“So, Dad, have you thought any more about the move?” Rich asked.
Just like that, our sweet little moment was gone. Dad’s whole demeanor changed. “Son, I don’t really have a choice. This is the best thing for us.”
“For who?” I asked. “How is this the best thing for you?”
“Stacey has a job lined up. Her sister lives there and the cost of living is cheaper.”
I couldn’t stop my frown. “Dad, you own your home. I don’t think it gets any cheaper than that.”
“We’re here,” Rich said. “Don’t you want to be near us?”
“Of course, but sometimes you have to do things for others,” he said.
“Dad, how hard is it going to be to see you?” I asked. “I don’t want to imagine not being able to jump in my car and visit you for breakfast or a quick lunch. What about Christmas? You’re leaving your friends and family behind for what? Is this really what you want to do?”
“It’s not that I want to do it, but it is for the best,” he said.
“It’s not the best for you,” I replied. “You have to see that. Your life is here. You’re not well, Dad. You need your doctor. You need your family.”
“I feel fine,” he said.
“You feel fine right now, but what if you have another flare up? What if the doctor decides you have to do the chemotherapy?”
“He said that was unlikely,” he replied.
“Unlikely, but possible,” Rich chimed in. “He warned you it could be necessary if you get into another bad flare that he can’t control with your normal meds.”
“They have doctors and hospitals in Calgary,” he said. “I’m not moving to a remote island. I’ll find a new doctor. People do it all the time.”
“When they have to,” I said. “You don’t have to. You have an entire support system here.”
“Stacey is moving,” he said. “I’m going with her.”
“What about the house?” I asked.
“We’ve been talking about selling it,” he replied. “I’ve had several realtors ask if I wanted to sell.”
“You could get a lot more if we took the time to fix it up,” Rich reasoned.
“It will sell for a great deal more than what I paid,” he said.
“This is our home, Dad,” I pleaded. “This is where all of our memories are.”
“My memories are here,” he said and tapped his head. “I don’t need a house to show me my memories.”
“Dad, we want you to stay,” Rich said. “If you’re worried about not having help, we promise to come around more often. I will make it a priority to be here.”
“Me too,” I chimed in. “I’ll find it in the budget to hire another employee. We’ll be here. Whatever you need, we’ll be here.”
“You guys don’t understand how relationships work,” Dad said without getting mad. “When you love someone, you make compromises. That’s how it works. This move is what Stacey needs. It’s not like I have a job. I can move. We’ll still see each other and there is always the phone.”
Rich was about to say something when the front door was thrown open. Stacey came inside, kicking the door shut without stopping her walk into the kitchen. “What’s going on?” she asked in a shrill voice.
“You’re back early,” Dad said.
Stacey came into the kitchen with a lit cigarette in her hand. She dropped the many bags she was carrying onto the floor at her feet. “I didn’t know we were having a family get-together today.”
“We were having a family get-together,” I hissed. “We are a family. You are not part of the family.”