to the pub and drink himself stupid. She told him that if he did he wasn't getting in the house. He didn't, thank goodness, and everything was ok.
Until Saturday morning, 10am. When I recieve a phone call from a panicked Mumsy. Dad was bleeding everywhere and Mum couldn't figure out why. She'd called the ambulance and thought she'd best let people know. I had already planned to go to Mum's house anyway to help her clear some more crap from the loft (because we're all too scared, or resigned to the fact that he won't help, to call my brother) but I wanted to rush out earlier. However I knew this was my mother and if I didn't shower first she'd pick up on it. As it was, despite showering and putting on clean clothes, she chose to pick on the fact that I'd not shaved. But that's by the by. As I drove to my childhood home I wondered what could've happened to amek my Dad "bleed everywhere". Various ideas filled my mind but I just drove, knowing that letting my imagination work wouldn't help anything.
As I reached my Mum's house (and after a debacle involving Mum making me park on the drive instead of on the pavement like I wanted to) I found it was all over. Nothing serious, well, kinda. My Dad's blood sugar had fallen, a result of him not eating/drinking or taking his mediciine, he'd fainted and banged his head on my desk and bled all over the floor (making a mess of my carpet which I 'told him off' for :P). He's got a nasty cut and some bruising and swelling, and I'm sure his pride is hurt, but otherwise he's fine. However, if my Mother wasn't there he might not have been.
On Tuesday/Wednesday my alcoholic father is moving into a place of his own and, I know find out, he's refusing to get a phone installed because he "doesn't like them." So how in the world, short of people visiting him every day, which he'll complain about because we're checking up on him, are we meant to know he's ok?
This latest bout of intensive drinking all started when, a few months ago, my brother and his girlfriend, rang Margaret and Dad to complain that Emma wasn't recieving enough attention for the fact that she was pregnant. Boo Hoo. During those conversations, and probably because he was pushed by Emma, my brother called my Dad a "Fucking waste of space." This has shaken my Dad deeply. My brother did ring back a few weeks after the event and bumbled through something resembling an apology (without actually being one) and then hasn't been in touch since. Now, Dad sees that he's being 'kicked' out of Margaret's house (despite the fact that he's ultimately caused it by hiding his drinking and lying to Margaret) he's drinking even more. What's to stop him doing something very, very stupid when he moves into his house by himself?
And I'm writing this today because it's this tale I SHOULD be sharing with my brother but can't be bothered as I know it will be a waste of time. My brother has given up on my Dad as far as I can tell and if I ring him I'll only get into an argument I'm sure. That and the fact that I need to ask his assistance with helping Mum move house but I've got a bad feeling in my gut that Emma won't let him help. So instead I'm going to watch a DVD.
I shouldn't worry so much about something I can't change but I feel that to not worry would make me callous and cold hearted, and I'm not.
[Listening to: Down Too Deep - John Wright Band - Ride The Rolling Sky (5:02)]