An update on what's going on with my grandmother. She is home now, and I have promised her she never has to go back to the hospital again. She is very weak, and I have to help her to the bathroom, and fix her hair, and try to get her to eat - the thousand little things that we take for granted. when we are well.

It is unbelievable how much she has changed in just 3 months. She was this lively, vibrant, energetic creature, that not only didn't look close to her age (89), but certainly never acted it. I could never resist telling anyone her age. She would glare at me, while the waiter, or cashier, or friend, gasped "no - not possible! 89?", but she would be kind of pleased, all the same.

Now she is this trembling, tiny bird, who struggles to get words out. I think her calcium levels are climbing rapidly - this is causing her to be confused at times. The worst is, she knows she is not herself, and she hates it. And there is nothing I can do to make it better. She can barely pick up a fork by herself anymore, and every day brings further deterioration.

We have spoken about death a lot. I told her, when she is ready to let go, she can let go. I will be fine - she doesn't have to hang on for my sake.  She has promised to fetch me when the time comes, and to collect each of our pets as they pass on. She still has a sense of humor though - when I asked her if she would kiss the 'little fat dog' as my favorite is known, her answer was a firm NO. Not even in the afterlife!

My dogs cluster around her constantly when I bring her into the sitting room. It's as if they want to comfort her. In her bed, her cats glue themselves to her like velcro. Don't anyone tell me animals don't know when something is wrong - there is a gentleness and concern in the way they approach her that is humbling. My dogs are normally terrors and brats, but it's as if they know they have to be calm around her.

Hospice is coming in from Monday to help me care for her. Although it's very hard sometimes - I set my alarm for every 2 hours at night so I can go and check on her, I have a comfort in knowing I am doing the best I can for her. If she wants to be at home, then she will be at home until...

The worst part is not knowing exactly when - the waiting. It's not that I'm waiting for her to die, God no! But you can't help getting up every day with this queasy feeling in your stomach. Is this going to be the day. Every time I go and check on her, I hold my breath. It's this 'thank God - she's still breathing' to 'OMG what's it going to be next time?' that has my bones trembling.

I'm not afraid of death, or her dying at home. Some people would be, I know, but there's nothing frightening in that for me. It's a comfort, actually. I would like to be there for her when the moment comes. I was with my mother when she died, and to see her pass away peacefully gave me incredible peace. I'm more afraid of not being with her when the time comes, than I am of her dying at the moment. I'm slowly making my peace with her inevitable death. At first it was inconceivable. 'Isn't God wise?' she has reflected more than once. 'He's weaning us gently from each other....'

I always thought my grandmother's heart would just give in one day, and that would be it. I do believe that this short illness, on a soul level, has been for my benefit - to wean me a little, so it wouldn't be a shock, and mindful of that, I will honor her every wish in not wanting more treatment, in choosing to die, and in not holding her back with my overwhelming grief. There's a time when you have to take the high road, even when it goes against everything you know and want and need...