Why didn't she tell me. The feeling gnawed at the pit of my stomach. This woman called me about her ovarian cyst, her half drunk mother-in-law on the tubing outing, but now when the most devastating news came, it wasn't from her. Why did my grand daughter have to divert her eyes and slump into the leather chair. Her words stung me like a hornet, but buzzing at the back of my head was the thought that this had happened before. What did that mean about me? Should I have acted in some other way in the past. Was being supportive of her mother undermining my beautiful girls safety.
I unleashed the hounds. There was no way of knowing if this was the best decision, but like her father, I was not going to risk any more harm coming to our precious darling. Filing forms and making phone calls at least became a distraction. It was waking up and wishing I had a crystal ball that haunted me.
I might be tired of living. The luxury of my age has not afforded me a quietness.
"This is gonna get ugly. Don't be weak." He blared.
Weak or not, any step I take might be wrong. Any forward motion seems like pudding around my ankles. The advice is hard and my nature seeks joy, even in misery. A yogurt, fuzzy socks and the remote will have to suffice. The day is set, but the future is daunting.
