Humour in the face of death, part 7

Please, please, someone tell me why ageing and dying parents behave like irresponsible teenagers. This morning my father struggled out of his death bed, put some clothes on his bones, covered his protruding belly (from liver failure), stumbled down the stairs so that my mother - who of course did not say 'you can go on your own' - could drive him 90 km to church, a free Presbyterian church of all things. A church where he can't hear anything that is said, where neither of them can stand the mini