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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