“A man’s illness is his private territory, and no matter how much he loves you, you stay an outsider. You are healthy.”

When my Grandpa gets sick, he’s fine, better than ever, healthy as an ox. Are you sure you’re okay, pop? Yes, yes ‘tis nothin’ Catherine. I know Catherine isn’t my name, but he doesn’t – he’s been calling me Catherine for years, even when he’s not sick. I chalk that off to old people problems; they’re allowed to do shit like that, it’s a senior privilege. So, throughout all of the coughing, intense dosages of medication and secretive surgeries that no one “wants me to worry about,” he’s really just fine. Maybe if they would have told me he was sick I would have said a Novina. Maybe. Who knows, it might just be the weather up here, how do us Yankees’ do it? Florida is calling by late December, and after we celebrate our Christmas goodbyes, I don’t get to hear his cough or have him tell me he’s fine for about a year. I just hope they have some good doctors down there.