Uncle Rich

So my Uncle Richard (he's actually my great uncle, and greatest uncle at that), who lives alone in NOVA, fell through the ceiling of his house yesterday. He was crawling around in his attic and somehow slipped and fell, landing almost two stories below him. He fell right over the stairwell, which meant a much further fall but that he didn't land on a desk or banister or something, which I guess could have been bad. Anyway, he shattered his ankle and had to have surgery. He might get out of the hospital Sunday, and when he does he's coming down to Richmond to live with us for a while, since he lives in a three storied town house but isn't supposed to put weight on it for at least three months. Poor Uncle Rich! I went up to visit him today, and he seemed to be in good spirits. The hole in his ceiling was crazy. My grandma keeps saying it's a miracle he's not dead.

This incident made me think about how any phone call or visit that is out of the ordinary automatically makes me think something bad has happened to one of my grandparents, since their old age makes them susceptible to such things.