Don't worry about me

Besides goodbye and I love you, the last thing my grandmother said to me was don't worry about me.

I'm working on that.

She's now beyond conversation. She says things, but they're not in the context of give and take. They're just blurtings.

I didn't know that the last time she said goodbye, only Tuesday, would be, well, goodbye.

I'm living two lives right now. One is on death watch and dreading the ring of the telephone. The other one is blissful.

Blissfully enjoying music: Last night well after midnight Tall Son knocked on my bedroom door and asked What's the name of that song? It's not "I Want My MTV." I understood the question, vague though it was. "Money for Nothing", I replied, and by this morning, he'd purchased that and "Sultans of Swing" and "Walk of Life" from iTunes and we were making ourselves deliriously dizzy with Dire Straits, playing those songs over and over. It's hard to be sad when you're singing Money for nothing and your chicks for free! at full volume.

Blissfully enjoying loved ones: I had lunch with Marine Son, Indian Princess, First Grandson, and Tall Son at Johnny Carino's. I love its decor; I could live there, at least as a second home. And these people to whom I am related are astonishingly beautiful. And often clever.

Blissfully enjoying purging: I'm going through a lot of junk. I have three piles: yard sale, trash, keep. So far, not so much keep.

And while I live the blissful life, now and then and without warning, my stomach clenches and I burst into tears. Then it passes.

And I work on not worrying.