On Sunday we spent some time with the oldest and youngest members of Ellison’s family. She has a new baby cousin, just a few weeks old, but the reason for the gathering was her grandmother’s 101st birthday. The poor woman is ready to shuffle off this mortal coil, but she’s still trucking along. She doesn’t take any prescription medication, has no significant health problems, but in the last few months she seems to have given up. Part of it may be that she can’t see or hear – you try sitting by yourself in a dark quiet room and see how long you can keep it together – but this time I really think she was, as Ellison lovingly says, “gagoots“. She couldn’t figure out who either of us was, and seemed to think Ellison was somewhere between 10 and 15. She had a little Rain Man moment when they gave her a birthday cupcake instead of Sunday’s usual pear halves. DSCN1530[1] When I no longer view cake as a treat, it will be time to go. Happy birthday, Nana. Feel free to let go. You’ve earned it.


One response to “1908

  1. Pingback: Moonstruck « Woolverine

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