It looks as though my tiny Armenian grandmother's potential leprechaun birth, is actually just some lame tumors.
Cancer - Serving 3 bajillion and counting.
So. Yea. She's dying. It's even weird to type.
I don't like to talk about it. I am not sure what to say and when I do talk, it feels like I just spit out the same story, over and over again. To tell you the truth, I am getting bored with my own voice. Everyone wants to know what's going on, what's her condition, how she is doing, how I am doing. Fine, Everything is fine, you know, just like normal. I wake up too early in the morning, if I have slept at all, take a shower and cry my eyes out, face the day absorbed in my work, answer phone calls regurgitating information until I can go see her again and deal with the barrage of bizarre family issues surrounding her deterioration, back home to collapse in a heap of exhaustion and silence as my brain tries its hardest to process what's happening.
At night I feel like a zombie who has the flu unable to sleep for the nightmares.
I am sad, angry and very bitter; at the choices, judgement and assumptions, of which I won't speak to, lest my tongue lash lasting stripes on those around me.
Issues and memories like swollen nerves.
This week I am going to have to figure out how to wash this all away. There is not enough time, we never have enough time and I don't want to waste it, my choices more important than my feelings at the moment.
What matters most is that I see and talk to her as much as I can before she leaves. I am going to miss her so fucking much.
This amazingly strong, beautiful woman who provided my sister and I an unparalleled environment of peace amidst the chaos of a violent sea at war with a stormy sky.
She said to me last week there was nothing quite like being a grandmother. I disagree. Being her granddaughter has made me richer than a thousand Persian Princesses.
I'd give her the moon if she asked. But true to form, she is content with only salty, greasy french fries from McDonald's. With ketchup.
Never forget the ketchup.