Made it home for Easter only to find out that my grandfather's in the hospital with pneumonia. I've been reading Joyce Carol Oates memoir called A Widow's Story. Her husband was in his 70s, caught a cold, which turned into pneumonia, then he got a secondary infection at the hospital, and he passed away. I'm drawn to stories about grief right now. Anyway, we're going to see him in the hospital later today.
I keep thinking of December 2010, when Bobbi, our dog of almost eleven years, was sick. She couldn't get up. My mom and sissy stayed with her, but I said I'd go to sleep and when I woke up, Bobbi would be okay. She passed away in the night and I didn't get to be there for her in her last moments. I just don't want to make the assumption that life will keep on going.