crisis: my gramma is dying

She had a heart attack, and while they were trying to figure out what happened, she had a stroke, and now she's in ICU. Last night, they said she had a 30% chance of survival, then they raised it to 50%, which was good for sleeping but apparently was way wrong. This morning, they're saying it's more like 15%. That number's so small.

I don't even know what to think.

My family is all on their way down from North Carolina tomorrow morning, and I'm in a holding pattern, waiting to see if I'm needed, to see if I need to cobble together a black outfit (I don't own a black dress, not even one suitable for a funeral), waiting for more bad news. My stomach is hurting, and I still don't know where my meds are. I already called Craig to warn him that I'll have to leave at a moment's notice. I can't really afford to miss a lot days of work, but I can't NOT go, I just can't. I live separate from my family, but I'm not that person who doesn't show up at funerals when there's someone to get me there. I've missed too many already because there wasn't anyone who could get me there-- my cousin, my uncle, my great grandfather, my step great grandmother-- but this time, there is.

I can't imagine my grandpa without her. I can't imagine my family without her. And grandpa says he'll just stop taking his meds and let himself die, and I don't know if I can take it twice, not after the ongoing sadness of last year. I guess I'll have to, if it comes to that, but... And what about Aunt Betty? Nino's already gone, and her kids all live far away, too...

Lin said last night that their house is the center of our childhood, and it's really true. Our own houses were changable and movable, and we never stayed anywhere, but gramma and grandpa lived in this house since the 50s, kept it up even when the neighborhood went to crap, and I just can't think of other people living there. I can't think of not having that place to go-- it was always where we could go if anything went wrong. Andy lived there when we moved once, so he wouldn't have to change schools; Lin lived there after her divorce; we lived there for entire summers when I was a kid; MaryLou and George grew up there, Dad did too. I can't even imagine unpacking that house...

I'm not good with this sort of thing. I'm a coward. I don't want to see her in ICU, I don't want to sit in a hospital crying while other people look and wonder what's wrong. I'm not good at feeling what I'm supposed to be feeling or responding how I'm supposed to respond.

Cyndy has a picture of me from last Halloween, and I look so Hispanic. I look like her.

Lin's trying for another baby, and she wants a girl to name it Amelia.

If it comes to the worst, is that enough?