I know that my grandmother lies in a hospital bed, unconcious and probably dying, with bilateral lung cancer which is spreading to her limphnodes and breasts. And no matter how hard I try, I don't feel anything about it.
She was never a grandmother, just the mother of my father, who was never my father, just the man who provided half of my DNA. I always knew it would be at one of his parents' funerals where I would see him again.
I miss my real grandmother, every single day. Her memory causes my eyes to well up often, and I know that that is real familial love. What I have with the Justason's is a namesake, which I can't wait to change.
