She wants a connection, yet she keeps burning the bridge we’re meeting on. I see it. I get it. I’m just not here for it. I’m over all this foolishness in my life.
My main goal for my visit was to sit and speak to my grandmother. And to pray over her. I wanted to hear in her own words what was going on with her. During the thirty-six hours between hearing of this traumatic incident and getting to her bedside, all I could think of was her life and the very real possibility of her death. What type of eulogy could she honestly receive? My heart grew heavier by the moment, not because of the circumstances leading to her hospital stay this time. No, what weighed on my heart like a stone and dragged me down into a sadness that was incredibly difficult to face is the knowledge that my Grandma Bessie has not enjoyed her life. There is no joy to be found in her.