Grandma Dorothy died slowly, getting chemotherapy for a brain tumor. She spent the end of life in her bedroom in the only house she'd been in since I was born. I was 18, would drive to Dallas in my 280z, go look at SMU,. Pro tennis match, went there with Kevin my best friend from stillwater. Not the final visits, those were with my mom. Grandma, hairless from chemo, propped up in bed, wig as usual. Was she loopy when she told me I was her favorite? Her husband had his own bedroom, the entire time, since the late 1969s. She had her own bathroom, privacy. Harry Byrd had his xylophone, music room, and his office with cushy recliner chairs that grant and I would watch TV from, served snacks on trays. At the mall nearby, bought the Tracy Chapman album, spun it in the living room, as her final weeks passed. I was out in a field in stillwater the moment Grandma died. There was a dress up funeral, and meeting of the extended family. Great Aunt Ruth paid for my college education in Kansas. Uncle Jim managed assets on my mom's behalf, as she was newly divorced from my father. My mom claims that Harry Byrd was forward with her, inappropriate. It was believably disturbing. I smashed my hand thru a glass. I broke my hand on a wall. There, that's over. And a new life, 19, in Lawrence.