04.13.10
As Time Goes By
Some days I worry. My grandmother is not as young as she used to be. My Dad says she’s getting more and more feeble as time goes by. She is 97 years old. Still, I never want to think of being without her. Maybe I’m asking for too much, but I’d love for her to live to see the century mark. I reminded her of that when I talked to her on the phone last weekend. I mentioned it when she brought up her funeral out of the blue as she usually does.
“So let’s talk about this funeral,” she began.
“Whose funeral?”
“Mine,” she said definitively.
“I thought you were going to try to live to see 100.”
“I did have someone tell me her mother lived to be 120,” she said thoughtfully.
I finally got her mind off of all the funeral talk by turning the conversation to one of her friends. Apparently, she thought my line of questioning was a little too nosy.
“I stopped asking people their business,” she finally told me. “If they want you to know, they’ll tell you.”
That’s my grandmother. She tells it like it is.
I finally looked at the clock, realizing it was approaching nine o’clock Eastern time, past her bedtime.
“Well, are you about to go to bed?”
I had to sort of scream the question (her hearing’s getting bad).
“I’m in the bed.”
“Oh, I’ll let you go to sleep then. I’ll give you a call tomorrow.”
“Okay,” she said.
She didn’t argue with me as she does some nights, so I knew that meant she was ready to go to sleep. I ended the conversation the way I always do.
“Love you,” I screamed.
All I heard was a click as she hung up the phone. Oh, well. I’m not offended. I know she loves me too.
