My uncle called this morning to let me know that they were taking my grandma to the hospital. She was being put in the ambulance as we spoke. She was just in the hospital a little over a week ago. Diagnosis...congestive heart failure.
So I sit here waiting on word from those of my family that are at the hospital waiting for test results. And I worry.
I understand that I'm the worrying type. Shoot, my mom's nickname for years was worry-wart, so I guess I come by it honest. But this is my Ma Ma, my kids great-grandma. The heart and soul of our family.
It's hard to remember her age. She can outwork any 20 year old around. She still rakes her leaves. She loves to garden and could probably grow flowers straight out of the side of her house if she was ever to be given reason to try. She is always smiling, LOVES a good joke even though it's liable to make her laugh hard enough to pee her pants, and she can take a joke. She cracks herself up.
She has rocked 14 grand-children and 17 great-grandchildren, and taught each of them to sew or crochet if they are old enough. She digs flowers from her yard to send to those of us with homes and yards of our own. She dresses up on Halloween and laughs hysterically at the sight of herself and everyone who comes to visit her.
My Uncle Tony loves to get her a gag gift every year. One time it was a bit bottle of vodka. Ok it was a big vodka bottle filled with water and she had a great old time posing for pictures chugging from her jug. Another time it was a cup shaped like a boob. We have pictures of that too.
I owe her the worry, I feel. I'm 35 years old and she's called me first thing every day since I've been sick to see how I'm feeling and to offer to run errands I may not feel up to yet. She's sat with my kids when one had an appointment. She's cleaned my house before I got back. She's called to check up on my husband to see if he's ever going to get a day off work. She pinches off snips of flowers I manage to grow in my yard and sticks them in the ground at her house.
She lives her life like a child. Full of wonder at everything. She stops and sniffs out mysterious good smells in my yard and takes a pinch of whatever might be making it. She talks to her cat and to babies just like they know what she's talking about. She loves coffee, and peanut butter fudge and makes the world's best hot chow-chow.
She lives off of less than 700.00 a month and she will drop her last penny in the collection plate for a family she doesn't know, or drive to do a favor for someone when her car is running on fumes. She suffers more over the pain of others than to have to shoulder that burden herself.
She is love made flesh. She completes us.
There is not a soul in our family that doesn't realize that. There's not a single one of us that don't stop to realize that one day - maybe not this day, but one day we won't have her anymore. And we won't be complete.
So I sit here and worry.
So I sit here waiting on word from those of my family that are at the hospital waiting for test results. And I worry.
I understand that I'm the worrying type. Shoot, my mom's nickname for years was worry-wart, so I guess I come by it honest. But this is my Ma Ma, my kids great-grandma. The heart and soul of our family.
It's hard to remember her age. She can outwork any 20 year old around. She still rakes her leaves. She loves to garden and could probably grow flowers straight out of the side of her house if she was ever to be given reason to try. She is always smiling, LOVES a good joke even though it's liable to make her laugh hard enough to pee her pants, and she can take a joke. She cracks herself up.
She has rocked 14 grand-children and 17 great-grandchildren, and taught each of them to sew or crochet if they are old enough. She digs flowers from her yard to send to those of us with homes and yards of our own. She dresses up on Halloween and laughs hysterically at the sight of herself and everyone who comes to visit her.
My Uncle Tony loves to get her a gag gift every year. One time it was a bit bottle of vodka. Ok it was a big vodka bottle filled with water and she had a great old time posing for pictures chugging from her jug. Another time it was a cup shaped like a boob. We have pictures of that too.
I owe her the worry, I feel. I'm 35 years old and she's called me first thing every day since I've been sick to see how I'm feeling and to offer to run errands I may not feel up to yet. She's sat with my kids when one had an appointment. She's cleaned my house before I got back. She's called to check up on my husband to see if he's ever going to get a day off work. She pinches off snips of flowers I manage to grow in my yard and sticks them in the ground at her house.
She lives her life like a child. Full of wonder at everything. She stops and sniffs out mysterious good smells in my yard and takes a pinch of whatever might be making it. She talks to her cat and to babies just like they know what she's talking about. She loves coffee, and peanut butter fudge and makes the world's best hot chow-chow.
She lives off of less than 700.00 a month and she will drop her last penny in the collection plate for a family she doesn't know, or drive to do a favor for someone when her car is running on fumes. She suffers more over the pain of others than to have to shoulder that burden herself.
She is love made flesh. She completes us.
There is not a soul in our family that doesn't realize that. There's not a single one of us that don't stop to realize that one day - maybe not this day, but one day we won't have her anymore. And we won't be complete.
So I sit here and worry.
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