Well.

Oct 18, 2004 15:08

It's so weird to hear that someone you've known all your life will probably die within five days.

My grandmother has had Alzheimers for at least fifteen years. She's bedridden, she's stopped eating, and her brain really isn't all there anymore. So, I'm pretty much okay with it. And I'm actually glad that it'll be over for her soon.

They want me to read a poem at the service, and I'm really not sure the one I wrote about her last year will be appropriate. Maybe I can find something nice by Robert Frost, or e.e. cummings. Or Emily Dickinson. She always seemed like an Emily Dickinson reader, so even though Emily Dickinson makes me want to shoot my face off, maybe I could do that. But aren't all her poems about depression and dead flies on windowsills? Robert Louis Stevenson seems like a better bet, actually.

Sigh. Yeah. It's just weird. I feel so incredibly callous and yet justified about it at the same time. As you can guess, we were never very close in recent years.

But on the other hand, I really loved last night's Dead Like Me.

misc_poetry, life_oh life

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