Lost in translation

Last week while I was in Kansas Chris recieved a call from our mom, I guess jeremiah had had some seriously bad migrains and she went to the doc with his to see what was up. They ran him through a cat scan and sent them on their way. Well, I guess the doc said they needed to come back because this was far more serious then they thought. I guess they knew he had something wrong with him other then a sinious infection. So they go there and the doctor tells J-boy, mom, and I think Goerge was there to, that there was this big mass in Jeremiahs brain. The doc said it could be cancer or even a tumor but they aren't full aware of what exactly. All they know is that it is not heredatary. So Jeremiah has to go back to some other place to get an MRI to see what really is in there, either way he has to have surgery to get it out.
I think thats all, well, thats what I know that is. Thought I should give a heads up to what was going on so everyone can do what they do. I wanted to continue with the story so I think I will do that while I am in the mood.
A aluminating hall light brought the here and me to glow as we stood by the front door. The old and famished woman stepped into the my home, slowly scanning her surroundings. Her steel blue eyes had stopped at a small and decrative clay jar that rested on the mantel piece above the stone fireplace. I offered to take her coat, what was left of a once fine looking coat was only holes and patches, but she jurked away. I should have known the woman would have done so, this small article of clothing had kept her alive this long, she wouldn't be so willing to lose her last warmth for the outdoors. Deciding not to push for the coat, I said, "I will make some warm soup for the two of us, make yourself comfurtable while I prepare it." I left the room with my guts, praying she would not turn from a hero into a thief so soon from entering my precious home. Into the kitchen this man went, pulling out the contents to make the soup, most of it was allready prepared and cooked so it would be easy to put together when in dire need of food. This is one of those dire moments. The floors did not creak with her movement, only the dragging of her feet was barely heard. Within a few minutes the food was done, and I poored it into the last bowls I had left clean and set the red oak table with silverware and two cups of different drinks on either side. Both bowls had a class of water and a glass of tea beside it. Walking slowly to where I had left the grandmother, I found her standing next to the fireplace, a frame in her hand while the other hand stroked slowly the contents within the picture. "The food is ready miss." A slight shiver went through the womans body as my words escaped me. Setting the picture down with such ease and precice angling, she looked up at me with her sarrowfilled eyes and fallowed me to the dineing area. Scooting the chair out for her to sit, the woman looked at me as if I had done something so law breaking that is was too insane to mutter into words. With that look she sat down uncomfurtably and stared down at the prepared food. The table was small, only three feet separated our dished on opposite sides of the table. When we were both seated I said a prayer that thanked God for our guest and prayed for her safe return where she had come from. I watched a childs hero picking up her spoon and delacetly scooping beef soup into her mouth. Her eyes relaxed and shut, colour returned to her face and satisfaction shown on her face. Puting down her spoon, still look at me with a suspicious eye, the womansaid, "In those pictures, that woman, is that your wife?" Looking down at my food I said uncomfurtably, "Yes, she is my wife." Without a moment to let mr take a breath she said, "And in that clay pot, is that an urn?" I haden't even scooped a first sip of my soap and I was losing my appitetite. "Yes, it is an urn." A look of questions was on her face, "In that urn, is that your wife?" I sighed but said nothing, there was nothing to say. The woman nodded, then brought her voice a little stronger, "What happened to her?" Pushing my chair a little away from the table and leaning back into the hard back of the chair I said looking at the wall behind her, "A homeless man shot her because she offered to feed him a meal. He said a woman that offered a man a meal, even a homeless man, is a discrase to life." There was silence betweem us, I knew she wanted to know when this happened to so I said with a calm voice, "A year ago today."