It is a bittersweet time in the Sunshine home. Marty and I are basically Arizona natives, with his family moving from Pennsylvania two years before my family moved from Vermont. Arizona was a different place then. Our kids, of course, know no other home than the one they have now. And yet, in the next few weeks, we are promising to pack up our lives and relocate to somewhere else.
In the past two months, the three big stressors in my life have been my father's health, the mass in my arm (benign!!!) and Marty's job. Two of the three have been resolved. As I write this, I haven't shared the news with Dad. I should. I will. In all fairness, I told my father multiple times I was having surgery to remove a benign tumor in my arm and he swears I never said a word. Dad is today's problem.
Dad's decline has been exponential. He went from being tired, to hospitalized, to hospitalized again--this time with a two week stint in a rehab center--to more complications and finally he has decided (against doctor's wishes) to not see any more doctors. Of course, seeing a doctor or two might improve his quality of life. I've passionately argued this point, as have my brothers.
Telling Dad comes with baggage that is wrapped up in family history, differing values and strong personalities. I love him so much and yet he is my hardest hurdle. At this time it is my intention to visit him every month or so, while there is time for him to do that. But right now, today I need to make sure he just knows I am moving.
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