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My stepmother called yesterday. I should have called her a week ago, probably, but we were busy renovating our bedroom and the phone was temporarily disconnected as we solved some current issues. She told me how yet once more, my dad tried to maim himself accidentally. He has a tendency of leaning towards indirect suicide, mostly because he is old, tired and has had too many strokes; yet he'd never give up. Giving up doesn't run in the family, it can be hard at times.

He was in the garden and for some odd reason no man nor god will ever know, he decided to move a 200 kg heavy mosaic plate of the lovely Jesus Christ. Jesus then promptly toppled over, barely missed my dear father and fell flat on himself. Unfortunately, a not so heavy but still very heavy iron tube came crashing along and found itself on my dad's foot. His foot was not pleased and neither was he, but at least this time he didn't break anything of himself.

My stepmother was not pleased, but she never is with him and he never learns. They quarrel and hiss and nag at each other, but when we don't look they hold hands and kiss and tell each other things I always suspected my father capable of. I've never caught him in the act of being truly kind, but there is proof enough. In their silly little ways, they take care of each other and fill the void of time with cake and cookies and too many chocolates.

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