Eeyore

I don't know how many people still check the blog. But I don't feel like calling anyone, or sending a mass email, so here goes.

My 92 year old grandmother is in the hospital. She had pneumonia, and even though the antibiotics seem to be working, she is so weak she can't raise a glass of water to drink. My family is flying out tomorrow to see her.

Today I went to work feeling as though an invisible blanket of thick fog had settled over my head and shoulders. It's a little bit harder to breath. It's a little bit harder to think. There is a pressure behind my eyes that I would say were tears only my cheeks are dry. I can feel my heart beat.

It's not like things have been good for a while. She's been in assisted living for the past several years, and we've had to have someone come in to take care of her every day. She's going deaf but is too proud to wear hearing aids. Sometimes she remembers who I am and sometimes she calls me Amy. She can't walk without help, and she's spent most of her time in bed, sleeping or watching TV or something in-between. And all of this I hear from my Uncle, because we stopped our yearly visits a while ago.

I know she isn't the grandmother I remember. She hasn't been that person in a long time. The house she lived in and that my father grew up in was torn down and replaced with one of those multi-million dollar homes years ago. I'm sad to not have visited her more, but those visits to see her dazed and weak were sadder. There is no silver lining to this cloud, only the inevitable. And the waiting.