Exercises 43, 44, and 45

Grandfather is complaining about the fever spreading. He is worried about mother out on the town gathering fruits from the local markets. He knows that the fever is taking the lives of many and I can sense the worry in his look. Mother hasn't returned by nightfall and grandfather begins saying "she's fine" but the sound of his voice lets me know of his lie. I too have begun to worry. I just sit there, taking it all in, letting him vent and release.
After we close the doors and kick out the drunks from the bar, I begin doing dishes, a job usually finished by mother. I try comforting grandfather, "Mom will be fine, she's probably just run along to visit Jill before heading home. They haven't had tea together lately." (Knock, Knock, Knock). I hear an echo from the door stating that mother has been admitted to the hospital, a soapy plate grandfather was drying hits the floor with a sharp crack, followed by the fall of a 150-pound man.
After we visit the hospital and find out mother won't make it much longer grandfather is a total wreck. I feel immediately replaced as mother and begin to comfort grandfather, we had just lost grandmother a few months ago. I am a wreck as well, but I have learned to not show my tears and to know life moves on. I want to put mother out of her misery, have the chords pulled but grandfather just cannot do that to his little girl. I want her out of pain, I want her to meet our savior without going through hell first. Grandfather just cannot do it. We stay distant from one another, simply avoiding each other so we don't have to discuss it, it would just led to tears because both of us want mother to live. The next few days are hell.