Thursday, the day after just another day. And on that day, my Dad told me two words. Cerebral Sclerosis. It's likely she has only months. The scars of last year have not left me. I still can't seem to feel despite this news. I know what death is and I accept it, I anticipate it, long before it happens. I dreamt of my grandfather, I told him, unknowingly, how strange it was to see him again since I usually just see him in dreams. I remember only his smile, a quiet unspoken response to an unasked question I can't recall.