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Well, the cookies went over well. In retrospect it was too much work though, I always overestimate how much I can do in one evening and start projects at seven. Ah well.

I had only a half-day of work today and am already back home, filled with ambitions towards cleaning the apartment, et cetera. It's nice in here, quiet with just rain and Bach. I found out last night that Grandma is back in the hospital, now with pneumonia. At 95, something like that can really be deadly, especially in combination with her fall and everything. Her mental clarity is pretty bad too, apparently; she's not very responsive. It looks more to me like the fall was the result of another stroke or mini-stroke (whatever the hell that is.) I don't know how to describe what I'm feeling for her and for all of us. I'm so worried and then I feel stupid for worrying, because what I'm really afraid of is that she's going to die. And she is, of course. Maybe not in this round, but someday. It's something I've never seriously considered before--like I said, stupid, I know. I came home last night very upset and D was doing all of the typical male things-- find problem, find solution, fix problem-- and upset me more.

Men do this a lot I've noticed. It's not their fault and it's only because they don't like to see the people they care for upset by something. (Me man, me fix problem at hand. Crying girlfriend= leaky faucet. Where wrench?) It takes some learning to realize that what's required is a shoulder to cry on, not a new gameplan, ideas or airplane tickets. We used to go through this a lot when I was stressed out about school; he'd try to take over and ask all these stupid questions when all I wanted was a hug and maybe some sympathy and/or dinner. It would just make me feel defensive and inadequate, as though I were doing something wrong. As though if I'd done something differently (as suggested) then I wouldn't be stressed or upset, when some things, like trying to graduate, are simply stressful.

This is pretty much the first time that I've had to face the possibility of losing someone I love, and there's not a damn thing that D can do to fix it. He can't make Grandma any younger, fitter, or healthier or stop her from dying; all he can do is be there. I think that's hard for him. I'm being selfish, though, in a sense. My gut reaction is of course that she can't die! That's it's not fair! But I would not have her live to be 100 if it would be 5 years of pain and suffering, of mental confusion and with no independence, to be confined to a nursing home, an IV. Of course not. It's just that she's just such a tough bird, and this all came on so suddenly. Six months ago, she was still driving. Still in her own apartment. Still had the memory and mental accuity of someone half her age. (I mean that she hadn't gotten foggy or forgetful, not that oldsters aren't accute. Still knew the birthdays, addresses, phone numbers of all her grandkids.) To have all of this just vanish is unexpected because I've been in the habit of thinking that she was invincible. But no matter what, she is an incredible woman, an inspiration.