Last night, my father called me. My grandfather, my inspiration for art, for life, what I've always strived to be, yet I've never truly know him. Has entered the hospital, he's 90 years old and a cancer survivor. But they think that he has a very short time left.

Really, the idea of death isn't what really gets me. I always felt I had more time, I had the rest of my life to learn about who he was. I've looked up to him so much, I don't want him to think I'm strange, he has an enigmatic feel to him though.

And the stranger thing is, the reason I never visit, is because of my grandmother(who I thought would go first), and I never get to talk to him if she's there, I can never get him alone. It's also.. awkward.

I'm not ready to go visit him, I don't know if I could stand seeing him, I could never bear to have him see me cry. But I've got the strange desire to sink myself into art, into the passion he seeded in me.

But, what if he goes before I'm ready?