I can’t believe this. Desi Brother doesn’t seem to be reacting.
“How are they going to get around? He can’t walk and she can’t drive. And what about all the stairs? And uneven pavement…What if he falls down? How are they getting luggage off the conveyor belt in Delhi?” I ramble. I just finished talking to my mother and immediately called Desi Brother about this India trip.
“Say something!” I yelp into the phone. He sighs. “This is why we don’t tell you anything. You over-react,” he mutters. For some reason, in my immediate family, I am the healthy one – despite being the stressed out one with the penchant for drink. So all of them, at one time or another, had some health issue that they kept from me.
For someone who is usually pretty tough, their health issues reduce me into a puddle. I guess you can always buy a new pair of jeans, but I am not getting another mother, father or brother this go around. And frankly, I lucked out with destiny.
“Look, they are our parents, not our kids. I realize they are slowing down. I realize their health is what it is. I realize that they are not 40. This is life. Am I thrilled about this? No. But they gotta do what they gotta do."
Ack. Why must he be so calm and rational?
“Fine. I won’t say another word. But I get to worry,” I reply with defeat. “Deal,” Desi Brother says.