We are now up to about 11:00am on my last full day in Colorado.
And, you will be relieved to note, the actual worst day of the whole saga.
The day of The Meeting was also my last full day in Colorado.
I’d prepared my father for my departure, reminding him that with a flight leaving at noon I wouldn’t have time to run all the way up to him in the morning and still make it to Denver in time to check in.
I was half hoping he’d change his mind about The Meeting, decide to spend his daughter’s last day in town actually with her, but no. As long as you make it to that meeting, I’ll be happy, he’d said.
So here I was, dragging my exhausted ass into the hospital for one last day on watch, and even that would be interrupted by the actual Worst Meeting Ever—and I’m including the times I had to sit and listen to a man with dreadlocks down to his ass lecture me on the poor feng shui of my desk while rearranging my shit before I’d finished my goddamned coffee.
I had done the right thing; I had told my father his idiot brother didn’t currently have the PoA he thought he did, even though in doing so I was almost certainly shooting myself in the ass. Or foot. Hell, probably both at the rate I was going.
I stopped for really excellent Mexican and got something with waaay too much cheese.
I went back the next day braced for whatever might come of my confession…
My father, in case you hadn’t guessed from other clues, has always been oddly old-fashioned about certain things.
I wasn’t allowed to get my license when I turned 16 because, according to him, I didn’t need it; I’d have a boyfriend to drive me anywhere I wanted to go anyway.
He objected to my choice to dye my hair, stating that God himself had chosen for my hair to grow a certain color and I couldn’t possibly know better than the almighty.
While he readily admitted (truly, without prompting) that women were free to wear whatever they liked, and should be comfortable in their clothing, he also expressed a strong preference for women—particularly his daughter—in a dress. Any dress. He wasn’t fussy about length or neckline or anything, just… a dress. Skirts were, in his opinion, a poor substitute; I never did figure out why. I had some damned cute skirts. But he gave them the same side-eye as my shorts, jeans, or anything else. Only a dress (mid-thigh or ankle length—he truly had no preference!) would get a genuine compliment out of him.
Now we come to two facts about me that are immutable yet have somehow gone unsaid on this blog:
I had a dilemma.
Mark—a known liar and universally recognized idiot—thought he had had a medical PoA for my father. He believed that Marsha had gifted it to him on her deathbed and—like any collectible item—it could be passed in exactly this fashion.
ME: He thinks he inherited it.
OFFSPRING: It’s not… what?!
ME: Like it’s a fuckin’ brooch or something. I don’t know…
OFFSPRING: Okay, but that’s not how legal documents work!
ME: I KNOW!
ME: Tell me ‘bout it.
OFFSPRING: Well, what are we gonna do?
ME: … I haven’t decided.
OFFSPRING: Whelp. You’ve got four and a half days to figure it out.
Let’s talk for a moment about my qualifications as a potential medical proxy:
And this thing? Jesus. If I did this thing for you in your hour of need you would beg me to take control of your shit. Which is why I waited until now to talk about it—I needed y’all to understand the kind of stress I’m under, and why I can’t go around performing miracles for all of you.
But I did perform a miracle in Colorado, right before I ended my first visit. And I will likely never get credit for it, because other people are assholes.
I had the medical PoA!!!
I mean, it wasn’t notarized or anything, but that was going to be done tomorrow, so no worries. And (bonus!) Dad was now hella suspicious of Mark and wanting to look into his shenanigans with the money. Hell, even if he turned out to be squeaky clean (which… come on. The man spent his days in the garage my daddy built, drinking beer and smoking pot; what were the odds he was paying for it himself every time?) the shadow of doubt had been cast.