Sunday, August 20, 2006

Congestive Heart failure.

Three little words. Put life in so much perspective.

Plumbing, paint, tile, relationships don't seem to hold as much interest or import as they did 2 hours ago.

My grandma is lying in a hospital.

Grandma. She's in her late 80's... 86? Maybe 87. Apparently I look like her. And laugh like her.

When we were kids, she was the one who looked after us come harvest time when everyone was working. She taught me to play old maid and go fish. As time went by, we started playing canasta and 500. Then golf and 5-in-a-row as her age made thinking games harder for her.

She can't remember what someone said 2 days ago, but she still remembers me having a melt down and yelling at my ex's nephew one christmas 3 or 4 years ago.

She's the person who taught me to crochet. She loves knitting and crochet and quilting. Anything to keep herself busy. Gardening. Houseplants - unlike me, she doesn't kill 'em all.

She used to square dance and go to every garage sale in town. She loves books.

She's been in my life from the start. Birthdays. Christmases.

She's still on medication, but off the oxygen.

My grandma is dying. It's a harsh reality to face. Mom said she could go at any time. Way to sugar coat it.

At her age, even if she makes it through this...sigh.

death. life. family.


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