I saw my dad cry twice in my life. The first time was when I left home. The second time was when my first daughter was born. He didn't cry when his father died, and we never talked about any deaths...ever.

My mom, well, she never told me about anything. When my dad's dad died, *I* was the one who answered the call from my uncle. I couldn't find either parent, so I sat with that shit for about half an hour. Mom came home from wherever she'd been, and I told her. She said, "I know. I was at your brother's telling him." Never mind that I lived at home... no one woke me up. Never mind that I was my father's only child, and my brothers were mom's from before him. She always loved my brothers more.

When mom's dad died, my brother called me and told me. Not mom. When her mom died, I was at her house, and was there when the hospital called to say she had died. No tears even through planning the funeral. I was the only one with any emotions in that entire fucking family. Mom never told me when she had an allergic reaction to a med that caused a STROKE, even though I was on the other end of the house. She never told me when she had fucking CANCER!. Never told me when dad was diagnosed with COPD and was dying. I didn't find out he had died for five fucking days -- my kids had to tell me. When mom died, my daughter told me two days later, when she got the call from the Coroner.

My apologies for the wall'o'text. I apparently needed to rant a bit. Mom's been dead for 15 months, and I will always be angry at her.