Institution

The call comes in, "I'm in such and such institution." Again? Why? Nobody knows. Your father says it is because he was the youngest and always needed attention. Now, this is how he gets it. Your uncle, not the one in bed but the one that sued your father after your grandma died (but your father assures you he is an incredible brother), suggests he should live in a assisted care facility. Attention. He needs more attention; maybe if he can play a game in the community center, it'll help. Is he sick? Is mental illness just a mirage? Diagnosis. Does the doctor think he needs just a little more attention? He is an old man now: the one who told you the world was ending and he bought dog food for you to eat before 2-0-0-0 officially was rung in (he had estimated your weight and figured how much you'd need for at least a year). He loves you, this man "sick" in a bed somewhere. He took you to the movies every year right after Thanksgiving dinner. What is wrong with him? Does anyone in your family know? Or truly care? Care enough to admit there might be something in the family. Something in our very blood.