One call last night informed my family of a failed minor surgery on my great grandma, which means the next option is broken ribs and an open heart.
The next call I got at 12: 32 today told me, alone eating teriyaki on my mom's new couches, that my grandma-my lovely, wonderful, Irish bound, best friend grandma-had a heart attack. So instead of spilling teriyaki sauce on my mom's new couches, I spilled tears.
Large quantities of tears.
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