Other people have family troubles and still manage to mow their lawn. They should have a little pride in ownership, for cryin’ out loud!”
My grandfather’s cheeks are seriously flushed, but his voice is rock-steady as he says, “They don’t own that house, Rick.
The landlord is supposed to maintain the premises, but he doesn’t.
And since Juli’s father is responsible for his brother, all their reserves go to his care, and obviously it doesn’t come cheap.”
Very quietly my mom asks, “Don’t they have government facilities for that kind of thing?”
“I don’t know the details, Patsy. Maybe there are no government facilities nearby.
Maybe they thought a private facility was a better place for him to be.”
“Still,” my dad says, “there are government facilities available, and if they don’t want to go that route, that’s their choice.
It’s not our fault their family had some sort of chromosomal abnormality, and I refuse to feel guilty for wanting—”
My grandfather slams his hand on the table and half-stands as he says, “It had nothing to do with chromosomes, Rick!
It was caused by a lack of oxygen at birth.” He brings his voice down, but it makes his words seem even more forceful.
“Juli’s uncle had the umbilical cord wrapped around his neck. Twice.
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