I hadn't heard anything from my family about whether my grandmother was home from the hospital, so I called her house yesterday to see if she was there. She was. She had returned on Tuesday after having an MRI and an ultrasound. She had originally been slated to come home on Saturday, but was kept a couple of days longer because she had suddenly become ill and passed out a couple of times. Hence the tests. The doctors thought she may have had a stroke or a heart attack. Fortunately, neither was the culprit. They concluded she may have just caught a bug that was going around.
I asked her about when a good time would be for me to come visit. Any time, she told me. I don't think I'll be leaving the house for a bit, she said. After I got off the phone with her, I decided I'd go to her house after work and surprise her.
When I got home from work, I made some biryani with black beans and chicken and then went for a run. I headed out for Nana's a little after seven, stopping at the White Hen first to pick her up some Italian cookies. I arrived at her house around seven thirty and saw that it was completely dark inside.
I got out of my car and looked around, not sure whether I was at the right house. When I determined that I was, I wondered why there was even a question. I've been spent my entire life going to that house. Why would it suddenly seem so foreign? I began to grow alarmed until I realized the reason for my initial uncertainty was due to context. I'd never been to her house when it was devoid of activity and bathed in darkness. I leaned against my car for a moment, snow tickling my face, and felt a wave of melancholy over what the scene represented.
Since I was born, Nana's house has never been anything but a place of love and warmth to me. Sitting there by myself in winter's desolation, I thought of the reoccurring dreams I have of Mandy, the dog of my youth. In them, she's old and frail and her unspoken request is for me to let her die. You can't go home again. Thomas Wolfe had it right. I don't think of the past very often and consequently don't consider myself very nostalgic. My dreams, however, seem to be telling me otherwise. I got over my dark reverie and called Nana from my cell phone. She answered on the third ring and told me she had been sleeping.
I felt bad for not having called ahead of time, but she did say stop by any time. I waited a few minutes for her to open the door and she told me she needed to get up anyway and have some dinner. We talked for a little bit and I made her some soup and heated up some mashed potatoes for her. It was a nice visit and I was glad I was able to spend some one on one time with her.
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Wasn't going to go for a run tonight, but after eating too much sushi, I decided, out of guilt mostly, I better work it off. I'm glad I did; it was a good run.
I'm not going to lie to you, I'm spent and am going to wrap this up shortly. I'm spent but I had a good day. For some reason, everyone acted nice to me, even people, like the perennially jerk-offish customer I dealt with today, I thought would be pricks. Probably because it's Friday, but I'd like to think the worm has turned for me and from here on out everyone will act kind and loving towards me.
So do your part and start treating me better.
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