Tonight I'm headed over to my Grandad's place to feed him dinner. He's gotten too sick to feed himself, and for the past couple of years my parents have taken turns feeding him. When they are out of town, either me, Evan, or Jesse goes over to make sure he gets something down. The nurses where he lives could feed him, but he is mean and confused and usually will not let them. He can't really have a conversation with me any more because the pathways between his brain and his mouth just don't work like they should. Most of the time, though, when he's at least able to pay attention, I get the feeling that he listens to me when I talk. It's hard to tell if he understands what I'm saying, but I think he likes the sound of a vaguely familiar voice somehow. So, most of the time I carry on a conversation with him, even if he's not able to reply. I used to hate going, because it was hard. But strangely, I have kind of grown to enjoy the small feeling of brightening his day in some distant part of his mind that may be ever-so-slightly aware that I'm there. I wish Halleigh wasn't scared of him. maybe he'll live long enough for her to grow to the point of understanding, but I'm not even sure if that would be a good thing. God knows what's best.

I've been meaning to blog this for a while. It feels good to get some "real" stuff down on the blog from time to time.