Boy, a lot has happened in 24 hours.

Last night around midnight, I got a very long text message from my sister telling me that my dad went berserk when he found out we're thinking of selling our house in Vegas. He said things to the effect of "I'm going to kill myself and anyone who comes to look at the house." Saying that our mom set him up by having him come down to Orange County. I was asleep when I got that text; I stayed up for 2.5 hours after reading it. My mind kept going. Then the most upsetting thought that my imagination never allowed me to realize finally came to fruition - the image/dream I have for my future does not include him. My subconscious does not include him when I imagine my future. So what upset me the most in that 2.5 hours was the thought that my peaceful, comfortable, full future that I've become very attached to will have to include my mentally ill, alcoholic dad. I don't imagine it being as peaceful or comfortable any longer.

Then Connie texts me in the morning saying he apologized and they agreed that he'll only drink 3 beers today.

Then Connie texts me again this evening saying "I'm defeated." He ended up drinking 8 beers.

I call her to talk to her. She ends up putting him on the phone too. It was spontaneous and unexpected, and part of me thought "oh shit." But I was ready, I knew what I would say. See, I have not talked to my dad about his drinking since I last saw him in June 2012 when I left our Vegas home in a rage because he was being a lunatic drunk. But tonight I was put on the spot and I was prepared. I said to him that I'm working in the hospital now and I see lots of alcoholics. They can't remember anything and they have no family in their lives, and they are very sick. "You need to stop drinking."

"Do you understand?"

"Yes."

"I am almost a doctor. Do you believe me that you need to stop drinking?"

"I believe you."

Sigh. And then...he opened up to me in a broken, choked up voice about his suicidal ideation and his depression. "I have a mental illness. I want to commit suicide, I'm very unhappy. I don't want to live anymore."

"Why are you so unhappy?"

"You and Connie are so independent now."

That was weird. First of all, he should be proud and happy that we're independent. Second of all, he really is in denial about how he fucking failed as a care provider. He cooked for us and cared for us. I'll give him that. But he is not the reason we had a roof over our heads and clothes on our backs.

In the best Cantonese I could muster: "Dad, I know you are a good person. I know you love us. I want you to be the grandfather to my children because I know you are a good person. But you must stop drinking."

That is all the truth I can offer him. And I think that is all the help I can offer him too. In those few sentences, I gave him more love, more recognition, more of a reason to live and be a worthwhile person than I have ever given to him.

Getting the sense that my dad needs extreme measures to stop his extreme drinking, I suggested to Connie to let him go into alcohol withdrawal with requirement for medical care. Alcohol withdrawal is serious and possibly fatal. Yet I am so okay with it. Maybe I don't fully appreciate how dangerous it is because all I get to see are the ones who make it to the hospital, get treated with Valium and do fine. Desperate times call for desperate measures. And there is no better word than "desperate" to describe my dad, and even my mom too.