text: Part of the fallout from Obama demonizing Wall Street and banks in general is that some folks will take that attitude as a justification to default on their loans and use the "their all crooks" argument to justify it in their mind.
  Remember, nobody forced these people to take these loans. The did have choices and took the money gladly. Yes, the situation is tragic for all concerned. But when you just openly refuse to pay anything and continue on living as if you own the place with no intention of ever paying a dime you lose my sympathy and make me root for the eviction notices to fly. That is theft of services.
  Call me cruel, but I would hope that the courts in question would move these folks up to the front of the eviction hearing list and throw them out but quick.
  
  The lesser used definition of twilight is a period or state of obscurity, ambiguity, or gradual decline. To me, this is the perfect definition for the space I now observe my father to be occupying.
  Tom spends his days in a kind of limbo. His post-surgery rehab is complete and so he must leave Greenwich Hospital. Yet he is not actively dying, as the medical staff categorise the next stage, so it’s too soon for palliative care. Going home is the preferred option. He wants it. Mum wants it, we all want to him to come home. Sadly, it’s not possible. His medical care is classified as ‘high’ and even with modifications to their ground floor apartment with no steps, the care requirement is too intense. Even with regular nursing help, even with all hands on deck, the right and heartbreaking decision we must face is to find an aged care facility. A nursing home. The one place mum promised dad he would never go to.
  The site of Greenwich Hospital on Sydney’s lower north shore has had an interesting life. The land was originally home to the Cammeraygal clan of the Guringai nation. Between 1936 and 1977 it was Pallister Girls’ Home set up as a safe haven for girls in need. Tom was referred to Greenwich Hospital post-brain surgery in early December. He’d had two of five tumours removed in an effort to regain mobility. Four months earlier he’d had lung surgery for the first metastatic melanoma tumour. By the time the brain tumours appeared, he was – almost to the day – six months into his new life with terminal cancer. Now here we are, a blessed two bonus months of Tom we didn’t expect to have. Even more amazing is that he is currently pain free – at no stage, other than post-operative discomfort, has he suffered the physical agony of this hideous disease. Miraculous is – for once – the appropriate word.
  But the time has come to leave, and the time has come to tell dad he’s not coming home. I exit the hospital lift on the Banksia level and mum is waiting in reception. She’s sitting on the edge of the seat with her bag on her lap, both hands clutching the handles. She is and looks exhausted. Tom is her first and only love. They met when she was seventeen, a country girl from Gunnedah at her first big city dance. The venue was a church hall in Manly on Sydney’s northern beaches. Mum was there with her friend Nola who knew Tom. Nola introduced them, Tom was stunned and instantly in love, mum was underwhelmed. Tom went home and told his mother he’d just met the girl he was going to marry. He has told us this story so many times. She was wearing a purply dress he recalls, and it was booby. Mum always rolled her eyes at this point. We’ve seen pictures of mum at this time. She was young and innocent, classically beautiful with a pixie haircut and sparkling green eyes. We doubt she was ‘booby’ but it’s dad’s story. Fast forward sixty years and here she is, waiting to speak with the hospital counsellor about our options. Waiting to discuss the very short future of the man she met and married three years after refusing to go out with him. The man she raised three children with, the man she travelled the world with, cared for, who took care of her with such love through many years of her own rehab.
  Back at Greenwich, we are lucky that counsellor Megan is somewhere between my age and mum’s. She is warm, honest, compassionate. She has just put her own father into a nursing home. You are doing the right thing she tells mum. Mum folds and refolds the sodden tissue. We are all criers in our family but not like this. We cry in movies, at school concerts, watching our kids play sport. Happy/sad tears. These are just sad tears. There is no other option Megan tells mum. He must be safe, you must be safe. He needs a high level of care and these facilities will provide that.