Thursday, November 6, 2014


One of my aunts has a cancer. It’s all about percentages. And also genes, I guess. She’s about to die. Now, thing is she has a son. The father is a dangerous drunkard, to make it short. Well, it might depend on the day, but generally he is, and he has no house, he lives here and there, depending on the girlfriend of the moment. The boy is twelve. My own son is seven, and the youngest, two. I can’t keep him, and it feels so wrong…
My aunt keeps thinking she’s going to get better, maybe she’s just saying… Her son doesn’t know she won’t. They have to move… They live in another city and we can’t help them there. They don’t want to leave their everything there. Not that they have a lot of things, it’s not really things what they have…

It’s hard.

We are holding plenty of family meetings. We are taking plenty of difficult decisions. We are trying to reach plenty of agreements.

It’s hard.

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