Tonight I learned that my grandmother has cancer.
She is ninety-two and believes that "when it is your time, it is your time."
Thus, she is refusing any treatment.
After receiving the news from my mom shortly after arriving home from work, I called my grandma, but upon hearing her voice, I just couldn't talk about it.
"How are you?" I asked.
"We're eating dinner," she said.
"Oh, sorry! What are you eating?"
She laughed. "Corned beef stew."
"Is it good?"
"Yes. Good. You want to come over for dinner?"
"We ate already."
"How's Rob?" she asked.
"He's at school."
"He's getting his degree soon."
"Oh!" she exclaimed. "I'm so proud of him!"
And she meant it. She said it so earnestly, and I started to cry.
"He's going far, and so is Zoe. You, too -- you went all the way."
"I'm so proud of all of you, and I love you all very much."
We made it through the rest of the phone call without talking about her health. Or maybe we did. She asked about my other grandmother, who has Alzheimer's, and I explained that she is coping. Many of her stories are about being young.
"That's good for her," my grandmother said. "Better that way. When we get old, it gets so hard, so sad."
"I love you, Grandma," I said in reply. It was the only thing to say.
When I made this layout two days ago, I didn't know she was sick. Would that have changed anything?
Now I realize that there is so much left to say.