mourning

In a little bit, my phone will ring.

It will be my brother. My brother, who's had a difficult go of life and has trouble getting it all together. Right now his telephone service is shut off. He didn't pay his bill in time. But my mom has called Home Depot, where he works third shift, and left a message for him to call me when he gets in because there have been family emergencies.

Perhaps I'll ask him how he is. What he's been up to lately. Or if he's in a hurry, or not allowed to talk long, there will be no time to soften the blow.

"Grandpa Murnahan died tonight," I will tell him. I have a lot to tell him, so hopefully I will be able to keep it all together.

"I'm not sure when the services are. Will you be able to come? Is there any other way to get in touch with you?"

And then I will have to tell him about Dad. He, in essense, had a heart attack Friday night. He's at a hospital in Greenville (two hours from his home) where he's been since Saturday night, the night that my baby sister got married.

Dad seems to be doing really well. They put a stunt in his heart and did an angioplaste today. Tomorrow they will insert a defibulator, which I think is similar to a pacemaker if not the same thing, but I could be wrong. Mom says he might get to come home on Friday.

The last time I visited my grandfather, I cried all the way home. Somehow in my heart, I knew it'd be the last time I'd visit him. I couldn't stop hugging him, or kissing his bald, jaundiced forehead. We all knew the time was near.

And the time was tonight.