My Marge

My grandmother was admitted to the hospital about a month after my mom died. Congestive heart failure.
I called this morning to check in on her. My aunt called me later - the nurse is going to talk to the doctor about hospice for my grandma. She is sick and she is dying.

My grandmother practically raised me. I was with her before school, after school, and all day long in the summer. I love my Marge. I adore her. I want to squeeze her when I am near her just for being who she is. I have her smile, I think. And she, like my mother, is my historian. When Ada was born there were 4 generations of women in her family. We are now down to three. We may soon be down to two - just me and Ada. That's half of our history. I am sad for myself but I am sad too for my sweet, sweet little baby girl.