Breakfast with Grandma.

I stood outside in the chilly hallway listening to the static ringing of the telephone through the intercom. Normally, grandma picks up the phone by the third ring, as she anticipates these calls like all lonely, 87-year old women do. I'm used to hearing the spirited pep in her half-paralized voice, full of wrinkles and notches like that of old skin, and of the inevitable fumbling around of the receiver as she attempts to push the number 6 button with fingers too stiff and stubborn to hit exact; initiating a call back. Yet, this time, I heard the phone ring and ring and ring into oblivion. I hung up. I dialed again. I Listened to the answering machine, the one with my aunt's voice on it, because my grandma's is now to weak to record her own message. I dialed again. Futile.

'I hope nothing is wrong with Grandma." I thought. "How will I ever get in to know for sure?"

After about ten minutes of dialing, a delivery man opened the door and held it for me. I squeezed by him and hastily made my way up the elevator and to her room on the fifth floor. I was nervous as I approached the door knob. I knocked, and felt the static shock release from the steel into my fingertips, exacerbating the already cold nervousness that ironcially made my palms sweaty.

I cracked the door open and took a lunge inward, expecting to see her on the couch watching T.V. or reading. Instead, the couch was bare, and her recliner was tipped forward, as if she had recently left the spot. I glanced to the kitchen only to find a dripping tap and a few soft bananas, getting ripe on a plate. I peeked around the corner of the wall and looked into her bedroom. I had a straight-shot to where her bed would be, and I saw an almost ghost-like body laying, with her head tilted to the side. Eyes were closed. Lips were thin. Hands were folded. Cheeks were white. Feet and legs were inperceptiable. She looked as if she was already at the viewing. My heart raced. I dropped my yogurt and made a b-line for her bedside. "Hey! Grandma!" I said trying to mask the fear with a shallow veneer of cheer. "Jamie and I are going to eat breakfast with you." I didn't notice a movement, except for the opening of eyes. "Alive!" I reassured myself.

Grandma's voice sounded strong that day, and I was happy to help her out of bed, even though I was aware that her head hurts in the temple if she walks for too long. She wanted to sit with us out in the light that came in through the sliding doors, as the sun was exceptionally bright on this second day after New Years. My wife and I opened up our yogurt containers and put on a bowl of oatmeal. We recounted to grandma our travels to Tennessee and the party the night previous at Jon's place. She seemed happy to hear it. Jared and Abby showed up, joining the fun. We visited, reminised, heard stories, and did our best to reroute grandma when she would veer into a rut of repitition. She smiled at our friendliness amongst each other, and of course gave some stern advice that was mixed in with her Irish stubborness. A thrity minute visit went to two and half hours-- we all cherished the time.

Upon leaving, I remember standing up and thinking to myself, "Grandma is surprisingly strong today; her speaking isn't labored and her movements are fluid. Her memory leaves a little left to be desired, but her humor is still intact."

Needless to say, I was shocked when I found out she was in the emergency room the next morning. A second heart attack in six months. If I went there today and rang the phone to be let in, she wouldn't be picking up, and I would be left to wonder about the health of a women so fragile, and about the fleeting nature of time coming short, even after 87 years., Thankfully, fate had it wait for one day.