Mysteries of the Heart

As a few of you know, I don't exactly have the best relationship with my father, Harry.  It's not awful anymore, rather not exactly there.  Quick background story, my mother was diagnosed with cancer when my twin brother and I were 6, she passed away when we were 14, almost 15.  For the last few years of her life my father wasn't around much, always working late or on business trips and when things got bad, I assisted Mom and took care of her as much as I could in between hospice and the nurses.  My father seemed to disappear in his own world more and more, sometimes taking my brother with him and I stayed home with Mom.  I was kind of a Mama's girl, so it was ok. When she passed though, he turned what was a bit of a habit into all out alcoholism.  I don't know if any of you have dealt with alcoholism much, but anger, grief and booze are kind of a recipe for disaster.  I look quite a bit like Mom, so things were worse for me most of the time.  He became abusive.  I understand it now, in a way, or I at least accept the hows and the whys of it.  I'm in counseling and I take anti-depressants for my anxiety, ptsd and depression.  My brother forgot about the four years after she died until we left for college until a few years ago when he began having flashbacks (yeah, really) reading his high school English class 1984 by George Orwell.  It was something we read the year she died, so it makes sense in some ways.  The human mind is odd.  That was three years ago.  He's still in counseling and on anti-depressants as well, but doing much better.  We both are.  So, why this post you may be wondering?  No, I don't normally spout out the more private things in my life, or I didn't use to.  I'm trying to work on that.  It's suppose to be therapeutic, I hear.  Personally, I think a five mile run works better, but it's dark and raining outside, so I'm out of luck there.  A few months ago, Harry went to the doctor and they found that his liver wasn't functioning as it should be.  Partially from the drinking, I'm sure, but they also found Hepatitis C in his blood work when they ran a bunch of labs.  To be honest, I don't know a lot about the disease, but I do know they think he contracted it many many years ago (before they screened blood) when he received a blood transfusion after losing his arm in a car accident.  His doctor suggested an antiviral treatment (I think that's what it is) which he was suppose to begin this month.  I just found out, although I'm not sure when the decision was made, that he will not be starting treatments and is apparently going to go to another doctor to get a second opinion.  When I worked up the nerve to call and inquire about this with Harry, he stated that he'd lived with it this long and it hadn't killed him yet.

I can't exactly explain to you why I'm upset, because I don't know.  I speak to the man, maybe four times a year and see him very infrequently and yet, I'm sad.  Like I said before, the human brain is odd, but I find the human heart to be even more strange.