So, my brother called me from Georgia yesterday to report that Dad was at the ER. I half-wish I were the kind of person who could feel like this was poetic justice. He fucked up his knee.

Well, his knees are already good and rightly fucked. He’s having knee replacement surgery after the holidays. But rather than take it easy until then, he has to drive all over tarnation and clean people’s bathrooms against their will and move couches to complain about the things behind them.

And so, when he got down to my brother’s, he ended up at the ER.

This has lead to a family kerfluffle because my brother is pissed that my parents went to the ER before he went to work, but didn’t bother to call and tell him until after he was at work and couldn’t leave to be with them. The Butcher is pissed because they briefly seemed like they had this idea that they could just stay in Georgia until Dad was off his pain killers and then he could drive them home.

But now it appears that they’re going to stay in Georgia until this weekend, at which point my brother will drive them in their van this far and then rent a car home. Then the Butcher will drive them in their van home and rent a car and come home.

I have, thankfully, been left out of the negotiations. And you know what? It’s weird and nice. For the first time in my life, my brothers are taking care of the crisis. Completely. All I have to be is moral support.

When I realized that I was being kept out of the loop of planning or participating in this madness, my first thought was “Great, they can deal with this.” Not, “Oh my god, they’re going to kill Mom & Dad.” Not “But I must swoop in and help.” Just “Yep, those grown ass men can handle this.”

It’s what my dad’s always wanted, I think–for his boys to care about him and take care of him. And now they are, so that’s nice.

Can I admit, though, I feel a little like I’m cheating? Like, I know that I should be stressed up the butt about this. I know I would normally feel anxious and I’d be calling every hour to see what’s going on. I know, thanks to so many family crises, exactly how I react in these situations.

And I’m skipping out on all the emotional burden thanks to the medicine.

Sorry, brothers.

I’m concerned, of course. But they can handle it.