Things went wrong before they even started. My dad offered to drive me to Coburg, six hours one way, over the weekend. He'd stay the night, maybe visit the castle, and drive back. A simple, foolproof plan.
Until my grandmother, my last grandmother, woke up with excruciating pain. She was rushed to the hospital, but there wasn't much to do. By the time she got there and the problem was located, her brain had been deprived of oxygen for so long, there was permanent damage.
Grandma had never been the image of health, which meant that she could either very likely die on the operating table, or survive and live an even smaller life than she already had. The other option was something for her pain. I'd like to say I'm sad, but I'm not. Maybe it makes me a cold or horrible person, but I have been saying goodbye for the past few years as I saw her become more and more dependant on other people and medication. I didn't cry.
My grandfather arrived too late to say goodbye. The stress and sadness caused his heart rythm to become erratic. He's expected out of the hospital soonest on Wednesday. I was worried, but by the time I heard, my father could also tell me that it wasn't serious. A simple, routine operation, and he would be good as new.
The funeral is next Saturday. The memorial service the Friday night before.
And my move has been put off until the 15th.
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