I'm going home to see my Grandma. She's doing poorly and I want to hug her while I still can do that.
Honestly, no part of me is acknowledging or even accepting that my Grandma is dying. I'm going home cause I know I will regret it if I don't, but in my mind I'm going to go home, pull into the driveway and toot the horn as I have done since I had a license and access to a car, then wait for her to get to the door and take all the locks off. Then once I'm in the house, I'm kicking off my shoes, and I'll go in the kitchen and check out what's on the stove, nibble a little then settle in for a long chitchat and possibly a nap.
Then, I'll wake up and Grandma will say, "Ride to the store and get us a Butterfinger and a Pepsi (<--the pride of the Carolinas!)" and I'll go do that then come back and my mama will be there and the three of us will lay around and then my uncles, aunts and cousins will come by and we'll all laugh and stuff and then Grandma will spit some knowledge on marriage, babies and general life, then I'll decide if I'm staying for the night or going home to my mom's house (and depending on how late it is me and mama will prolly stay at Grandma's for the night).
That's our rhythm. It's been that way for years. I'm not ready for it to change. So, I reject any information contrary to that scenario.