Conflicted Grief

My father's dying, and we're all having blast. Sounds... odd, yes? And we're not having fun all the time, but dad seems to have decided that snark and sarcasm are going to get him through this, so snark and sarcasm it is. And we're laughing, a lot, maybe because laughing is easier than crying.

A couple of stories:

Dad saw a physical therapist at the cancer center because he hasn't been able to walk for a long time, and he's getting tired of sitting. In her snottiest voice, she responded, "You do know you have cancer, right? It's in your lungs and your brain."

And in his most sarcastic voice (what's left of it) he responded, "Don't forget the ribs!"

The Cancer Center gave Mom a great big waste of paper from LiveStrong, Lance Armstrongs foundation. It's basically Cancer for Dummies, dumbed down quite a bit. They define sadness and what can cause sadness, for fuck's sake! It also says that if you can't express your feelings in words, you should paint them. Sister then went to Dad and told him that if he ever needs to express any feelings, he could paint them. She got flipped off for her troubles. Then Sister's best friend M got in on it. Now my parents have fingerpaints, paper, canvas and squirt guns for dad to shoot people who annoy him.

We're getting by.