three...

my mom called late last week. we talked about when she'd get here for the holidays and i tried to convince her to come even earlier and leave way later. like, the day after never. and then she mentioned her mammogram...and...well...how she has to go back.

i just filled up two paragraphs with panic. but there's no need stating the obvious, is there? delete that. instead, i'll tell you something else.



when the girlies three came home from school, i asked them to be extra nice to each other. kindness brings good luck, i think. and then i told them about their grammy and how she needs a little bit of it.

grae - and before i tell you her diagnosis, please remember that she has watched every gross emergency room-ish show on telly, so she clearly is coming at this with a massive yet surprisingly worthless degree of knowledge - is convinced that this little blip has been caused by stress, and promptly vowed to slit the throats of anyone responsible for said stress thrown at her grammy.

i knew she'd make a great physician, but this violent streak makes me wonder if she wouldn't be better off in the mafia.

esmé followed me around for at least ten minutes after she heard the news. oh, great, she said. now you're not going to have a mom. you already don't have a dad or a lin...and with your mom gone, too...you won't have anyone.

i tried listing all the people i do have left and - let's not get ahead of ourselves, esmé! - reminding her that they just want my mom to come back and re-check something that didn't look quite right. that certainly doesn't mean the end, esmé!

but she just looked at me like what are we gonna do, mom? this is life. we're all dying.




note to self: never ever do not ever allow that kid to be a hostage negotiator.

but lillie. that one breaks my heart. as soon as she heard, it was like all her lights went out. just like that.

will she be okay? she asked two days later, with a serious absence of chandelier.

yes, grae answered, definitively.

and she should know. this is nothing compared to the guy with the golf club stuck through his head. even though it feels like everything.