Waking the Dead

A very bold and stark title granted, but this explains quite well a visit this afternoon to my parent's with my son. Just what is it with donning a dressing gown and slippers at 4pm? Is this an age thing? One things for sure, it irritates me, a lot,especially when I have to wait an eternity in the freezing cold for one of them to finally emerge and unlock the bloody front door. Abject misery would sum up our visit. I felt obliged as it had been two weeks since they had seen my son and my mother in particular will make a point at every opportunity to remind me of how long it's been since she last saw him. Of course two weeks is made to feel like a month or two and despite my reminding them of this fact, they will still claim that he's grown a foot in height or developed an advanced vocabulary. I know they are fond of my son and I'm keen for them to see him as often as possible. The fact is that they don't drive so it is incumbent upon me to take him to them. It irritates me hugely that they don't bother to call or make any effort whatsoever to visit. They would sooner fester in misery. Is it any wonder then that I feel so depressed at every visit? It's hard to describe the hard done by welcome we receive. It's something that frustrates my wife enormously and I know that her absence from our visit this week was duly noted. They know she isn't impressed with them, probably in the same way I don't respect my in-laws for their 'black and white' attitude to life and lack of understanding when it comes to my illness. I expect there are relationships like this the world over and that this is not an exceptional case.I wonder...