Friday, May 18, 2018

In Which We Run Away to San Diego Rather Abruptly

My mom has five brothers. One of those brothers made a series of poor decisions that made him unpleasant and even unsafe to be around. When I was small, she cut off all contact with him.

A justified decision, to be sure. But maybe not a merciful one. Later, she regretted it. So the last time we went to Disneyland as a family, we swung by San Diego to pay him a visit. Since then, he and my mom have been in regular contact.

Now he has a degenerative disease (I'm the worst with diseases; I don't remember which one). In March, we thought he was going to die. Mom resolved that she would go visit him. It was decided that she and Dad would take the trip over Easter weekend, and I would stay with my brothers.

But wait! If they were going to spend the money to go, then Mom wanted to go for several days, but my dad had a project on a deadline. His schedule didn't allow that. Unfortunately uncle's facility is in a pretty sketch part of town, and neither of my parents wanted my mom to go alone. Plus she would be gone during my brothers' spring vacation, so my brothers would be sitting home bored while everyone else was at work.

Every possible combination of days and travelers was proposed, but nothing seemed to work. Finally, it was decided that my mom and dad would drive out to San Diego the Friday before Easter (Passover). They would take my brothers with them, and they would take me, too.

Yes, me. It was an extremely last-minute vacation (and it arguably wasn't a vacation). But I had to go. My dad was going to fly home on Easter Sunday so that he could get back to work, and driving is not my mom's forte. I was coming so that we could switch off driving the rental car on the way back to Utah.

Which is how I found myself bundled in the back of a rental car (again), hurtling towards Las Vegas and, beyond it, San Diego.

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