Lockdown

We weren't sure that Granny was going to make it to her 95th birthday party. There was a flu outbreak at her nursing home; the whole place was in lockdown.

Amy and I didn't find this out until Friday night.

Luckily, she made it. She's got bronchitis herself, possibly leftover from the pneumonia she had a couple of weeks ago. But not the flu, so the nurses dressed her up and brought her to the front door where my Dad bundled her into his van.

Lucky for her, because though she can't speak much, at the end of the day, she held my hand and whispered, oh, such a nice party over and over as she squeezed her fingertips into my palm.

Lucky for me, because if there'd been no grander purpose to the uncomfortable and awkward conversation with a bunch of family members, many of whom I hadn't seen in at least a decade, some of whom I didn't remember ever having met, most of whom I only vaguely recognized, with neither alcohol nor card games, I think I would have lost my everloving mind.

Lucky for my family then, too, I guess.