My granddad is ill again. There was a point last night when I actually thought he was dying. He didn't though, but he is back in the hospital again. I think for a few years now, ever since the first time he got admitted into the hospital, I've sort of accepted the fact that his time is not too far off. I say 'sort of' because there's also a part of me that wishes and hopes and wants for him to get better again. But reality always has a way of creeping in. I wonder what's going through his head. And I'm not just wondering about the thoughts of passing on, but because he can't communicate anymore...so I wonder what he thinks when he sees us by his side...Things like that. I am so not used to seeing him bed-ridden and helpless like that. I'm even more not used to seeing him not talk and be not cheery. It is so sad. God, he must feel so miserable. This. Is. So. Difficult. For awhile yesterday I was a little numb-ed out by the situation. And then I got some sporadic bursts of emotion. I'm probably going to be alternating between the two until something happens -- good or bad. I wish death -- and dying, for that matter --didn't have to be so difficult. It's just that we stay too long in the same old sickly skin. *sigh*. Goodbye.