I keep writing posts in my head, which makes me feel like I’m still blogging. Turns out the Internet isn’t actually plugged into my brain yet, though, so I suppose it doesn’t count. (And, really, didn’t Keanu Reeves teach us all what a bad idea that would be?)
Most of the aborted posts were about my grandpa, abandoned because I couldn’t quite figure out what to write.
One of them started to sound like a plea for health-care reform, but I didn’t want to politicize the illness of someone I love.
In some, it seemed like I was questioning decisions my grandma has made on his behalf, when really I have the utmost respect for her and everything she’s done.
Sometimes, I thought I was treading dangerously close to demanding acclaim for the paltry contributions I’ve been able to make to the family cause .
Other times, it was more like I had no right to complain about the “crisis” of a family with access to safe hospitals, good doctors, and food that can be delivered to one’s door.
I don’t want to go on saying nothing, however. He’s been fighting this latest illness for so long, and we are all so stressed and tired. I need my outlet. In the interest of avoiding landmines, I will keep it simple:
My grandpa is sick, probably so sick that he won’t go back home — at best, he’ll need 24 hour care in a nursing home. I am sad.