Rubbish interrupted

So there I am, going about the daily rubbish and someone kicks me
in the balls. Sonuvabitch! Is there anything that hurts like that?!
Maybe I should start at the beginning.
I drag my carcass out of bed casting a sidelong glance at the
clock. 7:00 am. I mutter something about another morning without a
visit to the gym and head towards the shower. While waiting for the
water to get hot  I wander into the kitchen and peer about for
something good for breakfast. Finding nothing I settle
on Yogurt Burst Cheerios–hooray. Crawling into the shower, I
curse the impending winter heating bills. I am a lover of the all day
shower–when not getting gouged via the heating bill.
Nevermind that. Numbly stuffing my face with milk, refined
sugar and oats; and watching Katie Couric and Matt Lauer perform their
quotidian verbal dance, is when I decide that I better start studying
for the bar–again. I get dressed, gather up some practice questions
and settle in at my desk.
That lasted until sometime around noon. A whole four hours of
Constitutional Law is enough to make one hurl, but I managed. Anyways,
I thought I would grab some lunch and check the mail while I was at it.
On the way back an uncle calls my cell phone, which I found strange
because he normally doesn’t call my cell and he knows I am at home.
"Hello," I answered.
"Hey. Listen: mom, your grandma has suffered another stroke and
heart attack, and it doesn’t look good."  He said it so suddenly
that it was almost imperceptible.
Pause. "What did you just say?!"
"Yeah, I talked to your dad and he is on the way to the hospital. He says that she just collapsed at the doctor’s office."
"I guess I’ll get packed and head home."
"Well, hold off on that and I will call you back when I know more. Maybe we’ll ride over together."
"Alright." Absently, I hang up.
I’m standing in the living room with my head spinning,
thinking about what this means. My grandmother is the matriarch of
my family. At once polarizing and unifying. Stern, but loving. A woman
strong enough to raise four men on her own and gentle enough to spoil
five grand kids. Her 87th birthday was to be in two days. The
holidays are coming up. This can’t be happening, not now. I wonder
if–hoping is more accurate–if I am still asleep and I’m in the throes
of a nightmare. Unlikely. I walk to the couch and collapse.
An hour later the phone rings, and I am hesitant to answer, but do so anyway.
 I sigh and,"Hello."
"Hey," it’s my uncle again, "she’s gone."
"What happened?"
"She had an anuerysm in her descending aorta that burst and she bled out internally."
I can offer nothing but silence. I can hear his pain behind
the stoic facade, but I can’t offer anything. I’m stunned–the
He goes on, "They knew she had this thing 11 years ago, but
couldn’t operate because of her age. I guess the surgery is pretty
involved. They have to stop your heart, and three surgeons have to work
on you. They won’t perform the operation on anyone over 55."
I remember that she had that abomination in her heart. We all,
including her, knew it was going to kill her. But, for some reason, I
think everyone tried not to think about it. At least, I did.
So there I am wallowing in self-pity about the bar results. Eating
Cheerios, watching The Today show, getting the mail, and just generally
going about the daily rubbish. WHOOOOMMP!! Right in the
balls. Sonuvabitch.Does anything hurt like that?
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