The next afternoon, I sat leaned up against an Ash tree in the park by the Ken Caryl Ranch House, debating on whether or not I had the strength to call my aunt Stacy, and ask about how things were being dealt with back on the farm. Eventually, I decided that I had to call her and ask all of the hard questions I needed to ask. She picked up after the first ring, and was beyond elated to hear my voice. 

After some small-talk, I pretty much blurted out my first hard question, "How's grandma?"

"Well, she's doing well..." my aunt trailed off, "Her cancer is very widespread, but she is minimally symptomatic. It's hard to tell with her, though. Ya know how she is... But, for now, she's still pretty much her usual old self..."

With that question out of the way, I asked more tough questions; how the rest of the family was coping, if grandma's affairs were all in order, what would happen to the farmhouse when she passed, etc, etc. 

I felt the weight lift off my shoulders with each question I asked, knowing that my family had already considered everything I had. It felt so good to know that someone was coming by the farm everyday not just to feed the animals, but also to check in on grandma and bring her homemade meals. When the time came, hospice nurses would be able to come and stay with grandma 24/7. And, when grandma went to be with grandpa, wherever he was, my cousin Andrew and his daughter would move into the farmhouse and renovate it.

I offered to help whenever and however I could, both with taking care of grandma and cleaning/fixing up the farmhouse. My aunt agreed to keep me up-to-date with everything, and let me know if I was needed. For as far as I could tell, we were as ready as we could be for the inevitable. It was a harsh, emotional conversation, but a necessary one, and I hung up the phone feeling overall much lighter. Obviously, it was an incredibly painful conversation, but it was relieving to know that the whole family was ready to help when needed. And, I'm sure it was helpful for the family to know that I would also be ready and able to help if/when needed.

However, I honestly doubt I'm really up to the task of taking care of my grandma as her time draws nearest. I'm not even sure how or why I so willingly and confidently offered to help take care of my grandma and her house. That just isn't who I usually am. I'm much more selfish and skittish than that, right? Well, maybe not. Maybe I'm not nearly as selfish, skittish, or weak as I consider myself to be. Or, maybe I am, but God just gives me the strength I need to be a much stronger, selfless, fearless person than I usually am. But, I don't know.

Like I've said before (and I'll say many times again), I haven't a damn clue. I'm just doing what I feel is best and right to do. What I feel guided to do, for lack of a better term. However, perhaps I'll look back on that conversation, and to this piece, and find out that it really wasn't me saying those words to my aunt. It wasn't really me who has managed to garner up the courage to do what is right and needed. Perhaps (and I know this'll sound crazy to many), God had been speaking through me, prompting me what to say and how to say it, and giving me the strength and courage to offer up my help. 

Speaking of that, after a few days of chewing over my grandma's diagnosis, I somehow (and suddenly) managed to pull my professor aside before class, and tell her what was up. As hard as it is for me to open up and ask for help from people I barely know who have a position of authority over me, I was able to flawlessly tell my professor what was going on, and request some extra flexibility. My professor was more than willing to do for me whatever I needed, and expressed her deepest condolences. "Family comes first," my professor said, "If you need to fly out to Minnesota tomorrow, you go ahead and do that. I'll help you with lectures and labs as needed, and excuse you from them as well if you need that." 

"Thank you." I quietly nodded, unable to hold back a single, silent tear.