I can do this, I told myself over and over again. And I did. I arrived in Nashville shortly after 9 am after a grueling and sometimes harrowing drive. I drove straight to Princes Hot Chicken and ordered a XXX hot whole hot chicken with fixings and headed to Vanderbilt to see mum and Gran. I knew mum would be starving, and instead of letting her consume the crap out of the vending machines because it was easier than leaving Gran to go to the cafeteria, I was going to show up with her favorite meal. I arrived at the hospital just in time for visiting hours. I parked and left my mess of a vehicle in the garage and headed to the front desk. When I got there, I asked what room gran was in and was told to go to the second-floor room 212. She was out of surgery and recovering nicely, the nurse said with a piercing smile. She knew she overstepped and gave me too much information by the gasp I made when she said the word surgery. I bolted for the elevator and started pumping the number 2 button in the elevator. Three minutes later, I was off and down the hall. I was walking in a daze by the time I got to room 212. The door was closed, and before I could stop myself, I knocked softly. Mum said to come in, and obediently I walked through the door. What I saw scared me.

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Gran was lying in bed. Tubes in her mouth and nose and coming out from under the sheets. She looked awful, and that is not an exaggeration. Mum looked haggard and frail. "What happened," I asked. Mum looked at me soulfully and said: "She had a heart attack and nearly died." Mom told me she was worse for the wear and had not slept in 72 hours. I gave her the chicken and fixings with a diet coke. She smiled and placed the food on the table beside her and continued holding grans hand. I walked over and put my hand on her shoulder and told her it was time for her to go home or at least eat. She smiled and gave me Gran's hand and got out of the chair. I sat and took Gran's hand. Her hand was so soft and frail and lifeless. Not like Gran at all. I looked at mum. She sat in the recliner in the corner of the room. She leaned back and closed her eyes—a piece of chicken in her hand with one small bite. A nurse came in and took the chicken from her hand and put it on the paper plate and said in a whisper, "Thank goodness. She really needed to rest. Hi, I'm Annie, you must be Claire. I have heard so much about you, all good. We will talk soon." She winked at me and headed toward the door. I gazed into Gran's face. Her eyes closed. Her face was ashen. I was really worried for the first time that I might not ever speak to Gran again.