I'm on an airplane.
Right this very second.
An airplane that's going to BlogHer.
I'm sitting next the beautiful, wonderful, kind Grace Davis, who's um, blogging, all productive-like.
So far it's been good.
My oft-mocked 17-year-old brother is in charge of my baby boy for the next three days. He has money and my bus pass and my house key and my pool key and my bike seat and, of course, my parents.
Have I mentioned lately how much I love my family? I love them. They are supportive and generous and loyal and simply grand. Thanks for making it possible for me to go on this trip guys.
My grandpa's not doing so well.
He's not looking so much like this:
He's lucid at times. Doing better at times. Restless and uncomfortable at times.
Hospice came (so dreadful, hospice, that harbinger, that grim forshadowing of the end), and he's sleeping in the hospital bed they delivered, when he's sleeping, but his great big king sized bed is much nicer for everyone sitting around and talking and being there and injecting some liveliness into a room that could so very easily be so flat.
I love that my family can gather and tend and care and take care of our own. I see what happens in other homes, and I'm so grateful for the unending loyalty, comfort, protection and affection.
I love them.
I love you.
And I'm on an airplane flying halfway across the country, leaving my sweet boy behind to be cared for by loving people who keep him safe and happy.
When I get off this airplane I'm stepping into BlogHer.
I'll set things aside, so as better to cope. I cope by compartmentalizing, by setting things aside. There's fun to be had, and I will be having it.
I'll set some things aside, but not the love.
Now when I get to the hotel, who owes me a drink??