Just keep casually eating dinner upon hearing out-of-nowhere grim news about a cherished relative

That's what I did tonight. What are you gonna do? Drop your fork and run sobbing into the yard? One second, you're having the annual St. Patrick's Day Irish feast...the next, mom announces she "has news." And it ain't that she's decided to run for town council. Christ, couldn't I finish my meal? Or...I dunno. Not that St. Patrick's Day is Christmas, but couldn't it have waited a day or two...or come sooner? She found out Thursday night. Sigh, it's just that I was having SUCH a good day. Selfish of me? Sure. But being a Grown-Up sucks.

This is one of those times where I don't know what to write because I'm not about to get detailed on a fucking blog about a relative's medical condition when I'M not even supposed to know yet. But it's MAJOR, life-altering news...and, um, yeah, the sudden focus of my day...and of my days to come. Twelve hours ago, everything was fine, everyONE was fine...as far as I knew. It was a beautiful, 45 degree St. Patrick's Day. My 16-year-old Irish Party Animal shirt on. I even had the windows down in the car. The radio blaring. Traffic was moving well. I'm rolling in cash. Paying things off. Thinking positive. Twelve hours later, I'm googling survival rates and wondering What It All Means. Erin Go Bragh.