You don’t know how brave you are: going to the grocery store, taking the bus to work, bike riding on such a beautiful afternoon. You do all these things as if there is no danger, as if your [grandkid] [niece] [nephew] [cousin] isn’t in college.
You don’t live in the same world the rest of us do because your chances of being in an accident or having a heart attack or some other catastrophic event that lands you in the hospital for weeks are so much higher. You must be more careful.
Don’t worry, though, if something bad happens. Your [grandkid] [niece] [nephew] [cousin] loves you and will prove it by staying at your bedside the whole time. Clearly, you have no one else or at least no one else who loves you enough to abandon their current life to bring you a small cup of juice, some jello, someone to call for a warm blanket. Final reports, presentations, essays, tests pale in comparison.
And when the unthinkable happens, your [grandkid] [niece] [nephew] [cousin] will write your obituary, without all the usual fuss about survivors and calling hours. It’s published within hours of your death, which is testimony not to how important you were, but to the devotion your [grandkid] [niece] [nephew] [cousin] had for you.
That’s worth something, right? If I could grade on love and loyalty, on values and sacrifice, then, yes, your [grandkid] [niece] [nephew] [cousin] gets an A. 100%. But my class isn’t “Prove You Love Your Grandpap 101”, it’s English Comp.
Stop being so brave. Take that extra precaution. Your [grandkid] [niece] [nephew] [cousin] would do the same for you.
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