My mom has systemic lupus, and every once in a while, when we were kids, she’d have to spend a week or so at the hospital.
The first time that happened was when I was about 10, my dad ordered us kids outside to play while he made dinner.
He came out of the house an hour later and announced we were going to Burger King. When we got back home, he sent us straight to bed.
Later that night, when I was creeping out of bed to get some water, I found the kitchen destroyed.
There was flour everywhere, something unidentifiable burnt in a pan sitting on the stove, the refrigerator door was left open, the sink was loaded with all kinds of bowls and pots, he even managed to get what looked like jelly on the floor with a footprint in it.
I snuck past his room on my way back to bed, and I heard him crying. That was the night I found out dads could cry.
